Knifeplay party times

The party was loud. Music, voices, the clink of chains, soft leather on skin. But the noise didn't matter much when she spotted him across the room.

She’d known what she wanted since the moment she saw him—had seen him at parties before, always calm, always still. Tonight, it was her turn to push that stillness.

She slipped through the crowd, her hand brushing the handle of the knife at her side. The weight felt right. Familiar. He was leaning against the wall, arms crossed, eyes scanning the space. When he saw her approach, his body didn’t react, not yet. Just a steady gaze, a quiet acknowledgment.

“Ready?” she asked, her voice quiet but sharp in the noise.

He gave her a small nod, not a word. She liked that.

She stepped closer, just enough so that the knife’s handle was in his hand. She didn’t need to explain; he understood the unspoken rules. He could hold it, but she controlled the game.

His grip tightened slightly, but he didn’t move. His stillness was as much a part of the game as anything else. The knife was cold when it met his skin, the flat edge dragging across his chest. He didn’t flinch. His breath stayed steady, but she could see the pulse at his throat, quickening just a bit.

“Breathe,” she told him.

He exhaled, slow and controlled.

She moved the blade, sliding it over the soft curve of his neck, the pulse under the skin racing beneath her touch. His eyes never left hers, but his body betrayed him—tension building in his shoulders, his breath still steady but shallow.

“Don’t move,” she said, the blade pressing a little harder into the base of his throat. He nodded.

There was a quiet moment of silence between them, the air thick with anticipation. She shifted, the knife still in her hand, and moved it down, tracing the hard lines of his torso. He kept his hands at his sides, obedient.

She leaned in, her breath warm against his ear. “You like this.”

He didn’t answer, but the way his jaw clenched told her everything she needed to know.

She moved the blade lower, just teasing the waistband of his pants. His body tensed, his chest rising as if he were holding his breath, but she pulled back before he could react. The space between them felt charged now, the tension almost unbearable.

“Not yet,” she said, voice low and quiet.

His hands flexed at his sides, fingers curling into fists, but he didn’t break. She saw the frustration on his face, knew it would linger. She was in control, for now.

She put the knife down, replacing it with her hands. The warmth of skin against skin. His body still humming from the edge, from the moments when the blade had been so close.

She kissed him where the knife had been, lingering, pressing against the spot that had felt cold and sharp only moments before.

“You’re doing good,” she murmured, feeling the tension in him slowly give way.

It wasn’t over. Not yet. The night had just begun.