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I moaned and Vincent gasped, his breath hitching as his movements became rougher. When he spilled in my mouth, he pressed himself deep - I nearly choked as he pumped into my throat. But when he pulled back, I still managed to swallow it all, and smiled victoriously.
“Thank you,” I whispered. My chin was wet with saliva - it had even dripped down to my breasts and onto my bra. The knife left my throat and Manson pulled my head back, a wide smile on his face as he kissed me. His mouth utterly consumed me, his tongue caressing around my own. He pulled me up higher onto my knees, and when our mouths parted, he trailed kisses across my cheek and down my throat, biting gently at my tender skin before planting a final kiss on my collar bone and pulling away.
“We need our privacy now, boys,” he said. “Leave us.”
Part IV - The Knife
Manson lifted me from the floor, cradling me like a baby. He carried me to the bed and laid me back on the smooth black sheets, cool against my back. He crawled over me, arms and legs straddling me like a beast over his prey, and kissed me again. He pushed my head back, so my throat was exposed, and slowly moved down. He nipped at me between kisses, then those nips became bites, as if he was going to eat me alive. My hands were still cuffed, and I desperately wanted to touch him, hold him, scratch him. I wanted to make him bleed again.
But all my hands could reach was the crotch of his jeans. He was hard, pressed against the fabric when my fingers made contact and I began to stroke him, hoping desperately that it would get him to undress faster. He responded to my touch, grinding against me for a few moments as he bit into me, right at the curve between my neck and my shoulder, and I shrieked from the pain.
“Manson, please…” I could hardly manage the words. “Please...I want you to-”
“Shhh, shh, little angel.” He pulled away from me, though it seemed like it was a struggle. His hair had flopped down and he pushed it back into place, breathing deeply. “You’ll get your reward.” His fingers traced up my chest, between my breasts. He hooked one finger under my thin bra strap, snapping it against my skin. “You’ll be rewarded...slowly...and painfully.”
I growled in my enthusiasm, grinding my hips against him. He leapt up from the bed and stalked back into the shadows, so I could barely see him for a moment. When he returned, the knife was in his hand. He flipped it open and closed in flashes of metal, like magic between his quickly moving fingers.
The sounds of the party outside seemed so far away - another world entirely. The darkness that surrounded us could have stretched on forever, the walls of the house non-existent. We were in some other world, a world where pleasure and pain, fear and excitement, were all the same.
I wasn’t just performing for the sake of honoring a dare - even my desperate drive for release paled in comparison to my simple desire to indulge. To experience the unknown, the frightening, the forbidden.
Right now, the unknown was a gleaming blade in Manson’s hand, coming ever closer.
My entire body pulsed with my heart’s pounding, adrenaline flooding my brain. Manson’s hand reached out, stroked through my hair, and gripped it. The tug against my scalp pulled my head back, just enough to expose my throat once again, still stinging from the bites he’d left there.
“I love how excited you look,” he mused. “Your eyes light up. Your whole body is shaking...I can hear the way your breath is shuddering.” He chuckled. “That’s what I like to see.”
He leaned over me. In the flickering candlelight, his face was a mask of moving shadows and odd shapes, a dark Picasso. “When I pulled this knife on those assholes...they looked so goddamn surprised,” he mused, his voice soft. “They went on and on about how I tried to kill them. I never even tried to hurt them, Jess. I don’t like to hurt people...not...not like that.”
He pressed the flat of the blade against my cheek. The metal was shockingly cold and I flinched - but I had nowhere to go. His grip on me kept me still. The blade caressed me, gentle and dangerous. I had begun to regulate my breathing, the better to keep myself entirely still. It was like a meditation, that slow and lingering moment. I was so still that I could feel every sensation in my body: the prickling of goosebumps over my skin, the shaking in my legs that refused to stop, the warmth and tension in my lower abdomen, and the swell of my clit, aching to be touched.
His knee moved between my legs, forcing them apart. The knife was resting right against my jawline, but then he moved it lower, until the flat of the blade pressed against my throat. I whimpered, squeezing my eyes shut tight.
“No, no, no, Jess,” he spoke gently, barely above a whisper. “Look at me. I need to see your eyes.”
He paused as I opened my eyes again, searching my expression carefully before he smiled. “Good girl. So brave.” His knee pressed up against me, right against my sensitive, swollen clit. I gasped at the contact, a hard shudder going through my body. I moaned, and my hips began to grind again, rubbing myself against him.
“What a filthy angel. Look at you: you need it that badly? Grinding against me like a puppy?” He pressed his knee against me harder, so that the intensity of the pressure against my clit was painful. But I still kept grinding, whining, moaning deep in my throat. The added fear that too much movement could cause the blade to cut into me only made it hotter.
The roughness of his jeans against my sensitive flesh made my eyes well up with tears, but I didn’t stop. Even in the dim light, I could see the dampness my arousal was leaving on his knee, the fabric glistening. He leaned close, and the urge to kiss him again overwhelmed me. But I couldn’t reach his lips, I couldn’t bridge the tiny gap between us with the knife at my throat.
“Do you remember your safeword?” he said. His voice was tight, rough, as if he were struggling to control himself. It had been only minutes - seconds? hours? an eternity? - since he’d last asked me that. But I understood now that my confirmation reassured him.
My response was soft, my voice barely a breath, heavy with lust. “Yes...I remember…”
Suddenly, the knife was no longer pressed to my throat. His hand disentangled itself from my hair and wrapped around my neck, squeezing just enough to stifle my breathing but not cut it off entirely. The sensation of struggling to breath sent chills of pleasure through me, and I pulled against my handcuffs, the metal biting into my skin.
Manson moved his knee away from my cunt, and I cried out in frustration. “N-no! Touch me please...don’t...don’t…” He smiled as I squirmed, my hips bucking, striving for contact of any kind. “Please, Manson, I need it...please…” I gasped as his grip tightened, pressing hard against the sides of my neck until, after a brief rush of lightheadedness, his fingers loosened and I groaned. My skin was tingling, every nerve alight. I wanted to feel his body pressed tightly against me, I wanted him inside me.
He’d really gotten me. I felt small and pathetic, so beyond any pride that I was about to start begging him to fuck me. But words were hard, and stringing them together into coherent sentences was even harder. The result was whimpers and disjointed words, bubbling from my mouth in a useless stream as I tried to convey how desperately I needed his touch.
“Aww, my poor little Jess,” he laughed at me, laughed at my uselessness, my helplessness. “What’s wrong, hmm? What do you want?” I whined even louder, straining against his hand, writhing. If he wouldn’t touch, then I desperately wanted to touch my myself, I slipped my cuffed hands beneath my skirt, whimpering until my fingers slid between the wet folds of my labia. God, yes...pleasure radiated through my body -
