She
Bleeds
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Author:
Dark Star Email:
eternity_ds@hotmail.com Website:
Dark Star's Portal Summary:
She wants it over. Disclaimer:
Joss Whedon is creator and owner
of all things Angel Rating:
Adult Warning:
Dark. Graphic. Not Nice. Notes:
This is the 6th part of my S&M series, Harsh Reality Pairing:
B/A Category:
Dark Distribution:
Just ask, please * Chrislee
asked for graphic… As
always, many thanks to Jo for her helpful support and advice. I appreciate
it! * Her
eyes are closed, and her head hangs forward. She hurts, her whole body throbs
and burns. She forces her tired eyes open but the room is poorly lit and she
can't see much in the gloom. She doesn't care; she doesn't want to see,
doesn't want to know what he's going to do to her. She
makes herself stand straighter, because hanging from the chains hurts her
arms; but it's hard to force her sore legs to work, and they tremble when she
makes them support her. Her
head feels so very heavy, and she lets it fall forward again. It takes too
much of her energy to stand up properly, and she feels dizzy. Maybe she has
already lost too much blood. Maybe it will be over soon. She knows it won't,
and she curses her slayer strength - it can't help her now. She wants to rest, wants it over, but
she won't ask him and he isn't finished with her yet. She
senses him moving toward her, and hears him walk behind her, where he reaches
round her and places a cool hand on her ribs. "Look
at me." His
voice sounds distant and she doesn't respond. Maybe if she pretends she can't
hear him he will leave her alone. "Open
your eyes." His voice is sharper, and she dares not disobey him. She is
afraid of what he wants to show her, but she has no choice. She slowly opens
her eyes and looks at the object he holds in front of her. It's
his knife, small and delicate and razor sharp; she wants to pull away from
it, but he is pressed hard against her back and there is nowhere to go. Her
stomach recoils and she feels sick; she doesn't want him to cut her. He has,
already, and she tries not to see the gashes on her shoulders, or the crimson
streaks of blood that run down over her breasts, making her look as though
she wears some ghastly parody of a shirt. His
left hand tightens on her ribs and his right presses the point of his ivory
handled knife against her stomach. He does nothing for a moment, and she
knows he is savouring her fear. She tenses and tries to prepare herself for
the pain. It
doesn't come. He pulls the knife across her skin; she feels the scratch of
the pointed blade but it doesn't cut her. He plays with the knife, dragging
it over her skin and touches her with the cold steel. The blade caresses her
ribs and moves up to graze her breast. She squirms as the knife circles her
nipple before moving downwards and lies back against her stomach. The
blade slices cleanly through her skin, and she tries to jerk away but he
holds her too tightly. He wants her to scream but she can't, her mouth is
open but it hurts too much and she can't get the sound out. The knife slides
sideways, and she whimpers as she arches back against his chest, his presence
oddly comforting to her even though he is the cause of her distress. The
knife twists, wrenching a shrill wail from her throat; the pain lessens as he
withdraws the implement from her flesh. She
breathes heavily, and watches the blood leak from her damaged skin. She
stares in horror as he shifts the blooded knife to a different place on her
stomach. No. Her mind screams
and tries to withdraw. Nonoononononono…She tries to close down her
panicked thoughts. Bad word, she
mustn't think it; it's far too easy to scream it when he hurts her, and she
won't give in to him. She finds another word, one that thrills him if she
uses it by accident. Please. He likes to hear the word, it excites
him, and he is always lenient with her if she uses it. His
knife feels sharp against her stomach. His left hand moves from her ribs to
the side of her face, turning her head to face him. He lowers his head to
capture her mouth and she trembles because she knows what he is going to do. The
knife penetrates her skin, and his mouth muffles her shriek of pain. He holds
the knife still; he wants her to kiss him but it's hard to concentrate and
she whines. She knows he will only stop when she does what he wants, and she
makes herself respond to him.
