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The Knife

Excerpt of my novel The tribe of Cecilia.

In BDSM, mind-fucking is game that takes the submissive to a state of vulnerability using emotions like sexual desire, fear and shame.

Hunting knife
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Madrid, Saturday October 27, 1979

Martina walked decidedly to a bar around the corner. It was one of the thousands of bars in Madrid, the kind that smelled of grilled prawns, with the floor perpetually covered with sawdust, paper napkins, and toothpicks.

Marina sat on a stool at the bar and ordered two beers, without even asking her what she wanted. Elena sat next to her, looking around her uncomfortably. There were several older men and a middle-aged couple. A young boy was viciously destroying aliens in a video game, with an annoying whine of lasers and explosions of space grenades. Except for him, everyone seemed to look at them, averting their eyes at the last moment. Martina looked at her calmly.

“You seem a little nervous, princess. What's up? You don't go to bars much?”

“Oh yes, quite often! But I don't know what we're doing here.”

“Do you want to go back to the meeting?”

“No… I think it was a good idea to leave.”

“Yes, there was a storm brewing. I don't know if you noticed, but they all were staring at you with wolf eyes.”

Elena giggled.

“I think they were doing that from the moment I stepped into the room.”

“They're just not used to seeing little princesses like you in those meetings.”

“This business of calling me princess is starting to get old.”

“But you like it, don't you?”

“How can you be so sure?”

“I can tell.”

“What’s the matter? Are you trying to pick me up? You know I'm married.”

Martina grabbed her chin and looked into her eyes.

“You have to make up your mind, princess. Who do you want to be, a married lady or a sadomasochistic lesbian?”

Elena shook her head to get free.

“A sadomasochistic lesbian, then,” she said, looking at Martina with what she wanted to be an insolent expression.

“Well, then don't tell me that story about being married, damn it! We're just talking nicely, like sadomasochistic lesbians, right? Don't complicate things!”

“Okay, let's talk about lesbianism, then. Are you dating a girl?”

“I have several friends who let me tie them up, spank them and eat their pussy… But I don't call anybody my girlfriend. I don’t like to be in a formal couple. How about you? Have you ever cheated on your husband with a woman?”

“Of course I have.”

“With a girl as pretty as you?”

“Yes, she is very pretty, although she doesn’t look like me at all.”

“So, I have a tough competition.”

Elena laughed, amazed at her boldness.

“Hey, what are you up to? Are you hitting on me? I know you like me; you've made it plenty clear. But I don't like you.”

“Of course! No one likes the fatso of Martina," she said without any bitterness. "I've heard it a thousand times… And yet, many end up falling for me. I can't explain it.”

“Well, I'm not going to fall for you. So get used to that.”

Martina shrugged.

“No problem. I am happy. Here I am, having a beer with a beautiful blonde who is smart and tells me amazing things. That already is quite an experience.”

“I'm glad you see it that way. I also like talking to you.”

They brought them the beers. Martina took a long sip of hers. Elena drank hers slowly. The guy had finished killing aliens, so now the radio could be heard. A Dire Straits song that she knew: Six Blade Knife.

Martina took her wallet out of her leather jacket. She left two bills on the bar and picked up a third, a green bill of one thousand pesetas. She held it out in front of her face.

“I'll give you a thousand pesetas for your panties.”

She choked on the beer, spitting it in a stream that just missed Martina's leg.

“You are crazy!” she said hoarsely when she finished coughing.

“I'm completely serious,” she said, waving the bill. “Quite likely, we won't see each other again. I want to have a souvenir of you.”

“And it has to be my panties!”

"Well, as you can imagine, I have weird tastes."

They weren't all that weird. Elena had once played a similar game. She could see the desire in Martina's eyes. The same compelling desire that she had felt at that time. It touched her to feel wanted.

“I understand. I've also played that game once. But I don't need your money.”

“That's the problem with you rich chicks. You don't need anything.”

The song Six Blade Knife gave her an idea.

“Well, there is something of yours that I would like to have. Your knife.”

Martina raised her eyebrows and slowly nodded her head. She pushed away her leather jacket and ran her hand over the hunting knife she wore hanging from her belt.

“My knife! That’s fucked up! You know how to go straight for the jugular, don’t you? Just so you know, baby, this knife is worth much more than a thousand pesetas.”

“What did you think, that I was going to settle for any trinket? If you want something from me, it will cost you.”

“You don't understand. This is not just a knife. It says who I am. It is my identity.”

“I’ve noticed. That's why I want it. I also want a souvenir of you.”

“Besides, he has its history… Let's just say that it has sentimental value for me.”

“Well, so do my panties. Isn't that why you want them?”

Martina frowned, doubtful. At last, she seemed to come to a decision.

“Okay, my knife in exchange for your panties. But you have to let me take them from you.”

Elena didn't know if she was flattered or suspicious.

“Here? In the middle of the bar?”

“In the toilets… Make up your mind, princess? Deal or no deal?”

Her heart was beating fast. What kind of adventure had she gotten into? But, after all that haggling, she was going to look like a fool if she backed down.

“Okay, deal.”

