EIGHTH KNOT #3
He draws the blade slowly, the beautiful sound of steel on wood reaching me, sending another wave of adrenaline through me. He holds it balanced on his palm, testing the weight. Feels like a damn crime someone else holding her like this.
He taps the flat of the blade lightly against the inside of my thigh, right beside the rope bite. The metal’s cold. I jerk, the ropes digging instantly.
He moves closer, the tip of the blade hovering near the curve of my ass. Fuck. Fuck. What the fuck?!
He drags the blade, the flat, cool steel resting lightly against the hottest patch of my punished ass cheek. I gasp. The shock of cold against the deep, radiating heat makes my hips jerk involuntarily.
“Hold still.”
He trails the flat of the blade down, over the swell of my ass, tracing the curve towards my thigh, the metal kissing my skin and leaving trails of goosebumps in its wake.
It’s not painful, obviously. He’s not even scratching my skin like Ryo would do without thought. But fuck, it’s terrifying anyway. Every nerve ending feels hyper-aware, screaming that this is not right. That I have to do something. That I have to rise and fight and kill.
The blade lifts. For a second, there’s only the sound of my ragged breathing. Then, the cool tip touches the sensitive skin just below the rope binding my thigh. He presses.
“You crave sensation,” Naoya-san murmurs. “You crave intensity. You crave my control. Yet, you fight it every step.” The tip drags slowly along the crease where my thigh meets my ass. A thin, cold line against the fire. “This blade is yours. It knows your hand. Now it’ll know mine.”
He shifts the angle. The sharpened edge kisses my skin, and my whole body locks, trapped, exposed, and utterly at his mercy. My cock throbs violently against the floor with it, and shame wars with a sickening wave of pure lust. Fuck. Fuck me. He’s using my tanto on me.
What a turn-on.
“Do you feel it?”
“Yes,” I say obediently. Inside, it’s a fucking riot. Cut me, you bastard. Do it. Show me what you can do with my own fucking knife.
The thought burns hot, tangled with the shame of how hard my cock is, pressed against the wood and leaking onto it.
The blade lifts. Relief hits cold for a second, then dread floods back harder.
I hear the whisper of steel moving through air, then the flat, cool metal hits the hottest, most swollen patch on my left ass cheek.
The shock of cold impact on deep, throbbing heat punches a gasp out of me. My hips jerk violently. Fuck.
“Hold,” Naoya-san commands. “Accept your punishment.”
Fuck, is this even punishment, or does he just wanna make me come? I’ll fucking come if he makes me bleed.
He drags the tip down crack, passing gently over my hole. I whimper—another fucking pathetic sound that should never come from me. My cock twitches violently with the thought of how badly this could turn out if I move at least a little. More slickness leaks onto the wood.
He drags it slowly across hot skin. Left cheek. Crack. Hole. Right cheek. Crack. Hole. Balls.
Fucking freak.
The blade lifts. I tense, waiting for the sharp kiss of the tip somewhere again. Instead, I feel his fingers pressing into the abused flesh of my ass cheek, kneading and testing the give of the muscle beneath the bruises.
“Will you misbehave again?” Naoya-san asks. His voice is calm, conversational. The blade taps lightly against my lower back. Tap. Tap. Tap. A silent metronome against my spine. Waiting.
I swallow hard.
“Probably.”
The blade disappears and his hand replaces it, moving to the ropes at my hips, gripping the knots and flipping my whole body. The ropes pinning my legs spread-eagled tighten instantly, and my shoulders hurt with my arms forced behind my back.
Naoya-san still holds my tanto. The blade catches the light, throwing a clean line across his knuckles. Just like the day we met for the first time, he looks dark and unreal, like a spirit from another time. It sends chills down my spine.
He doesn’t look at my face. His eyes watch his own finger tracking the blade’s edge.
“Do not test me, Kaito.”
My cock pulses in the air, wet tip smearing pre-cum across my stomach.
Fuck. Humiliation’s hotter than hell, but I need him to do more than just threaten me.
My body’s buzzing with so much adrenaline I feel about to explode.
I need to feel that pain. I need him to make me sing—maybe even take my last gasp.
I don’t fucking care if he shoves that blade up my ass and twist, I need something.
He shifts his grip, thumb on the tsuba, blade angling down, tip hovering over my chest. Cold steel kisses my skin right above my pounding heart. I hold my breath. Fucking bastard. Do it. Cut me open. Let me bleed out on my own shitty floor.
The tip drags slowly down my chest and stops above my left nipple. The blade tip presses. Teasing. Fucking torturing. My nipple hardens under the cold touch.
“You want to feel it, don’t you?” Naoya-san’s eyes flick up to mine. “The bite of your own steel.”
