Page 27 of The Devil You Know

I slashed my knife upwards, the black fabric parting like butter. The cut was only partial, but that was fine. I wasn’t doing this to be efficient. No, this was the best kind of foreplay; every cut making Michael think about what was going to come and wonder if I would get a bit sloppy with the knife and nick his skin this time.

“You know it’s your own shirt you are cutting to ribbons, right?”

Ah. That explained the black color.

“I don’t see a problem with cutting what’s mine,” I said, letting the sharp edge of the blade skim over Michael’s skin close enough he could feel it.

The angel gasped and shuddered.

Point made, I returned to meticulously rendering the shirt to scraps. The cuts were placed in strategic points to provide the most thrill and, well, aesthetics. I liked how Michael looked like one of those disheveled heroines from big screen movies, with his clothes all artistically torn and providing only the merest hint of modesty.

“Shall I cut those off as well?” I purred, pointing my knife downwards, towards Michael’s skin-tight pants.

“Let’s not!” Michael squeaked, feeling me pressing the knife against the telling bulge in his pants.

“Then strip.”

My order was followed swiftly, Michael peeling off his clinging pants along with his underwear and stepping out of them. In one decisive move I tore the dregs of the shirt leaving him bare.

“We are going to play a little game,” I said, circling around him like a predator around its prey. “First, I’m going to blindfold you. I want you to feel everything I’m doing to you and only that. To focus wholly on me and my blade. How does that sound?”

“Yes! It sounds wonderful,” Michael squirmed, trying to keep his gaze on me.

I stopped behind him and raised a long strip of the black shirt to his eyes, covering them, and securing the makeshift blindfold behind his head.

“And secondly...” I guided Michael to kneel on the floor in front of the bed. “...you will go where I put you and stay there. Is that understood? Here, put your hands forward, yes, good, brace against the bed. Now, stay. I don’t want you to move even an inch.”

“I never give you an inch,” Michael joked, but his voice was breathless, full of anticipation.

He stayed in place as if I had made him into a statue, his stillness more pronounced than what a human could achieve. I looked at the expanse of his back with hunger. This was something we hadn’t done before, but the only reason why was because we didn’t have any idea to do this. For me it was only hundreds of years later, when humanity grew and evolved and discovered they could do more than rut into their partners like animals and invented new ways of playing, that I sat up and took notice. I was fascinated by the intertwining pain and pleasure humans would visit upon each other. I don’t know when or how Michael came to the realization of his own that our courtship from millennia past was the beginning stage of what humans would call nowadays a BDSM relationship, but from our first time on the island we were on the same page. Thinking about the island brought a vivid memory of Michael shuddering against me when I told him how much I would like to whip his back.

Well, I didn’t have a whip with me today, but a knife was even better.

I ran the flat of the blade along Michael’s spine, tracing the vertebrae, the dip of his back, letting him feel how cold the blade was. It was one of God’s mysteries how such a cold thing could light a fire inside both me and my lover.

After deliberation, I chose a spot carefully, moving to Michael’s left shoulder blade. The angel held his breath when he felt the caress of steel. He knew what was coming.

I made the first cut an arching long line, the sharpness of the blade creating a neat, shallow line that barely bled. An opening, a guide for my design. Out of us first angels, our group of four, it was Gabriel who was considered the artist, not me, but I suddenly felt inspired. Especially when I heard the hitch in Michael’s breath.

“So obedient,” I praised, while considering the next spot to mark. “Stay like this, just like this.”

Michael did, though he had no control over how his cock lengthened, filled with blood, aroused only by the pain I was giving him as I put my strokes in red on the canvas of his body. I led my blade with intent and precision, creating an outline of stylized wings. Only when I had the primary shape done, both shoulder blades marked, I pulled back.

“Breathe,” I told Michael, and the air escaped his lungs with a keen, his whole frame shuddering. “You did so good. Does the blindfold make things easier or harder?”

“Both. I feel more, and it’s h-hard to control myself,” Michael admitted.

“Hmm, maybe I should relax you then, before I continue.”

I pressed against Michael’s back, making sure my clothes touched all the wounds I left, the constant reminder giving electric feedback every time I shifted even as I halted my work temporarily and reached around to give attention to my lover’s chest. My fingers met two pebbled peaks just waiting to be tormented.

“You can move,” I allowed, seeing how Michael tried to stay in place so hard he was nearly vibrating with tension. He sagged into my hands gratefully, allowing himself a moan as I circled his hardened nipples. “I wonder, can you come just from this?”

“From... ah... you playing with my nipples? I don’t, nnn, think so,” Michael panted out.

“Hmm, but it’s not only me playing with your nipples, is it?” I said in a dark voice, making sure my clothes shifted over my lover’s back, assaulting his senses with a mix of pleasure and pain. “Between your back and the blindfold... Yes, I think you will come just from this.”

Michael whimpered from the finality in my tone. I wasn’t asking. This was me informing him what was going to happen. I was going to make his body obey me, whether he wanted it or not.

---