Having my clothes cut/torn off of me is a kink that I have actually never gotten to experience, I have watched gifs and even video of it happening to others so often that I know exactly where to look when that particular pants feeling pops up. I have teased myself with my own knives, trailing them just under the edges of straps and along my skin in hopes of it feeling the same, but it has only ever been a tease.
There is something about the idea of someone else being at the other end of that knife, it takes the control away from me and puts me totally in their hands. Often I think about being tied up when it happens, but there is a whole other level when my brain can only think of being told to keep still. It comes with that urge to obey when the right person is the knife wielder in my head. Teasing threats of how I need to stop squirming or they might just cut something they didn’t mean to. That I know that if I were to flinch it would be more than fabric cut. Taking their time slowly letting me hear and feel the fabric slowly being removed at their whim.
On the other side of the coin, tearing off clothes comes with need. That you need to get things off now. It is never everything being torn off, it is always parts, the front of a shirt either down the buttons or just tearing down the collar of a t-shirt, a pair of tights/leggings/stockings, or even just as simple panties being torn right off. It is that passion that they have to have access to me right this second. I have had clothes pulled off me quickly but never with the intensity that comes with tearing. In my head, it always comes with a lot of other rough touches, the kind that leaves marks the next day.
Both of them have such amazing outcomes, both make me squirm as the thoughts flow through my mind even as I write this. I know that for the next few nights it is going to be the focal point of my fantasies or my searches for what I might want to get off on. But I certainly know that until it happens, I am not going to be as sated as I want to be.