She tries to ignore the pain, and finally begins to relax into the
kiss. The knife slips deeper; she screams and tries to pull away. But he
holds her head too tight, and her manacled wrists are numb and useless. She
tastes salt in the kiss, and she is sobbing when he removes the knife and
kisses her again, very gently, and this time there is no pain. He
pulls away and kisses her cheek, her tears, and her hair. "You did
well," he murmurs and she can tell he is pleased. "It's nearly
over," he tells her and she wonders if she can hold out just a little
longer. He
stops to check her wounds, and places a hand against the gash that still
bleeds. He presses down firmly to stop the bleeding, and he doesn't seem to
mind that his hand is covered with her blood. He
moves away, and she immediately misses the support of his body. He puts the
knife down, washes his hands and returns to her carrying a small linen bag
and a cloth. He wipes away her tears, and then drops to his knees in front of
her, placing the bag at his side. He sniffs at the rivulet of her blood, and
stretches out his tongue to tentatively taste her. His tongue laps at the
blood and she knows that it should disgust her; but it tickles, and it's nice
not to feel more pain. His eyes close and his mouth fixes over the blood,
drinking greedily. He follows the path of the crimson, cleaning away all
traces of it, but hesitates when he reaches the wound. "Please,"
she whimpers, and it hurts when he drinks from the cut, but she squirms and
begs him for more. He
obliges her; at the same time his hand runs up her thigh and searches for
entry into her hidden place. She squirms when he enters her, but his fingers
slide in easily and she is ashamed. She doesn't like the things he does to
her and she doesn't understand why she is so wet. He
draws away from the blood and bends lower to taste her there, too. His
fingers still thrust inside her and she jerks against his hand until she
comes. He
stirs, opens the little linen bag and removes four metal clamps. He places
them on top of the bag, and returns to his task of pleasuring her. She comes
again when he takes her clit in his mouth, and almost instantly he snaps a
clamp in place below it on the left hand side. She jerks and screams again,
but he frowns, annoyed because he got the timing wrong. The next time, he
chooses the moment perfectly; clamping her at the exact instant she comes.
She loses herself in the powerful orgasm, a white fire that consumes her
completely, and she is screaming so loudly it makes her throat hurt again. He
lets her come twice more with the clamps attached to the other side, and
she's no longer certain if it's the pain or pleasure that's getting her off.
He doesn't stop caressing her with his tongue, but he pulls the clamps from
her tender skin, and she shrieks again because they hurt coming off, too. He
brings her to orgasm one last time, and she waits for the sharp tang of the
clamp, but it doesn't happen and she is disappointed. He
stands, and reaches for the chains above her wrists. He makes an adjustment,
and the chains lengthen enough to allow her to kneel. Her legs buckle as her
support is removed, and she lands heavily on her knees. But it's a wonderful
luxury to take the strain off her legs, and she rests as best she can as he
prepares to take his final pleasure from her. He
releases his cock from his clothes and offers it to her expectantly. She
knows what he wants, but some devil takes possession of her and she
obstinately refuses to open her mouth. It
amuses him and a tiny smile tugs at his mouth. He is so proud of her; she
takes everything he does, and she is exhausted, yet she still resists him. He
considers punishing her for disobeying him, but he likes that she challenges
him sometimes. This refusal is easy to break, and he reaches forward to grab a
handful of hair and yanks on it. She can't help but gasp, and when she opens
her mouth he pushes himself past her inviting lips and holds still. She
is still too, waiting to see what he will do. But he wants her to accept him
willingly, and he doesn't move. Eventually, she slowly opens her mouth
further to give him better access and he pushes gently in. She hates it when he takes her like
this; she is bound and helpless, and cannot stop him driving too deep, and
she believes that is exactly the reason he likes it so much. He
places both hands on her head to hold her still and begins to move. He moans
at the sheer heat of her mouth and she stiffens as he pushes deeper, as she
sometimes finds it difficult to take all of him - especially when she is so tired.
She gags when he reaches the back of her throat; it excites him and he pushes
harder, enjoying the clenching of her throat as it spasms round him. He
pushes through, and she panics when she can't breathe. Her fear slams hard against his
senses, and her frightened whimpers hum and vibrate round his cock. Her panic
is overpowering, and he closes his eyes to immerse himself in the sensation.
His fingers tighten on her head, struggling to control her panicked
squirming, and finally, he comes, releasing directly into her throat. He
holds still, caressing her head and waits until they have both calmed down. He
pulls back and dresses again; he reaches forward to unchain her wrists and
rubs the circulation back into her limp limbs. She moans when the circulation
comes flooding back down, and her arms throb. She is unmoving as he bends to pick her up, and he carries
her cautiously to the bathroom. He carefully props her up on a stool and runs
some water. He washes away the blood, and gently tends to all of her wounds.
He talks to her constantly, to reassure her and keep her awake. When he is
satisfied he carefully wraps her in a soft robe and scoops her up in his
arms. She
is so listless she feels like a rag doll, and she looks so fragile and
vulnerable that he wants to protect her. He cradles her close and starts to
carry her back through the room towards the hallway. She sighs and leans into
his embrace, and he listens to the soft rasp of her breath as he walks. Her
breathing slows, and he looks down at her and smiles because she is relaxed
now that she sleeps. He
continues to watch her, sad because he yearns to both comfort and hurt her.
These sessions are hard on her, and he tries to keep his promises to make it
easier for her to bear. But he knows he risks everything with his obsession
to satisfy his needs, and he wonders - what will happen if he gets it wrong? End. Part Seven ~ Sword of Damocles
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