Julian hadn’t meant to do that. It was a tiny nick, to be sure, but the fact that it hadn’t been intentional, that he’d neglected to anticipate the girl’s state of panic, annoyed him.
It didn’t overshadow the esthetic pleasure of watching one viscous bead of blood, and then another, erupt from the tiny cut and wind their intersected way down the side of her hip, and disappear into the shadow of her curve. Nor did it overshadow the change in the girl’s behaviour. Before she’d been a blubbing, jumpy, frightened thing, but now she’d seen the blood, she lay trembling and acquiescent in his arms.
The intersection of terror and resignation is a sublime thing. Some people fought and fought, as if their life depended on it – although it never did, but how were they to know? Others resigned themselves to what they believed was their fate from the very beginning – a kind of suicidal apathy set in. Of course, he could have circumvented either of these occurrences by formalizing his fetishes and negotiating beforehand. But then he’d never have the pleasure of knowing just how much terror their individual hearts could hold. Instead he’d end up with a depressing selection of unapologetic masochists who, far from being distressed by the situation they found themselves in, would revel in it.
And what was the fun in that? No matter how much safer it would be to ‘play fair,’ it simply held no allure for Julian.
Although during his youth he had romanticized the possibility, in moments of mature clarity and reason, he knew there was no such thing as a compatible lover for him. There was no yin to his yang, no black to his white, no lock for his key. Beneath it all, what aroused Julian more than anything in the world was inversion. The negative. The denial. The refusal. He craved the ‘no’, the struggle, the tears, the terror, the outright rejection of whatever it was he wanted. Had he ever met a woman who was consistently and viscerally repelled by the colour red, he’d have been a happy man.
The best he could hope for was what he had in his arms at that moment. It was ironic that one of the most common ways people reacted to a threat was to attempt pacification of the other party. It was astonishing how much fear, distress and pain, a person would suffer if they felt that appeasement had a chance of success.
That is what Serena did. Despite her fear, despite the cut, her instincts told her to stay calm, bide her time, and do nothing to make him angry. Had she screamed the hotel roof off, he’d have apologized and let her go. Julian wasn’t interested in spending time in a jail cell. Had she reacted to the prospect of the knife play with arousal, he would have done the same.
It was her very inability to fight or enjoy it that pushed the blood into his core and straight up his cock.
Julian kissed her wet cheek, and then, with careful precision, kissed a spot midway down the pale exposure of her inner thigh with the tip of the knife.
“Now,” he said, letting a hint of naughtiness tint his voice, “what about here?”
No comments:
Post a Comment