Living on the Edge

Sir M likes to play dangerously. He has run fire torches along my body, held perilously sharp blades at my neck and intentionally made me lose consciousness momentarily through asphyxiation. In the BDSM world this is called edgeplay, a category of activities with potentially high risk.

You might wonder why I’d allow this. I know that Sir M is highly experienced and super-knowledgeable in these practices, so I place my trust in him and surrender. I let him play in ways I never imagined possible a few months ago. As my trust deepens, he is able to escalate the potential danger level in his play.

Pass the knife please

The first time he pulled a knife on me, I freaked out, sobbing miserably and shaking. I don’t remember ever feeling fear that tangibly. I tried to keep completely still as he grazed my face and chest with a terrifyingly sharp medieval-looking knife with double blades and a carved fleur-de-lis handle. I doubted my ability to stay still, and was sure I might have a spontaneous spasm and lose muscle control, causing him to cut off my breast. In every other way I’d played with Sir M, I had faith that he was in control. But knife play offered a freak chance that I could screw up. It screwed with my mind and left me petrified.

He continued to acclimate me to knives by showing me another deadly-looking dagger. My stomach twisted into knots and I doubled over, anxiety-ridden. He put the knife away. The next time he asked about knives again, and before I saw any knife, just the thought of a knife was enough to tie my stomach in knots again. After that Sir M backed off knife play for a while.

Playing with fire

For the next frightening thing to tackle, he introduced fire play. I told him I was afraid of fire and he smiled.

“Good!”

I was stripped naked and chained up to the Saint Andrew’s Cross. He made sure I wasn’t wearing any cream or cologne containing alcohol, as that would make my skin more flammable.

“I’m not sure about your pussy hair,” he said, of my trimmed landing strip. “It may burn, and that smells bad. We’ll have to get rid of that in the future.”

Sir M dipped a small torch in alcohol and set it aflame, then quickly drew lines of fire across my breasts, down my stomach and along my thighs. It was scary and beautiful to see my skin blazing. The fire on my skin was sometimes hot but didn’t burn me or hurt me; it just caused some confusion in my brain from the illusion of danger.

“I’m making a river of fire all the way down your stomach,” Sir M beamed as he narrated his moves. “See these little rivulets? They’re beautiful!”

The thin dramatic trails of flames licked my breasts, abdomen and legs. They gave me warmth and were amazing to witness, and that somehow made me feel  more secure. I also could see his thrill in painting with fire, with my body being the canvas. That got me over my fear of fire play.

Make mine a bonfire

The following week he decided to set a bonfire on my belly, swearing it wouldn’t burn me at all. I’d seen a photo of this and it looks like an amazing primitive ritual. I was nervous and terrified but I agreed to it because I knew it would please him. It was not an act of bravery on my part but an act of submission.

Sir M pulled out of his bag a material used by magicians, highly flammable cotton that has to be handled precisely or the user can burn himself. He created a long winding trail for the fire around my chest and abdomen, spiraling from the outer edges to the center like an extended candlewick. The preparation took a while but the bonfire lasts only for moments. He lit one end with a lighter and a shriek peeled out of me from my innermost depths. The whole thing burned rapidly and brilliantly.

The fire did not burn directly on my skin but it was a total mind fuck — the brain sees the body on fire and an incredible burst of adrenaline jolts the body into another realm. And then it’s over, and the after-effect is stunning. A huge sense of relief combines with the panicked realization of what just happened, plus the intoxicating sensations of playing on the edge. The experience was definitely a break though for me in tackling fears head on.

Sharper image

The following week Sir M introduced knife play again at our private session. He pulled out a small but seriously sharp and menacing pocketknife and ran the dull edge along my skin to get me comfortable with it. With the tip he poked my breasts, my abdomen, and other vulnerable spots hard enough to alarm me. Adrenaline began pumping thru me. He took the sharp blade and held it against my neck threateningly. I knew that if I moved forward he could slice open my carotid artery and I’d bleed to death in 60 seconds. I concentrated on staying still and did intentional yogic breathing. That calmed me down although all of my nerve endings were on full alert.

Then a transformation happened for me. Rather than panicking I settled into a calm trance-like state and became more attuned to what he was doing. Sir M carefully ran the blade and point across my skin to carve scratches into me, but not deep enough to draw blood. He made a sunray design on my breasts radiating from my nipples. He put some scratches over my side ribs, my back. And all the while I felt like I was hurtling thru the solar system weightlessly, liberated from my body but aware of it at the same time. I was exhilarated for hours afterwards.

Sir M’s experiments with edge play force me to confront my fears and inhibitions in ways I haven’t had to before. And I’ve become more fearless in my daily life as a result. So I will try extra hot chilies with my dinner!

Daisy TraLaLA (@DaisyTraLaLA) is a saucy Angelino kinkster who glides with ease between the worlds of tech, art, cuisine, electronica and dungeon parties. Check back every Tuesday for posts from her journey to the most divine surrender.