Hilt Deep
A bodyguard hooks up with their ex and gets more than they bargained for.
Character Notes: A nonbinary butch (they/them) bottom and a cis femme (she/her) top.
Content Notes: bondage, edging, D/s, object penetration, and knifeplay. Aftercare included. Anatomical language used: chest, cunt, clit.
The tip of a blade skirts my cheek.
With a flick of her wrist, cool metal carves the whisper of an initial — V — and vanishes without breaking skin. She’s so careful, I doubt there will even be a scratch.
When the knife isn’t touching me, I have no idea where Victoria is. She left her heels at the front door to prowl barefoot around my body like a predator toying with blindfolded prey. My knees bow against an old workout towel, spread wide across the floor in case one of us makes a mess.
Chances are, it’ll be me.
“It’s amazing what a few inches of steel can do,” she muses, behind me now. “That this little knife is all it takes to cut someone like you down to size.”
Lacquered nails bite into the back of my buzzcut, and the flat of the knife presses against my throat. When I gasp, the spine curves cold along my skin, dull but somehow no less a threat. Salt and metal fill my nose; flesh kisses the blade.
She had me down here a while before pulling out the knife, talking about me like I wasn’t there: look at them, so trapped and pretty.
Need coils through my lungs like smoke, shorting my breath. I inhale past clenched teeth, pushing the tide of adrenaline back to a slow, building wave. This isn’t about working up to a frenzy; it’s about giving in, trusting someone else to have authority over me, body and soul.
Before I left the country for work, Victoria was my first girlfriend. Once I came back, we had changed in a thousand ways, but both of us became professionals — of a sort. I never expected to find her in the red dim of a Chicago club teaching a class on edgeplay, much less running her own private dungeon.
I’m dangerous. I was trained to be, and going into close protection work meant turning my natural control freak aspects up a notch. That’s how you keep people safe, be it from a stalker ex or fans who trip down the rabbit hole from loyalty to obsession.
I wasn’t expecting Victoria to be dangerous too. That she would strip me down with a look, open up my heart and see what I really need. What the most primal, animal parts of me were desperate for.
After so many years, I didn’t think she’d find me worth remembering.
She turns the blade, framing the true edge underneath my chin. If I jerk or resist, it would be a real close shave.
“You’re starting to sweat, Dane,” Victoria whispers.
Her lips brush the damp curve of my brow, an almost tender kiss. The grip on my nape eases, but in a blink, Victoria’s nails rake five lines of pain down through my shoulder blades, aching with the force of claws. I’d have to dig deep for my own blunt set to do that kind of damage; for her, it’s an afterthought.
I do sweat, and it stings, muscles in my back twitching as abraded skin blooms red. Except I still can’t move, not when Victoria has me by the throat — at her whim, at her mercy.
There’s a dozen ways to get a knife out of someone’s hands, but not with reinforced leather cuffs locking my wrists in place, chained to a spreader bar keeping boot-heavy ankles wide. My back arches, tight and eager as a bow waiting to be drawn, and her every touch is a lingering stroke along the string.
“Your body’s a piece of art.” The tip of the knife changes angle, tapering down my throat and along one shoulder. “I know how hard you work to be this strong.”
My throat tightens. For a long time, being strong is the only thing I had going for me. That’s where the name I use now came from, dogged and stubborn, taking whatever hits came and getting back up. It gives people a certain idea about you, like they never have to be careful. That chances are, I won’t feel it anyway.
Victoria knows better. She traces years of discipline and pain with her knife, sketching out my bicep with a slow scrape that makes me shudder. If she just wanted me to bend over and endure, she would have chosen a blunt instrument.
Cutting me out of my armor, on the other hand? That takes precision, an almost surgical patience.
“Dane.”
The tone is familiar. It’s a question by intonation, meant to get my attention.
I clear my throat; words are already getting hard. “Yes, ma’am?”
“Open your mouth for me.”
When I do, a wad of silk is shoved between my teeth. The panties are soaked from her cunt, and I groan around the fabric, arousal piercing me straight through. Then something small and cool fits through my clenched fingers. I feel the thin, metallic shape of it with my thumb, a reminder that my hands still work, even if Victoria doesn’t have much use for them right now.
