"The blood is the life."
She looks up at me with one eye, her black hair having fallen into the other. She looks up at me, her head twisted to the left and her neck craned forward. She is sitting on the edge of the chair, her ankles locked to its legs. Her arms are bound behind her - low, at the waist, to the chair's back. It makes her lovely breasts stand out - one nipple looking slightly upward; one, more direct, thrust forward. The smooth line of her skin is a thousand shades of brown. Lighter threads from our past play show here and there across her body, and from here I can see the darker skin along the inside of her thighs. I follow the delightful trail that leads my sight toward her sex, where the sprinkle of dark hair becomes plush. I feel a thrill go through me at her voice. Such a sweet game, this figure that we dance.
"You spoke," I remark, keeping my voice neutral. She glances down. "There is a price for that."
"I know." A smile quirks her mouth briefly, but lingers in her eyes.
"That's two." I raise an eyebrow; she flips her head, throwing her hair aside momentarily. She meets my gaze, and winks as the mass slides back across her eyes. I laugh, and see her head go up in triumph. Now I must match her price tonight, with coinage of my own. Our agreement is that she is not to speak, unless questioned; I cannot laugh, otherwise we must both pay forfeit. But we move in the pantomime of desire, and the price is not one either of us will sorrow to remit.
I step toward her, and behind, out of her sight. The boards of the floor creak slightly, letting her know where I am as I move toward the small table where I have laid my things. A small sharp knife, and a shallow silver basin are the extent of my tools this time. I light the candles there, turn off the overhead bulb, and look at my beloved, luminous in the half light. I take up the knife, and return to stand in front of her. She rests there, not straining against her bonds, peering at me through her bangs. I can see anticipation lightly tensing her shoulders.
"You know the price?" I ask her, the ritual beginning.
"Yes." The word is soft but firm, giving me permission, reaffirming the bond between us. I begin to slowly draw the knife across her body, lightly. She twitches as I trace from her calf up her inner thigh, not breaking the skin; almost tickling, making her shiver. The folds of her labia swell and darken, and I am tempted to kiss her there, briefly, my tongue tasting gently as I hold the point of the knife at the hollow of her throat. She shudders, and the knife point breaks the skin. A bead of crimson pools, then trickles down her breast. Taking the knife away, I lap the tiny stream, an echo of my earlier kiss with a metallic tang. I hear her breathing quicken, though she is silent now, eyes shut.
"That is the first," I say, then kiss the wound, its flowing stopped. I turn and take the basin in my hand.
"This is the second," I whisper, marking a thin white line the length of her collar bone. She gasps, and her eyes fly open as the line turns slowly red, blood flowing more freely now. I catch some in the basin, then set it on the floor. I turn the knife upon myself, then, slashing across my wrist. The pain flashes briefly, then the familiar throbbing sets in, but I am busy. I direct the flow into the basin, then raise it, dripping.
"Now we are even," I say softly, and hold our mingled blood to her lips. She drinks, quivers of delight causing a spill from the corner of her lip. I kiss it away, and taste her, and our blood together. I caress her breast, made slippery; her whole body one liquid fire. I leave red handprints mingling with the flush on her chest and thighs. I leave red kisses on her nipples, brushing them with my teeth to hear her hiss. Finally, mouth at her neck, teeth at her throat, her iron tang on my tongue, as I am moved with pleasure, I feel her close around my hand and hear her sigh, and she relaxes, leaning into me, dropping her head on my shoulder. Panting gently, blood besmirched, she is beautiful. As I release her, she kisses my wrist, and whispers:
"We are even. The blood is the life."