Blood Fascination

by Crave, 1998 with a link to my BDSM site at http://www.webmistress.org

I have this fascination with blood, my own is preferred, but someone else's is luscious too. I love to watch the skin open to the sharpness of a cold blade. The starkness of the "V" of flesh before it suddenly pools with bright red life, sends me deep into a primal thirsty place. I love to watch the streaks of blood drip down the soft skin and dry, marking it with memory. I love the warmth of the blood as it pours across cold skin, dripping off of nipples, running down soft inner thighs. I love to swirl it like vampire finger paint, in big circles on stomachs, breasts, cheeks, lips. I love the sweet iron forbidden taste of blood, resting on my tongue.

I love the action of cutting. The power of the blade in my hands. Fear of knowing that my body's boundaries will be violated. Fear of the sensation, but needing the pain. Fear that I will be completely exposed. The first cut, a searing, ripping, white, slow heat across my skin and a soft sensual moan escapes my lips. I melt into the mattress, giving into the desire. With each cut, I sink into nothingness, there is just pure sensation, pure giving, pure emptiness. The blood streams down my body, staining it in streaks of red. Clots are reopened to allow blood-letting, the healing to continue. My blood lust over rides my mind's knowledge of safety and screams for more. My womb responds to the release of blood, opening, inviting further invasion. My body hungers, craving what seems just out of reach. A drop of blood splashes across my clit, staining it with life, easing the ache. At least for a little while.

by Crave, 1998 with a link to my BDSM site at http://www.webmistress.org