The rest of the week was as though we'd never ceased to couple, going so far as sending encrypted emails to one another at work detailing the most macabre of fantasies. That evening she tied a bit of string just below the head, and made sure it was far tighter than good judgment dictated, until the thing took on a ceramic purple sheen, endlessly appealing, but the idea was somehow synthetic and detached. The severity of what we were playing at forced our conceptions, lest we awake from the delicious dream to preserve my mortal bits. To fall from such ecstatic heights, such lofty heights back to the mundane would be heartbreaking. No, it was much better here, a fantastic realm where all was possible.

She brought to bare now, a knife, something she'd unearthed in kitchen, and bore down hard against my hot flesh until I thought sure the skin would break. But the surface held fast and merely telegraphed a delicious tightness, a rapturous sting that conveyed amputation without ramification. Hot jets of semen erupted just then across her bosom, seeming to startle her at first, but the expression quickly gave way to one of profound satisfaction.

Later that same evening, I employed the knife against her large nipples, tugging on soft, overflowing breasts until she winced, threatening punishment for her deviant desires. Each of the nubs stiffened into tiny pebbles, and she became a raging inferno of desire. I pushed her then onto her back and gingerly spread her sex, which was a little difficult, slippery as it was. In a moment I exposed the apex of her need, and made sure she felt the knife against it. I cautioned her against movement, as one errant spasm could end her erotic career rather savagely.

I explained this was just punishment for years of perversion; self abuse, her inability to restrain the baser desires. I used my intimate knowledge of her flesh to my advantage and pressed the sharp tip of the instrument of her correction just hard enough to make its presence truly felt. Despite my counsel, her lower half bucked upward in response, and she bolted upright in terror when she realised the consequence of the reflex. When she looked down, however, her sex remained intact, and as she looked to me in disbelief as much as relief, she spied the blunt tool in my right hand, a thing of my own crafting, so like our culinary toys and yet barely mortal enough to slice through butter. At that she fell back onto the mattress and masturbated furiously, the threatened nub more inflamed than I'd seen in quite some time. “Its precisely that sort of thing that gets in you in trouble,” I teased. “Asshole!” she hissed, a hostile tone to her raspy voice. A moment later she seized my penis and literally pulled me inside her.

We fucked furiously this way for nearly an hour, at which point I discharged my seed and what little energy remained in my ravaged frame. As I lay covered in sweat attempting to catch my breath she reached over for a moment and drew her long nail across the base of my cock, something that often sent shivers to my very core and made the thing stand on end with the utmost respect, but after such a thorough rogering it felt more like overcooked pasta than so vital an organ. “One day I really will cut it off,” she hissed, almost under her breath. Life is good.