Apr 22, 2023
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Yes, Steven, yes, feel the power of the blood. You must control it or it will control you.
I circle him slowly, and his blindfolded eyes still turn toward me, like a flower blindly following the sun. He cannot move his head far, not with his wrists bound above his head. His cheek meets his upper arm as I pass behind him, swishing the whip as I go.
I continue around, and he turns his face toward the other side, listening to the slight whisper of the leather tail against the floor and the steady, slow tap of my heels. How much of him at this moment is animal, instinctively following the sounds of danger... or maybe the scent of food, of my blood? And how much of him is intelligent being, calculating when I will strike, anticipating what I will say, and how to react?
I brush a gloved finger over his bare nipple and he moans, a sound that seems to send a vibration straight between my legs. He is so hungry right now, not for blood--he's had plenty of that--but for everything I have promised. Control, discipline, ecstasy, and release.
A fine sheen of red appears on his chest. His body still reacts much the way a normal 28-year-old man's would, only now he has only blood instead of sweat, only blood instead of semen or tears. I cluck my tongue. "Control the blood," I whisper, for that is what he is here to prove he can do.