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| caprycorn |
It's been a difficult few months really for many reasons. Difficult in that I've lost my mojo, and repeated searches under the sofa haven't found it again. I've found many things, dog chews, fluff, thirty four pence in coppers, a CD I thought I'd lost and several hair bobbles but no mojo. Until this afternoon.
It's been a while since I hurt her properly. Properly properly, especially considering we would indulge ourselves (or rather I'd indulge myself, she'd scream a lot) on quite a regular basis. Not so much lately, all of which has been down to me. However today, I felt the need to hear her scream.
Whips have their place, as do canes and crops and floggers and clamps and all sorts of delicious sex weapons. But I wanted something more immediate and more intimate. Today I decided to make her bleed.
Scalpels. The peeling open of the packet gives me a visceral shudder of pleasure each and every time. I held the blade to the sunlight and jusst admired the smooth curve. Her back, already wiped with antiseptic wipes, my canvas. Her blood my paint.
Sometimes I'm delicate when I cut. Light strokes, slowly parting the top layers of skin, pink and red lines following. A design slowly appearing in a tracery of lines. Not today. Today was for pain, and for her bleeding.
Slow cuts, deep enough that blood blossoms red, beading. A deliberate sweep of lines. Curves, from shoulder to shoulder. Across her spine. Down, her straining to keep still as the blade slowly slowly slowly parts skin. Blood flowing now, trickles down her back. Puddling in the small of her back as she arches up in pain. And sweet sweet screaming.
Hush pet, keep still.... you know I get all sorts of cross when you make my hand slip by wriggling.
Straddling her hips. Outline done, time for the detail. Shorter slices, controlled but deep, blade flickering in the sunlight. Lifting it, the blood on the blade dulling the pristine surface. Delicately licking the blade clean, the sting of steel and salt of blood a heady mixture on my tongue.
Blood flowing again. Too much one side, not enough the other. Time to correct that then... deeper cuts. She's sounding hoarse now, begun to scream herself raw. But there's still a way to go; detail, detail, the devil is surely in the detail. And detail I will have.
Finally done. Her slumping forward in relief, at least until the sting of antiseptic makes each and every cut burn all at once. But pet, I'm only doing this for your benefit, those cuts have to be clean. Scream for me again darling. Oh yes, such a pretty song to sing!
A thick dildo shoved into her. I haven't finished yet. Cum for me you fucking whore. Cum for me, your cunt is soaked, you dirty fucking bitch. Cum for me now. I said NOW! And for good measure, raking nails over sliced skin... oh yes, scream as you cum, that is so so good!
She lay boneless. Bleeding slowing, slowing, stopping. And her utterly limp, floating on a sea of endorphins and release.
Me? I looked down on her. And realised that although her pain was sweet, and her screaming utter bliss... it's not enough. I want more. And I will have it.
That mojo of mine? I do believe I've found it again after all.
