Edge play

He texted me at four in the afternoon: When you see me tonight, wear clothes you don’t mind getting ruined. A few minutes later, one more text arrived: Bring a change of clothes for tomorrow. Evidently, he had a plan.

I wore sweatpants and a ratty sweatshirt from college that I sleep in sometimes. The tube brought me to Amadeo’s around 8:30. He buzzed me into the building. As I climbed the stairs to the apartment, I removed my woolen winter coat, which I did mind getting ruined.

Once he had let me in and I had set my coat and backpack down, he had me pressed up against the wall. He gripped my jaws and squeezed. The kisses were bites. He brought his hand under my sweatshirt and flattened the tits, which a sports bra held in place. His hand slapped the side of my face.

He dragged me into the kitchen and pushed my head down against the countertop. I saw the espresso machine from a sideways slant. He had my wrists pinned in back of me at a painful angle. His feet kicked apart my legs. A hand reached between my thighs and rubbed over my pussy, not at all gently. He spanked it.

Amadeo breathed heavily. He bit at my neck and shoulder.

“Do not move,” he stated in a harsh whisper.

He fumbled in the drawer and produced a knife whose serrated edge he flashed me. I froze in place as he bunched up the cloth where my legs joined and poked into it with the point of the blade. He made a rent in the sweatpants and then sawed through the panties so they flapped away from my pussy. The fabric at the pubis was held in place by the sweats.

His fingers sunk into my cunt, and he spun his wrist and fucked them in and out. They made wet noises.

“Turn around,” he said, and he released me so that I could. The blade went under my sweatshirt, and he sliced through. He knew what he was doing. He pointed the cutting edge of the knife away from me. The cloth tore audibly. When the tip of the knife peered past the collar, the sweatshirt split into halves. After that, he sliced open the sports bra.

“Down on the floor,” he said, fumbling with his trousers.

I had my hands on my knees, legs open, palms facing up, and I waited.

“Kiss it,” he said.

He meant the knife. My face reflected in the shiny stainless steel. I kissed the cold metal. His fingers threaded through my hair. He yanked the roots hard, and he pulled my head up. His fingers forced my mouth open. He aimed the blade past my lips so that the knife rested against my tongue. The blade dragged along the bottom row of teeth. Amadeo held the knife extremely still. I shut my eyes, and I closed my lips over it. I trusted this man implicitly. Very carefully, Amadeo eased the knife free of my mouth and set it on the counter.

My head leaned against the wooden cabinet. Amadeo pushed off the countertop with his hand and throat fucked me with his cock. I made glugging noises. The saliva overflowed my lips and dribbled down my chin. My fingers were in front of me. I rubbed my clit through the hole in my sweats. This was an automatic gesture. My brain concentrated on breathing.

My eyes were directed at the ceiling when he came. The curve of his hand shucked along the underside of the penis. Semen slashed my cheek like a liquid whip.