Shades Of Obsession

by JR King

  *

  Scary shit, truly, shock began turning my extremities into ice in no time. A hot tear welled up in my eyes, and hung at the crease of my lower eyelid. Others followed, united with it, weighing the original tear down.

  I watched as he drew a small blade toward me. Come to think of it, blade should have been my first clue. I’d always considered knives as an instrument, or a weapon. Grandpa had taught me how to cook, and knives were a sharp part of the equation. Part of cutting board preparations and carving. This knife was one of those pocket ones that folded sideways, with a short, wide blade, and it looked disturbingly sharp. The handle was black. It glinted shinily in the soft light of the room, but not as much as the steel. Perhaps, I concluded, it was titanium alloy. Grandpa and I had discussed such knives, and the ones that were sharpened like diamond blades. Too dangerous and sharp for his kitchen, he’d told me. He didn’t want scalpels in there. This one, I knew, was a dangerous knife. Somewhere inside me I couldn’t believe I had the presence of mind to think over such detail. Did it matter what kind of knife was going to cut you?

  Maybe it did, I don’t know.

  Alexander sat propped up against the headboard, legs spread wide and bent at the knees. I sat between them. He’d trapped my ankles with his own, a foot locked around each, shushing me as he drew my feet wider apart. One hand was curled possessively around my throat and the other held the knife. When he lowered it, I couldn’t see it because of the way he held my throat, and his hand was too big and strong as he forced my chin up.

  I cried all the way. The knife-tip was smooth and sharp. I felt it scrape against my pores as it traced my jawline. Felt his fingertips at my throat, stroking the skin there.

  “Why are you crying, little pet? Haven’t hurt you, have I? I got this.”

  Get it, then! The knife-edge flicked a strand of my hair, and I jerked back involuntarily. “You’re frightening me,” I wailed, fear getting the better of me.

  He was calm at my sudden outburst, all he did was pause and let me compose myself. “Ambiguity trumps catastrophe. Don’t move.”

  Out of the corner of my eye, I saw the silvery point follow the path of a tear, recently shed. I felt it go down my tear-streaked cheek and into my neckline.

  “Have I reached your limit yet?” he asked fervently. Maneuvering the cool metal below my collarbone, he trailed it toward the swell of my breast.

  I hissed, “Fuck you, you sick bastard.”

  “Ohhh, throwing a shit fit,” he breathed, as if it were the revelation of the century. “That means I’ve lost my edge. Cannot let that happen, can we now?” The hand around my neck unfurled and moved up to cup my chin. He raised my head. “You, little one, aren’t allowed to question my desires.” His cheek was against mine, faint bristles tickling my wet skin. Cool metal kissed the top of my breast, slicing the fabric of my dress en route to my nipple. Unable to control my breathing, the shallow, panicked gasps I took forced the tip to take a meandering trip.

  I rolled the safeword around in my head. Red. A stop signal. Any other color would do if I felt uncomfortable and wanted him to slow down, red would downright stop him. All-inclusive, the key substance to revoke my consent.

  “Are we there yet?” I felt the blunt knife-edge flick my nipple. I jerked back, deeper into his chest to get away from the blade. “Look at those wonderful breasts of yours, and those beautiful, magnificent nipples.” He chuckled, the sound anything but jovial as he ran the knife-edge around one and used the tip to flick it. “It would be a real shame if the blade slipped right now, wouldn’t it?”

  Consciously trying to relax, I darted my eyes from side to side and made a concerted effort to release the tension in my body. He pushed even more insistently against my nipple. I exhaled, only to feel strangely high the moment his pressing slackened off. My fear grew to a comfortable level, low enough to make a condescending observation. “What a measly threat. You wouldn’t dare mutilating such delicate flesh, would you? There’d be nothing left to play with,” I said with a smarmy, smart tone.

  He tilted my hand, shifted the knife, and caught a tear on the tip of his forefinger. “Brave girl.”

  I felt the blade playing with me, back and forth, and all I could think of was how easily it could slip and how much pain it would cause me. On the spot, I retracted with a whimper, “I’m scared.”

  I felt another flick against a nipple, then another, and another. “You’re so fucking right, not these sweet little berry-like nipples. I like playing with them.” The blade trailed upward, the knife-tip skimming the curve beneath my left shoulder. “I could mark you permanently as my own, baby. What do you think? What if I carve my initials right about…here?” The blade was poised above my heart. “Simple cuts into the skin. I’ll make it ornate, with a little curl at the leg of the A, just like my signature. Fancy, don’t you think? It will take time and calm to carefully form the letters and cut them into the skin. It will also hurt like a bitch, because it will be a deep cut. Like that it will heal and become an invisible scar, raised and ridged, and every time I’ll kiss your skin here, I’ll feel the ridges against my lips. Wouldn’t that be nice? Can you picture a permanent scar that reads AT?” I felt the pressure of the blade increase. “What do you think, pet? Should I do it?”