“Drop the coin if it’s ever too much,” Victoria says firmly. “I’ll hear it fall.”
She accepts my muffled moan of an answer with a laugh, working the knife in another sharp spiral around my arm. “You’re finally starting to warm up, aren’t you?”
The slick heat between my thighs is proof enough of that, but this has to go deeper. I taste her, smell her every time I breathe in, and the world falls a little farther out of my hands.
Her coin, however, stays so tight against my palm that an imprint of the edges sticks to my skin. I don’t want to even dream of dropping it.
Victoria caresses one side of my ribs with her fingertips, and the other with the knife. Caught between soft and hard, it’s impossible to know how to react, when to melt and when to tense. My only choice is to trust her, to feel and stop thinking about the details.
Her touch drifts to grope my chest and squeeze, building up pressure until I hiss through my teeth. Warm steel teases the other side until soft nipples are hard, aching peaks. Every time they’re flicked or caressed, a shock of pleasure pulses down the flexed line of my stomach, pulling tight as a leash around my clit.
I groan around the gag as Victoria counts each of my ribs with the knife, dropping to her knees behind me. Her body is inches from mine, denying any true contact, yet I can feel Victoria’s heat, rolling off her like an aura. In a way, it’s a comfort, knowing that she’s enjoying this as much as I am. This isn’t just service; it’s a joining.
Nails and blade weave a figure eight down my stomach, drawing rough lines to the surface of my skin and covering me in her favorite color. The lower Victoria goes, the more I start to strain against my bonds, muscle flexing against unyielding leather and chain. There’s nowhere I can go, not when fighting harder risks slicing into sensitive skin. I trust her to keep control, but my own is wearing to thin, desperate threads.
“So wet,” she hisses in my ear, “I can see you glistening.”
The sharp edge parts thick curls like a field, seeking where I’m hard and dripping, sex and sweat colliding like earth after rain. I stay still, but my pulse flutters in my throat, my chest, the heavy artery in each thigh. Metal caresses my clit before Victoria shifts her grip, bringing the ridged hilt flush with sticky folds, begging to be touched even when I can’t speak a word.
She teases the weapon back and forth, spreading me open with each pass until the guard presses against swollen flesh. From this angle, Victoria has to work slow, but common sense doesn’t make her pace any less of a torment. Every stroke pulls another sound out of me, climbing higher in my throat. My mouth is smothered in silk, stifled and choked.
I can’t come like this, and she knows it. The pleasure is constant, but not quick enough, never enough force to steal cogent thought and leave instinct in its place. My hips rut against the hilt in little restrained movements, having to try something, anything.
I groan in dismay when Victoria stills the blade, but her other hand finds my mouth and tugs the makeshift gag out from between my teeth.
“Is there something that you want, Dane?” Her voice rides the line between mockery and eagerness, testing to see which way I’ll swing. “Because you can either use that lovely mouth to beg, or the next place that hilt is going is down your throat.”
For a split second, I’m so conflicted that I see stars, even behind the blindfold. She has to know that I’d enjoy both, but choosing one puts the other out of reach. I squirm, trying to decide, and Victoria’s laugh is venomously sweet.
“Five seconds,” she warns, “four, three, two — ”
I bend, because I want her to break me. I need it.
“Please touch me, please fuck me, please.” It spills out in a rush, my voice rough from the gag and disuse. I don’t know what will be enough, but there’s never such a thing as too much. “I want to come for you, I want to be yours, use me, just — “
The knife comes back into Victoria’s grip properly, its length pressed flat against the inside of my thigh. Her other hand wanders down my body, chest to stomach, past my hips, and slicks two fingers at my entrance. She slides back up to circle my clit, wrenching a cry of need past my teeth.
As the knife rises, I tremble. It slips away from my skin, turned in her hand so she has the hilt to work with again. The round swell of the pommel presses against me, slow and measured, and with the slightest shift, I relax just enough to let it in. Victoria stretches me along the whole solid handle, making sure I feel every inch before the guard meets where her fingers are stroking me to an inevitable orgasm.
She holds it there as I pulse and tighten around it, grinding out another curse between my teeth. Full and strung taut with pleasure, an almost wounded sound escapes my throat as Victoria slides the hilt back out, just as slow. I’d let her do so many deadly things with that blade; it’s for the best that I can’t voice them now.
