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 She lay on the table, arms and legs spread, waiting for me to place the
cuffs on her.  There was a slight sheen of sweat on her skin, the light of
the candles glowing patches of light dancing along her curves.  It's these
moments I love, when the tension is so high, the anticipation making my
heart thud in my chest.

   "Sir, please don't make me wait."

   "In a hurry, little one?"

   "Oh, Sir, Please..." I had already shown her what I had selected for the
evenings entertainment.

   "Don't move little one or I stop, understand?"

   "Yes, Sir, I understand."

   I picked up the knife I'd chosen then the paper next to it.  Holding the
paper by just one corner I pierced the paper with the knife with a touch so
light it didn't even dimple before the blade passed through.  The blade was
almost paper thin itself.

   "Are you ready?"

   "Yes, Sir."

   I started at her left elbow, with the delicate skin in the crook of her
arm, the tip of the knife just resting there.  Her breath paused just a
moment.  Then I slowly drew the knife down her arm leaving a trail that for
a moment seemed so shallow it could not be felt, but she proved that wrong.
Her low keen filled the small room, not loud, but her acceptance of the
pain, none the less.  By the time the first trail was done the line was
reddening, blood slowly finding it's way to the surface.  Two more like
followed the first, one on each side of the first.  The keen of her voice
pausing only as I lifted the knife.  She had described it to me once, the
slow, burning fire that made her feel every inch of skin I touched, the
rush that she had never felt any other way.

   Left arm, then right until three red lines were formed one each.

   We had done this before and knew these lines would fade but they would
burn for days, reminders of her submission.

   She was sweating profusely now, the pain taking over, her breathing was
fast and shallow, almost a pant.  I moved between her spread legs.

   "Restrained, or not?"

   "I can do this, Sir."

   I didn't wait and drew the first line from vulva to knee on the inside
of her right thigh, there where her skin was most sensitive.  Her keen,
pitched higher, filled the room again, her arms tensed but she remained
still otherwise.  This time I alternated between sides until each leg had
it's three lines.  When it was done I laid the knife aside and returned to
her head.  I gently wiped the sweat from her eyes.

   "Good work little one."

   "Thank you, Sir." Her voice was hoarse but calm.

   Then I went to each arm and leg and finally cuffed and restrained each.

   "Gag, little one?"

   She nodded her head, so I placed it in her mouth and secured it.
   Then, with the knife that had just marked her, I cut the lemon...