Under his Thumb

Teacher and I were in the midst of making out, when he held me down and put his hand around my throat. With his long digits and my small neck, only one hand was needed. It caught me entirely off guard. I gasped. As much as I adore Teacher, there still are many facets of him and his life of which I am unaware, so I was a bit frightened. He has had a very interesting life, witnessing major violence and other sordid events. You never know when a sweet dog may turn on you, right? He released his grip and resumed kissing me.

He put his hand around my throat again, and looked me right in the eye, his his face in mine.

I cowered.

"You feel vulnerable don't you X?"

"Yes" I was trembling

"Do you like feeling vulnerable?"

"Yes," I gasped. It was true. I never thought about it before, but he was right, I do like feeling vulnerable. Hell, I've made a life out of putting myself in harm's way, in dangerous situations, mingling at times with dangerous people. Living on the edge indeed.

Once again, he released his grip and showered me with kisses.
I felt safe again.

Teacher always carries a knife with him. This I know because he used it to cut some rope one day, not to mention he had told me as such. Being such a macho dude, I was not surprised in the least that he carried one. I asked to hold it. It felt heavy in my hand. I'm no knife expert, but it appeared to be a well-crafted piece, large in my girlish hand. I ran my fingers over the serrations, touching the sharp tip. Teacher showed me how you're supposed to handle a knife and hide it from your enemy. My only experience with said weapon was whittling some soap into a flower with a pocket knife in Girl Scouts.

Inquisitive, curious by nature, I inquired about knife play. He gave me a brief rundown, and demonstrated a few things to me, on my body.

"See X," he said as he ran the cool steel down my arm, "You can run a knife across someone during a scene, blindfolded, without cutting them, but it will scare the shit out of them."
We weren't playing, but the knife against my flesh still scared the fuck out of me. My Dom is a warrior, he's killed men with lesser implements. I have no reason to not trust him, but as with the choking, I was scared. Exposed.

"Look, I'm not cutting you X" he said as he ran the blade across my breasts, dipping into the valley between them, near the epicenter of life. Under the metal, laid my heart, vulnerable to not only to knives, but to the man wielding the knife.

He closed the knife, gave me a peck on the cheek, and put the knife back in his pockets, and reached for the rope on the floor. "Now give me your wrists X."
Yes, I like feeling vulnerable.

photo by ben vess