The Broker: A Breaking-in Story, part 5

mollyinthemirror.jpg“Trust, discipline and concentration: those are the things we will work on first,” I tell him, as I tie the blindfold behind his head. I have tucked the knife in his front pants pocket, blade open, pointed up, and told him not to move. He is very still as I remove his sight.

I reach into his pocket and let my hand linger against his thigh for a moment before withdrawing the knife. I let the flat edge of the blade slide against the thin fabric of his pocket and I hear his breath get shallower the first time the tip catches on the cotton.

Knife in hand I step away from him for a moment. “Listen carefully Jay. The knife is open.”

“Yes,” he says in a voice that is slow and serious all of a sudden. I close it with a single motion. Snap.

“And now it’s closed. Did you hear that?”

“Yes,” he says.

“Good. It’s very important that you always be aware of whether the knife is open or closed.” I open it. A swooshing sound as the handle and then the blade swing through their arcs, and a snapping sound as the handles click together.

“Now?” I ask. “Open,” he says. I close it again and move around him. I open the knife and close it, moving closer and farther, from one side to the other, letting him hear the differences, letting his hearing become the center of his perception for a few minutes. Jay catches on quickly and his concentration is as sharp as the knife. I step close behind him. “Open or closed?” He straightens and tenses. “Open,” he says, with intense and quiet certainty as I lay the flat edge of the blade across the back of his neck. I trace a line, lightly, down his spine. His t-shirt is a tight-fitting muscle shirt and it wouldn’t take much pressure for the sharp knife to cut the thin fabric.

I make my first cut in an arc that starts to the left of his spine and moves along the edge of his shoulder blade, down and around to his side. He breathes in sharply. “Trust is very important in this project, Jay. It is important that you trust me to cut the shirt and not your skin. I will not do anything that will mark your body without your consent. Will you trust me?”

“Yes,” he says without hesitating.

“Discipline is very important as well,” I tell him. “You mustn’t move. Stay perfectly still.” I step around beside him, tracing the knife under his arm. The second cut begins just below his collarbone and traces the arc of his pectoral. I see his nipples harden under the cotton. I use the knife to lift the flap of fabric I’ve created and I let my tongue flick at the hard bit of flesh. I sense the effort he is using to avoid movement. I enjoy myself immensely as I cut his t-shirt until it hangs in shreds. I make one last cut at the neckline and it falls away.

I use the blade of the knife to unbuckle his belt and then to pull it free of the loops. It falls to the floor by his feet. I slide my free hand up and down his chest a moment, letting it rest over his heart. I can feel it the rhythm of his pulse and the heat of his body. I smell the salty rich scent of his sweat and excitement. I unbutton his dress pants and let them fall, then instruct him to step out of them. He seems relieved that they are not destined for the same fate as his t-shirt.

But his relief lasts only a moment before I slide the knife inside the slit front of his boxers and lay the flat of it against his straining cock. I turn the blade so that the tip pierces the fabric and slice toward myself, cutting a second slit in his shorts. He tries very hard to swallow a gasp. I place the blade flat between his waistband and his flesh and draw it around his body to the back. He does not move as I cut again, slicing his shorts along a path that traces the crack of his ass. His breathing is shallow, but he does not move. I kneel behind him and praise him with a kiss on the small of his back, gathering the saltiness onto my tongue. “You are delicious,” I tell him.

I slide the elastic band over his hips, and he steps out of what is now nothing more than a rag on the floor. He stands there naked, hands bound above his head, rags at his feet, and I take a moment to circle him, admiring his body. He is tanned, with smooth skin stretched over taut lean muscle. His nipples are small and hard, like little metal studs. His cock is hard, as long as my hand, and thick. And, I note, it is intact. An extra delight!

As I walk around him I open and close the knife, mostly because I like the motion, but I note that he is still concentrating on the sound. “Open or closed?” I quiz him when I come to a stop right in front of him. I step close and inhale his scent and then let my lips brush his very slowly and very softly. “Open,” he says. And he is correct. And I reach around to slide the blade under the blindfold just behind his ear and slowly pull the cloth free.

~ by Molly Montrevoir on April 19, 2007.

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