Yet there’s no gag to stifle every gasp and breathy moan as the rhythm quickens, following the building thunder of my heart. Even the lightest touch would have me loud, but this is tight and firm, relentless. I have no choice but to come, except I don’t know if I have permission.
“Please ma’am, fuck, please — “ Syllables collapse on my tongue; everything is heat and darkness and Victoria grinding me down to my foundation, open and exposed. “I can’t — “
“Come,” she commands.
My hips jerk again, and ecstasy bursts through me in a flood from head to toe. Release is one devastating wave after another, so powerful that it sweeps away everything I am. Distantly, I’m panting, shaking, nerves raw and singing their bliss. I don’t have to fight, or be strong. I don’t have to be anything but hers.
At some point, the knife vanishes. I’m not sure when, but there’s no pain, nothing but the ache of my exhausted muscles, so Victoria must have put it somewhere completely out of reach. She presses against my back, solid and safe, and I collapse, held up only by the bar and cuffs.
Time flits past me until gentle hands tug at the back of the blindfold. I’m afloat, so at peace that it’s hard to grasp anything else.
“Come back to me, sweetheart.” The first word sends an echo through me, my whole body clenching tight, trying to obey before the rest of the words sink in. “You’re alright, baby, you’re here with me.”
The gentle phrases snap me alert, drawn out of the haze like a fishing line through water, hooked and yanked taut. Victoria isn’t much for pet names — or wasn’t — and after years apart, it’s a deep release all its own.
“I need you to close your eyes, Dane. Okay?” There’s no authority in her voice now, only a soothing, measured rhythm. “The lights are low, but you’ll still have to adjust.”
I’ve been in the dark so long that I kind of forgot my eyelids existed. It takes a second to figure out how to squeeze my eyes shut, but I manage. “Okay.”
She tugs the blindfold up over my shaved sides, stained with sweat. The rest of my face is wet for different reasons; I don’t remember crying, but I must have needed that too. Even with my eyes closed, the change in light ripples back through my skull.
With a few breaths, the feeling fades, and I manage to open them a sliver. Victoria is behind me, opening the cuffs and disconnecting the chain. The coin falls from my shaking fingers, lands with a soft tap of metal. All I can see are her heels, perched by the door in beautiful columns of black.
When the spreader bar goes away, my thighs wobble inwards. She catches me with an arm around my chest, knees reinforcing mine from the inside. The necessary hold becomes a softer embrace as Victoria’s other hand comes around to caress my stomach, and she places a kiss on the top of my head.
“You haven’t changed,” she murmurs against my hair, her breath a balm against overheated skin. “You really make a girl work to take care of you.”
I blush, I think. With my blood running so hot in the aftermath, it’s kind of hard to tell. “Does that mean you still love me?”
Fuck, I didn’t mean to ask that. Except I’m not quite put together yet, and one of the missing pieces seems to be the filter on my mouth.
Victoria sighs. “Dane, I never stopped. Our lives just went different ways for a while.”
I have hands again, a body that can move. So I turn in her hold, wanting to look Victoria in the eyes before I speak again. My heart might as well be on an operating table in front of her, but she’s looking at me in just the same way.
“I love you too.” A smile tugs at my mouth, weak from exhaustion but not intent. “And that felt so good I’m going to limp for a week.”
“Oh, if you want to be that destroyed, I have so many other ideas.” Victoria grins. “But for now, I want to shower and put you to bed.”
I already dared once; I didn’t earn my name by being shy. “Are you going to be in that bed with me?”
“If you want me to stay? Gladly.” She raises a brow, drawing some of that dominant intensity back into her eyes. “Besides, I remember how good you are with your tongue. I hope that’s still the same.”
I stick it out, quick and playful, and Victoria laughs. “Yes, ma’am.”
She leans forward and kisses me on the lips, long enough to put me back on cloud nine. “To the showers with you, puppy.”
It’s a command I’m only happy to obey.
Rien Gray is an agender, intersex writer of F/F and F/NBi romance, erotica, horror, and fantasy. You can support them on Ko-Fi here.