“Well, then go to the toilets and wait for me there. Don't latch the door. I'll be there in a couple of minutes.”

She picked up her bag and her jacket with a determination and headed to the ladies' room. It was a tiny, smelly little room with neon lighting, a sink and a toilet. She put her coat and bag on the floor and closed the door without latching it. She hugged herself nervously, looking at herself in the faded mirror.

Was she doing something crazy? Could she trust Martina? After all, she didn't know her at all. What if she hurt her? No, that was unlikely… But she surely could take advantage of her. Clearly, Marina liked her. And she knew how to handle women.

But the prospect of Martina using her for her own pleasure did not scare her. On the contrary, it turned her on. And the fact that she didn’t find Martina attractive made her even more horny.

She could hear the pounding of her heart in her ears. She rubbed her arms, though she really wasn't cold.

Martina came into the bathroom. She closed the door behind her and bolted it. Elena took a step back.

“What's up, princess? Are you going to chicken out?”


“If you want, we can pretend that it was a joke and leave it at that. I keep my knife and you your panties.”

Elena looked at her defiantly.

“If you think this is a rotten deal, keep your knife. But don’t blame it on me.”

“Fine. But we're going to do it my way.”

“And what is your way?”

“Lift your skirt.”

Elena did as she asked. She saw Martina's eyes linger on her shapely knees and her white thighs as she hiked up her skirt. The edge of the fabric reached her crotch. Martina could now appreciate her black lace panties, so thin that you could see the hair of her pussy. But Martina was not easily satisfied.

“Higher. All the way to your waist!” she demanded. “That's it!”

Martina dropped to one knee in front of her and calmly inspected her, apparently determined to get the most for the price she was paying for the show. Elena didn't dare to rush her, feeling her pulse quicken and moisture invading her crotch.

Finally, Martina brought her face closer to her belly, hooked her fingers under the black lace at her waist, and slowly lowered her panties. First, her smooth belly was revealed. Then the hair on her pubis. Martina pulled her panties down her thighs, past her knees, until they were at her ankles.

A thorough lowering of panties. With all the required ceremony.

She lifted one foot, then the other, to allow Martina to remove the garment from her shoes.

When Martina had them in her hands, she focused on carefully inspecting her panties, appreciating the roughness of the lace between her fingers, stretching them to check their transparency, sniffing the crotch.

Elena watched her, fascinated. Martina didn't seem to be in any hurry to get up. There she was, on one knee on the ground, splitting her attention between her panties and the nakedness of her pussy. She wondered how she should react if Martina touched her. Whether she should protest, drop her skirt and step back. Or let her do it and look like a slut.

But Martina did not touch her. Looking at her, perhaps smelling her, seemed to be enough.

“You have a pretty pussy, princess,” she finally said. “Blonde… You don’t dye your hair.”

“With all those romantic compliments, you're going to melt me away,” she said sarcastically.

Martina stuffed her panties into her pocket and slowly got up. There was strength and deliberation in her movements.

“You think you're funny, don't you babe?”

She was staring at her. Elena stepped back and let her skirt fall.

“Did I tell you that you could lower your skirt, hum? Did I give you permission?”

Elena shook her head, flustered.

“So come on, then! Get it back up! Now!”

Elena grabbed her skirt and pulled it back up to her waist.

Something inside her searched for the words to say enough, that the game had gone too far. But a stronger part of herself wanted to keep playing it.

Martina took a step towards her.

“And now I suppose you'll want my knife… Very well, here it is.”

She released the strap that held it in its sheath and took it out, pointing the blade at her belly.

“Don't you even think about dropping your skirt until I tell you. Understood?”

Elena nodded and took another step back. Her back hit the wall.

“I'm going to show you why this knife has so much sentimental value to me. This is what I like to do to my girls.”

She lowered the knife, placing the point gently on the inside of her knee. Then Elena realized what Martina was going to do to her, and knowing it made her feel even more afraid. She felt paralyzed. Martina's stocky body was barely a few inches from hers, her back pressed against the wall. The edge of the knife ran along the inside of one thigh first, then the other, leaving what she guessed were thin white lines, bloodless but painful enough to make her tense up and clench her fists on her skirt, which now she found impossible to release.

The knife tickled her pubic hairs. An icy, steely edge parted her labia and wedged itself between them, pressing up, sliding back until its tip dug into the wall behind her butt. Its sharp edge now threatened her from her anus to her clit, pressing upward slowly but inexorably, until her terror forced her onto her toes, her legs tensing from buttocks to toes.

“Will you kiss me?” asked Martina, as if nothing was happening.

Elena nodded quickly many times. Martina's lips touched hers, but she barely felt them. Her tongue slipped into her mouth, and she let it in, hardly paying any attention, her entire attention focused on the cold, sharp blade that threatened to split her body in two at the slightest movement.

Martina's hand grabbed her ass, caressing her soft skin, squeezing her buttocks, but all her concern was not to drop her weight on the sharp steel. Her calves ached from standing on her toes. She felt her legs becoming weaker. The thought that at any moment her strength would fail her, and that she would fall on the edge of her knife, filled her with terror.