“Yeah. Fucking do it, sensei.”
He smiles.
The blade lifts. Then he reverses his grip, fingers wrapping the tsuka like he’s about to stab. My heart hammers against my ribs. Fuck. Fuck. Fuck.
Instead, he brings the flat of the blade down hard against my balls.
Thwack.
Pain explodes. A gasp rips from my throat, my whole body jerking.
Insane. He’s insane.
“Still,” he commands.
The flat slams down again on the same spot. Harder.
Thwack.
Fire spreads, my cock throbs like crazy, drooling so much it slides down to my sensitive sack. Shame burns hotter than the pain. I’m a fucking pervert too, I guess—getting off on having my nuts tortured.
Naoya-san taps the blade tip lightly against my left ball, teasing.
“Such a reactive body.”
The blade slides lower. Tip pressing into the thin skin behind my sack, right at the entrance to my ass.
He pushes. Not hard, but still a steady pressure. The cold metal kisses my hole. Fuck, when I said he could shove that up my ass, it wasn’t serious!
“Open,” Naoya-san orders.
My ass clenches tighter.
That’s probably the first time in my life I’ve felt pure fear.
“You can’t be serious—”
The blade tip presses harder.
“I said open.”
I force myself to relax, against all fucking logic. The cold steel breaches me. Just the tip—half an inch, maybe even less—but so fucking wrong. Humiliating. Degrading. Hot as hell. My tanto inside me. Held by him.
Naoya-san twists his wrist slowly, and the blade grinds inside me.
“Your body takes it well,” he murmurs, approving.
He pulls the blade, dragging the edge of my hole, and a sharp sting follows. Cut me. He fucking cut me.
Blood wells, trickling down my taint. It’s not a lot, but it’s blood. He used my tanto to cut me open like I’m cheap meat.
“It speaks a more complex truth than you ever have,” he says, his thumb smearing the blood in a gentle circle, mixing it with the sweat and the pre-cum that slid there.
The tip points down at my balls again, but this time it’s a lot scarier. Fuck no. Not my fucking balls.
“Don’t—”
“Still. You need to learn to trust me, Kaito. And to be still.”
“You just cut my fucking hole! How the fuck—”
“That was nothing. Just a surface kiss.” His dark eyes lift back to mine, and the intensity there steals my breath. “If you can’t deal with that, you can’t deal with being mine. It’s that simple.”
He’s crazier than he looks. So much crazier.
“You’re crazier than you look, sensei,” I echo the insistent thoughts in my head. There’s an alarm in my head screaming that Naoya-san’s the kind of man you kill on sight, not hand a knife to.
A slow smile curves his lips, and his gaze flicks down to my cock, which is lying hard and aching against my stomach.
“I don’t understand the complaining,” he murmurs, “when your body is telling me a completely different story. You’re so hard, Kaito.”
I feel the tip of the tanto leave my balls and shift its attention upward, laying against the underside of my cock. A sharp sting follows as the tip scratches the sensitive skin, a thin line of blood welling up immediately.
A jolt of pure, white-hot pain sparks through me, and my dick gives a violent throb, a confusing, shameful wave of arousal cresting right behind it. I can feel both, equally potent, twisting together until I can’t tell where one ends and the other begins.
He drags the tip slowly down, tracing a vein. Then, on the upward slide, he shifts his grip, and now it’s the blunt spine of the blade that glides up my shaft, catching the stream of pre-cum.
He holds the glistening metal up for me to see.
Well, fuck, can’t deny that.
“See? You enjoy the kiss of your own blade. A part of you craves it. And I know that. I respect that your body needs this.” His fingers trace the path the blood took. “And sometimes, like tonight, your body can find its thrill even while tied up. While scared. Especially then.”
Then he lets go of the tanto.
The sudden absence of the knife’s weight is its own kind of shock. The cool air hits the wet, bleeding line on my cock, a faint sting. But I don’t have time to process it. His hands are on my ass, fingers digging into the flesh, and he’s spreading me open.
His thumb finds the center of it all, pressing against the pucker, smearing the mess of pre-cum and blood. The mixture is slick, warm, and utterly degrading.
“Fuck,” I breathe out, a shaky protest that has no force behind it.
His thumb breaches. It works its way inside, past the tight, protesting ring of muscle, right over the shallow cut. A bright, sharp pain flares, and holy fucking shit, it feels good!
It hurts. And it feels good.
Naoya, being a rope master and all that crap, has these smart-ass fingers.
Long and thin and they know exactly where the fuck they’re going.
He crooks his thumb, but it’s not enough, so he replaces it with his index and middle fingers.
The stretch burns, my hole protesting around the invasion, the cut singing a sharp, painful note. And then—
“Ah— fuck!”