Yes, my little bird set me free.
She adjusts, then continues, “Why is Peter here?” My muscles tighten as my lips pull into a thin line.
Killjoy.
I can sense my eyes darkening, a black hole opening in space, swallowing all that dares to enter. I think she catches on because I can feel the point of the blade in my abdomen. “Skip, Next quest-” My words stop, as they are replaced with a grunt, and then a howl. She struck my chest, and a pool of blood oozed from my skin.
“Answer,” she readies the blade again, “Now!”
Inhaling deep—I do just that. “Peter,” I spat out his name, “Is a worthlesshuman.”
“Nice to know.” This time, she sinks the blade into my inner thigh close to my groin, shearing a hole straight through my slacks. “That doesn’t answer my question. Why is he here?”
“He is paying a long, drawn-out debt to your family.” She pushes the piece of metal deeper, twisting it upward with one sharp movement. A new side of her is sprawled out before me—A glorious display of power.
Oh, my dove. Just when I thought you had outshone all the beauty in every realm, you proved to me that you can shine even brighter.
“Not good enough.” Her words came out in a snarl. If she only knew the horrendous things this man and his family were capable of—she would have different thoughts. He was only with her mother to find her Father. Her voice rises an octave. “Why is he here?”
I canter closer. “You’re going to have to do better than that, little bird. Do you even have it in you to torture? Because if not…” I pause and lower my tone, looking her square in the eyes. “I will just keep giving you bull shit answers. You are pretending to be a ‘hawk’, but your actions are screaming ‘pidgin.’ HA! Maybe I should change your ‘pet’ name. What do you think… pidgin?” Just then, I watch something click.
Removing the blade, she turns it, placing the finely honed edge under the band of my pants. Then, with surgical precision, she slices at the material, cutting it away like she is hedging a bush. With skilled accuracy, she guides the knife. The slick fabric of my slacks parted like the Red Sea did for Moses. Wide-eyed, she gawks at me.
The clothing, leaving its place on my body, joins the slightly tussled sheets beneath me. She straightens her back, pulls her shoulders together as her chest pushes forward. I find myselfdistracted by her tits, not noticing the point of my blade as it enters one of the scars just below my waist.
“Whoa, dove. Cutting it a little close, don’t you think?” The searing pain radiates throughout my naked body, tissue dividing under the cold steel. Her eyes are full of astonishment. She follows the flow of the garnet river on its short journey to meet the burgundy sea forming on the mattress beneath me.
Her voice startles me from my daze when she speaks. “Maybe you should be a good boy and tell me what I want to know.” She slides off my lap to rest between my legs, prying them open with her knees, continuing her thought once she has settled, “Why is Peter here, and what was the ‘mist’ that took him away out in the garden?”
“Took him away? A ‘mist’, what do you mean?” The atmosphere changes as fear creeps over her face. “Emory, I need you to free me… now. The game is over, no more questions.” It was then that I felt her hand tighten around the corpus of my dick. “That, my dear, will not get you any answers.”
Her grip tightens. “Last I checked, it wasyoucuffed to the bed. I just felt the need to give you more restrictions.” She leans forward, and after that, I am gone. Her lips crash into mine, and we melt together.
Breaking away, she yanks the shemagh from off my shoulders… blindfolding me with it. An intense sensation works its way into my throat as I feel her hot breath brush against my skin. The way my other senses heighten the moment one of them is disabled... is riveting. “Let’s see how long you last before you are ready to give me answers.” Following the predicted path of fiery breath down my torso, I inhale sharply as she licks my shaft from its base, on a ‘warpath’ to my‘warhead’.
A pace that is equally pleasurable as it was nerve-racking. Suddenly, ambushed by this feeling, I’m caught off guard by the tingling that coats my body as her tongue collides with the nerve center located just below my tip.
So sensitive, so delicate, ah, gods. What is she doing to me? My body is twitching in apprehension.
She lingers at this spot for a little while. Kissing and lapping up whatever pre-cum escapes, I feel her latch onto the head and begin sucking—the force behind it is like a vacuum that even NASA would pay extreme money for. Instinctively, my body resorts to flailing and jerking till… agonizingly… the sensation comes to an abrupt halt.
“Did you get these scars that night as well?” All my ‘scars’ were from that night. I nod with a simplistic response. The lack of words and longing she has me experiencing right now is conjuring a feeling of guilt that it wasn’t enough. I can’t even prepare myself—I sense the tip of the blade, the sting like angry bees on defense, she nicked my cock, drawing forth, what I can only imagine was a small trickle of blood.
I feel the warmth as I slide deeper down her throat. The soft touch of her lips while they hover, then a centralized heat rolling over me—I envision the little red stream vanishing with a swipe of her tongue.
Shivers dance up and down my spine, forcing my toes to, involuntarily, flex and curl. Her moaning penetrates my ears, a siren dragging me. Willing. To my end. Her lips barely leave my dick as she grumbles, the rasp in her voice weakening me even more, “Do you realize how wonderful you taste?” She skates the metal over me, and I feel the opening of a few more old wounds. “Let's see how much you can take.” Whispering against my erection, I can feel hermenacing smile hidden behind the words she speaks. The cool breeze spiraling and clashing, her groans vibrating, intensifying the sensation. Warm. Wet. Silken.
This feeling alone, “Oh, my gods.” The words spring from my mouth before I'm able to bite my arm, an action that may have prevented me from sounding foolish. Like a feather, her hair sweeps over my stomach.
With a firm grip, her hand grasps my sack. The other one guides the tapered metal. The image my brain paints as it is trying to follow her movements is that of the knife becoming her medium of choice, doodling with it like an iron quill pen—my blood being its ink. Drifting it over my thighs, she hits all the responsive bits, a direct connection to my soul.
Gratification rises. The proximity closes. I am completely and utterly at this goddess's mercy, as her beauty tries to force it all to happen too quickly, so I try to distract myself. Convincing my mind to focus on irrelevant things: Sifting through the Rolodex of knowledge I had on knives. Reciting their names, qualities, and uses till my brain jumbles them up, “Little dove... you need to... slow… down.” She swallows me, her nose presses to my lower stomach, the head of my cock slamming the back of her throat. “D-d-dove e-easy.” I stammer through deep breaths.
An incredibly audible pop startles me, tearing me away from my ineffective attempt at being distracted. "You okay there-” My ability to hear her is muffled by the euphoria. A ringing from the sheer pleasure I can no longer keep at bay.
The Frigid draft. Lustful popping. All mingled together. Topped off with the prickle of awakening that followed the dismount of her swollen lips—it was too much—I couldn’t fight it. A rush of mysenses disables me further as I explode. "Well, I'll never say you're a bad shot ever again.” She laughs heartily while haphazardly removing my blindfold.
I burst out laughing... I had shot her directly between the eyes, covering her pretty little face like those glazed doughnuts she used to love.