“Stop, please! I can’t stand it anymore!”

Martina released her. Her knife left her pussy. She dropped back on her heels to ease the excruciating strain in her calves. She leaned her head on the wall and closed her eyes, trying fighting to catch her breath.

“You may lower your skirt now, princess.”

She had forgotten that she was still holding the skirt up to her waist. When she opened her hands to let it fall, her fingers ached from clenching her fists.

She was dizzy. Martina hugged her, gently stroking her hair. Leaning on her was like falling on a solid heap of welcoming flesh. The fact that Martina was fat and ugly was no longer important, because she had satisfied her desire to experience violence, to feel victimized. She had conquered her and now she wanted nothing more than to abandon herself to her.

Martina released her. She held the knife by the blade, offering her the hilt.

“Here, take it! Don’t be afraid. It's yours, you've earned it.”

Elena took the knife reluctantly. It felt solid and heavy.

Martina unfastened her belt, removed it from the loops of her jeans. Elena thought that she was going to hit her with it, but Martina just took the sheath of her knife out and offered it to her. She fastened her belt again.

That's all? You aren’t going to do anything else to me? Are you going to leave me like this?

Without her panties, she felt naked and vulnerable. The knife had left her pussy open and soaked.

“You'd better put the knife in your bag. If you hold it in your hand, people at the bar are going to will think that you're mugging them.”

Elena agreed. She sheathed the knife, picked up her bag from the floor and put it inside.

Martina caressed her cheek.

“I'll wait for you at the bar.”

Elena looked at herself in the mirror, fixing her hair with her fingers. Her skirt was wrinkled. She smoothed it out. On a sudden impulse, she pulled it up. She inspected her pussy. She slipped her fingers between her labia, expecting to find blood. Nothing. There was no trace of the sharpness of the knife, just heat and wetness and an intense desire to rub her clit until she came, right there!

But, if she made Martina wait, she would guess that she had been playing with herself. She didn’t want to give her the satisfaction of knowing to what extent she had turned her on. So she picked up her bag and left the restroom.

Martina was waiting for her at one of the tables along the wall. She had brought there two beers and a wedge of Spanish tortilla.

“Are you alright, princess?”


Martina offered her a glass of beer. Elena downed it in one gulp. Her throat was parched. She found the bitterness of the beer quite comforting.

“Come on, eat! You must be hungry.”

Elena cut a piece of the tortilla with her fork and ate it. It was good. It was true, she was hungry.

“You got a little scared in there, huh?”

“Yes. Quite a bit.”

“But you liked it.”

“You went way too far, Martina! At the very least, you should have asked my permission before doing that with the knife.”

“Oh, but I never ask permission. That would have spoiled everything. A few times I have had to ask for forgiveness. But permission, never!”

“So, are you going to apologize to me?”

Martina grabbed her chin and glared into her eyes.

“Apologize? For giving you what you wanted? Are you fucking kidding me, baby? I know you already. At least, have the honesty to admit that yes, you enjoyed it.”

“Yes, I liked it, Martina,” she told her meekly. “You are a very good dominant.”

“That's much better!”

“You had me completely in your hands. You could have done to me anything you wanted.”

“You are such a slut, little princess! Yes, I know that I left you wanting. That’s good. That way, you'll come back for more.”

That made her rebel.

“Now, look here, Martina! You may be a good dominant, but you're not the only one. I have people who love me, who respect me, and who know how to satisfy my needs. I don't need you.”

“Yes, I know. But, precisely because they love you, they can't give you what I can.”

“You know what? You are arrogant and shameless! I don't have to put up with you rudeness. You should thank me for letting you enjoy me!”

“The arrogant one is you, baby! You are the one who brags about being rich, smart and sexy. One of these days I'm going to bring you down a notch or two. And you’ll thank me for it!”

She didn't know which was worse, that she irritated her so much or that she turned her on so much. She had no doubt that, if she fell into her hands, Martina was capable of bringing her down and turning her into the most docile of her servants. That tempted and scared her at the same time.

She opened her bag, took out her wallet and put five hundred pesetas on the table.

“I’m leaving. Here you go. I’m paying for the beer and the tortilla.”

“Good idea, go home. Elena, it has been a real pleasure meeting you!”

She extended her hand across the table. Elena looked for any sign of mockery on her face, but Martina's expression was honest and kind. She shook her hand.

She got up, grabbed her bag, and headed for the door. Another guy was killing aliens at the video game, raising one hell of a ruckus.

“Hey, princess!” she heard Martina calling her above the din.

She turned to look at her.

“Forgive me, baby!”

She was smiling at her, waving goodbye with a handkerchief.

Only it wasn't a handkerchief. It was her panties.

She stormed out of the door.

Note: Before you try to repeat this scene and end up cutting your girlfriend in the crotch, there is something you should know. Martina's knife, like almost all hunting knives, has an edge only on one side of the blade. It was the other edge, the blunt one, that Martina inserted into Elena's pussy, so there was never any danger of cutting it. Since Martina first scratched Elena's thighs with the sharp edge, she was convinced that what she felt was the sharp edge. The illusion was maintained until the end. This is called mind-fucking.

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