He knows me so well. That’s what allows him into my head so deep. He’s fucked me. He’s mindfucked me. The latter only once, and it was by my request in an elaborately, beautiful and evil way. Something that I pushed Him to do. He never seemed completely comfortable with it. That mindfuck was for me. It was mine. Maybe we’ll call that a mutual mindfuck?

But this is not that story. This story is His. I’m writing it. But it belongs to Him; the mindfuck that He gave to me on His birthday.

But maybe we go back to the first time we met. The first time He put His massive hands on my breasts. I didn’t expect to flinch, because I’m accustomed to men worshiping my breasts; but, watching His face I knew there would be something different about the way He touched me. His caresses were pinches. His kisses were bites. Watching Him I could tell that my whimpers, sobs, and tears were music to His ears. He tells me that these responses feed His kinks. I like to think it propels Him forward. Allows Him to find new ways to (Mind)fuck with me.

One of these methods revolves around His favorite knife and my irrational fear of losing both nipples.

I once read that our fears are born from past traumas and develop as we try to suppress them or as we cultivate them. I’ve never suffered trauma; however, I have witnessed trauma–trauma you would not believe. On His birthday, for a split second, I was sure that He had inflicted such trauma upon me.

I’m still not sure what would make me think that He would do something so horrible to me. Or how things turned so quickly. We (Him, Jewelgen, Ice Empress, and me) had all been laughing and celebrating. I remember feeling the comfort of His warm body against mine as He stood behind me.

Then the click. The flicking open of His favorite knife. He rubbed its tip over my flesh. Pressed its broadside against my nipples and areola. Me on tiptoes, pleading with Him and shaking with fear. I can’t remember what I said or what He said, if anything. Maybe instructions to open my eyes? He’s often telling me to open my eyes.

I don’t know how long this went on, but I know exactly how it ended. My nipple pinched between His enormous thumb and His favorite knife. This action launched the panic. I recall trying to shake my head. His unyielding arm holding my head and body still. And then a quick slice across my throat. My throat! And then my warm blood spilling down my chest. He let me go and I think I fell. It was over. He’d slit my throat, on His birthday He wanted my blood? Right there with His wife & girlfriend watching? My tear-filled eyes did not see any blood; but I had felt it. I know it had been spilled.

The next thing I recall was Him tucking me under the blankets. Petting my hair and stroking my face. I must have been sucking my thumb; because as if from under water, I could hear Him say “She sucks her thumb when she’s in deep subspace.” Lots of chatter. No idea what the discussion was about. But, I was tucked in and I wasn’t dead. He hadn’t killed me. He hadn’t even cut me.

As I started to rouse, He and The Girls checked on me. The details are a bit fuzzy after this, but the celebration itself wasn’t over. We toasted His 45 years. We played some more. We laughed some more.

We hadn’t sang the birthday song; but I have a feeling that once again, my sobs were music to His ears.

Please read His version of this incredible mindfuck at Say-Nine.com