I had my slave tied to the bed, her wrists together, bound to the center bar in the head, her legs spread, tied to either side of the wrought-iron foot. Her blond hair flowed out and around her head. Her unmarked, pale skin represented a bare canvas that I would soon paint, from her graceful neck, to her small breasts with the perfect pink nipples, to her flat belly, the curve of her hips, her well-toned thighs. I moved onto the bed, moved in close to her ear, and said, softly, firmly: "Have you ever been bitten hard enough that it broke skin?"
She gasped. Blood was a hard limit, but she was used to threats. Threats turned her on, and I never followed through on them. I honored the hard limits, the safe words. I often pushed the soft limits, though, and she would hold on as long as she possibly could before saying, "Master, I'm weak." She didn't want to say she was weak. She wasn't weak--not really, but her safe phrase ensured that she pushed herself as far as she could go, and it excited both of us.
Tonight, though...tonight was different. I felt primal. Savage. I wanted to mark her...differently. So I moved to the flesh just above her collarbone and bit into it. She moaned in pain. I moved my hand to rub her clit, as I often did when I bit her. Biting turned her on so much, especially when I growled. I barely knew I was growling; it came naturally. Tasting her flesh in my mouth, I wanted more. I wanted blood. Needed blood. I bit harder.
"Master, it hurts!" she cried, writhing and starting to take rapid, shallow breaths. I bit harder. I broke skin. Tasted blood.
No safe phrase.
I let the blood trickle into my mouth, savoring the metallic flavor of it, then I released her flesh and kissed her, so she could share in the experience. She parted her lips and our tongues slid over each other, both of us tasting and savoring her blood. It clearly--and unexpectedly--turned her on.
I moved to bite her again on the other side of her collarbone. Again, she cried out in pain. Again, her blood slowly filled my mouth, and again, I kissed her passionately. I slid my finger from her clit into her pussy. She was so wet. My finger coated in her juices, I rubbed her clit hard. In less than a minute, I heard, "Master, my I please cum? Please?" She was so sexy when she begged.
I stopped rubbing her, denying her the pleasure. It wasn't time yet. I wanted it to be more intense when it happened. She was clearly turned on by this play as much as her favorite things--breath play with shrink wrap or the pillow over her face, consensual non-consent, knife play (the threat; no blood)--so edging her would almost certainly make her squirt, as she did with the most intense orgasms.
I bit her again, moving down from the first bite on her right side, repeating the kiss after the blood flowed into my mouth. I kept the symmetry going, bite for bite, in vertical lines down each side of her body. I bit her tits, her abdomen, her thighs. As I bit my way down her body, blood trickling from each wound, I edged her. I denied her each time. I bit her labia, but I did not draw blood there. I bit her clit, held it in my teeth, and I flicked it with my tongue. She begged: "Master, may I please cum? Please? I want to cum so badly. Please?" I let her beg for a bit, then I said, "Cum for me, whore."
She came for me, arching her back, writhing, trying to pull away from my mouth, unable to with my hand holding her ass to keep her in place. She came hard, fluid gushing from her in a stream, hitting the sheet to form a spreading wet spot, hitting my chin to soak my goatee. I did not relent. I kept my mouth on her through several orgasms, until it became too painful for her, and she said, "Master, I'm weak."
I pulled away then, licked a wound on her thigh where blood was still trickling, then moved up to kiss her, blood and her juices mixed together in our mouths. We kissed for awhile, one hand roaming her body, the other behind her head. I smeared blood over her pale flesh, so where there weren't wounds, there was still red. So beautiful. So helpless. So much more flesh to taste...but I wanted to enter her. I wanted to fuck her while she was coated in her blood.
I untied her ankles, then tied her legs together, pushed them up, and entered her sensitive, soaking-wet pussy. She moaned. I thrust savagely, biting her ankles, putting my hands around her throat, squeezing. She turned purple as she began to slip into unconsciousness. I released her, shoved her head to the side, and grabbed her hair. She recovered as I continued to thrust. I choked her again, and this time, she squirted. I felt the fluid hit my groin, soaking it. I slammed into her, fucking her as hard as I could, faster. When she recovered again, I put my hands around her throat for the last time. As she turned purple, I came inside of her.
I rolled off, untied her legs, and laid beside her as I untied her wrists. I kissed her again. Caressed her hair. "I love you, my little slave."
"I love you, too, Master. But...blood. You drew blood."
I caressed her hair and said nothing. I pulled her close and continued to caress her, continuing to say nothing. We got out of bed and cleaned up, cleaning each of her wounds with antiseptic, then showering. We went back to bed, and I simply held her close. We never said a word about the blood again.
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