He stood up from His chair and sat on the couch close to me. A remark about how there was more space here for me to lie across His lap had me realizing that I was expected to move. I did. He pulled my pants down (remarking how He was not happy that He had to do it) and softly stroke over my round, white buttocks.
“Go get my knife upstairs,” He said. I quickly jumped up, pulled my pants up and went upstairs and came back with His knife in my hand.
He drew a couple of lines in my ass cheeks while I was lying over His lap, but then He told me to get on my knees in front of Him, my ass turned to Him and the skin of my ass drawn tight for Him to ‘draw’ on.
Soon my ass felt as if it was on fire. Over and over He put the knife on my skin, waited a couple of seconds and then rapidly drew a line down. I inhaled, moaned, panted, tried to protect my ass… almost cried, but mostly stayed in position.
“You know why I am doing this, right?” He asked.
“Because I asked for it?”
SCRATCH, SCRATCH … in rapid succession two lines were drawn on my buttocks, one on each side.
“Wrong answer,” He said.
“Because you want to…” I said, and then suddenly I knew. I remembered.
“Because you want to hurt me.”
“Good girl,” Master T said as He continued to push the blade of the knife hard against my skin.
“There’s blood on your stockings,” He said when He was done and held me.
© Rebel’s Notes