Jan 042014
 

The implements are familiar. I held them often (years ago) in an air-conditioned studio that smelled of something faintly clinical.

But this feeling is foreign — I never loved the flesh that was my target nor the blood that I evoked. The air is anything but clinical — it’s hot, heavy, and dense with equal parts anxiety, arousal, and isopropyl. I love the flesh, I want the blood, but I’m uneasy about it all.

I ask him if he’s ready because I am not so sure. He is stoic and nearly still, save for the subtle throb that accompanies his pulse.

The forceps are cold and clumsy in my hands, but his flesh is warm and familiar. I forgo the clamp in favor of my fingers — they know him better, love him more, and hold him best.

I shine light through him and he glows around haphazard capillary lace. That’s my spot — mine. I love the flesh, I want the blood, but I’m anxious and unsure. I examine him from a dozen different angles when there are only really two. I’m stalling and he knows it — his visage breaks, revealing his unease.

His uncertainty and willingness to trust me all the same — that was all I needed.

Muscle memory kicks in. With the needle in hand, my cunt clenches and my heart seizes with the feeling — it’s overwhelming, but familiar — it’s love of flesh so strong I might break it with desire.

I press the point against his skin at an angle, not to penetrate, but to elicit a reaction. He sucks breath sharply. I hold mine and hesitate for want to make the moment last, to prolong suspended tension, to enjoy the complement and contrast of he and I together.

I adjust the angle and with the slightest pressure, there’s a nearly imperceptible dull pop — a sensation of breaking through — so slight I’m not sure if it’s real or it’s imagined.

The tension breaks too soon — I wish it required more, lasted longer, or meant as much as what it represents. It’s symbolic action, imperfect imitation, performance of emotion for which there is no ideal expression.

It’s love of flesh and want for blood. His.

Mine.


“Buon San Valentino” © 2011, by Aldo Cavini Benedetti. Creative Commons Attribution-NonCommercial-ShareAlike 2.0 Generic (CC BY-NC-SA 2.0)

  14 Responses to “love of flesh; want for blood”

  1. Lordy, that’s hot!

  2. Wonderfully evocative piece of erotic writing. Bravo.

    In case you ever consider publication of your blog may I respectfully point out a Freudian slip:

    The text should read

    “…not to penetrate but to elicit a reaction.”

    Oh, the illicit pleasures of a domme’s life!

    • Wonderfully evocative piece of erotic writing. Bravo. In case you ever consider publication of your blog [. . .]

      Thanks, GOS, for the kind words and for the editing. :) While I’ll never pursue more formal publication of what’s already here, I HATE typos of any sort… so I appreciate you pointing one out. :)

      I’m really good about remembering to check effect/affect, but I always forget to check illicit/elicit. Ugh. Bad writer… bad, BAD!

  3. I have to admit that I find the very thought of needles, and blood to be entirely cringe worthy, but you made it sound absolutely lovely! A wonderful post!

    • Thanks, Slapshot. :) I’m always aware that people might cringe at the idea of blood play, I forget that just the idea of blood and needles (even without a ‘play’ aspect) makes people cringe! Needles and blood never bothered me… as long as I can see the needle going in, I’m fine. I guess it’s a control issue? *shrug* Or maybe I’m just weird… :)

  4. Frightening and arousing all at once. Either I’m wired incorrectly or you’re on to something. I think it may be the latter. And maybe a bit of the former too. Oh well. Either way, I quite like it.

    xoxo

    • Frightening and arousing all at once. Either I’m wired incorrectly or you’re on to something

      Ha! I think we’re all wired a little funny, or perhaps, we’re all quite normal and just never talk about it. :)

      All the same, thank you for the kind words!

  5. I didn’t know you did bloodplay! One of my favorite things. The only bad thing about when whatever you’re using takes more effort to break the skin… is it usually is 10 times worse for the bottom. Now that isn’t always bad for *me*. But my bottoms have expressed a distinct lack of love for the duller needles/scalpels/suture needles. :D

    • The only bad thing about when whatever you’re using takes more effort to break the skin… is it usually is 10 times worse for the bottom. Now that isn’t always bad for *me*.

      I completely understand what you mean! The whole thing was too quick, too easy… I wish it would have required more and lasted longer. Ah well… there is always tomorrow and we can always do it again. :)

  6. I’m with ‘slapshot’ here. Never had any inkling towards needle play but You’ve made it quite arousing and sensual. This is writing at its best.

    • Never had any inkling towards needle play but You’ve made it quite arousing and sensual. This is writing at its best.

      Thank you so much, James. I appreciate the compliment. :)

  7. Beautifully written!

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