  I looked down, saw the blade throw off shards of light dancing over my skin. I tried remembering the boundaries he’d given me. No bloodplay, he’d said—right? His cock, which had only been vaguely awake before, was swelling and pressing into my back. What’s the word again? What’s the damn word he’d given me?

  I couldn’t remember.

  Fear hit my veins like ice, making my limbs stay frozen in place. In sullen resignation, I turned my head to the side and stared at a chest of drawers, staring at the nothingness.

  “No biting retort? I’m a man of my word. Elena, answer me, or else your fate is sealed.” His voice was gentle, but there was a thread of menace lurking beneath. The cold knife-edge slithered across my midriff, suffocating me. The only sound in the room was that of my fast, choppy breaths. “A shame.”

  RED.

  I reached out blindly, jogged his arm, only to feel the blade bite into my hipbone. “Red,” I cried, my hands losing the ability to grip. My eyes registered a pink patch of blood that budded against the fabric of my dress, watched it widen. Impossible to take my eyes off the ruby stain. To ignore the flare of pain racing out from the source of the bleeding.

  Alexander removed the knife and rotated me. Flattening my hands to his chest, he wrapped his arms around my shoulders. “See what you made me do? Didn’t I tell you to stay still?” He twisted his fingers through my hair and jerked my head. “Why didn’t you safeword earlier?” His jaw bulged as he clenched it.

  Kiss me! I wanted to feel the sensation of his warmth as skins united. Kiss me, I thought.

  Alexander Turner

  The Bloody Solution

  For those who haven’t frozen the book, yours truly is back. Must be infuriating to find out I wanted Elena in my playroom. Worse, since I had every intention of playing with her. Since it’s your funeral, I’ll let you in on a secret. It wasn’t intended for slave girls. There was a time when—right after I’d learned about slave girls—I thought a slave would be perfect for me. I collared one, and then I became sick with my sadistic self, sick with what I’d sired, and sick with her lame dependence on me. However, why should a grown-ass man tolerate creating a daily task list at the end of the prior day for his woman?

  I sat at my desk and woke my computer with a shake of the mouse. My gaze flicked to the sleek, ultrathin monitor, and I stopped dead in my tracks, grinning as Elena’s face filled the screen.

  Cheesy desktop wallpaper, you think?

  Hot young chick, methinks.

  With a determined claim of possession, my gaze slid over her features. The sharp lines and tight corners of her cheekbones, the deep color of her eyes, the plumpness of her lips…perfect face for a perfect job. If I let myself think
of it long enough, I could almost imagine her lips wrapped around my cock. Very unprofessional, I know. Full day of work ahead of me on Friday and, swamped between arbitrary meetings and presentations, I got to think a little. I had to endeavor guiding Elena to use a safeword, or else sexual play would be a moot point. She might as well have been a virgin. It was either that, or keeping Carina as an outlet on the side. Generally speaking, my consciousness was trained to cope with multiple girls. Don’t judge me, don’t be like that—parochial and frigging shortsighted. Stop throwing all these bricks on me, calm the fuck down and let shake them off so I can demonstrate my point of view.

  We all need a toilet to relieve ourselves throughout the day, some more than others. But what if there’s no toilet and you have a pressing need? You’ll find a discreet spot to relieve yourself.

  Note that you should never do this in a dark corner on the Las Vegas strip. Why not, you ask? Let me clarify, authorities will make you clean your own mess and cameras are allowed to film. Fucking Youtube. That’s all I have to say about that, back to men and fidelity.

  I was a busy man. I had liberal needs. Monogamy was one of those words that meant nothing to me—I never employed it, and never alluded to it. I was rather libertine with my affections, and if I made a commitment I never hid my affairs. Girls that committed to me were more in love with the idea of being able to claim a powerful, A-list bachelor as their own, nothing else. Throughout the years, infidelities were ignored in favor of lavish gifts. A handful of girls had even joked with me about the other women in my life, but most of them joined as a third party during lovemaking sessions. Men can love one woman, or ten, and still fuck a thousand others. It’s how we’re wired. To the ladies out there, while men do have a conscience, faithfulness for us is as ephemeral as a sun-streaked rainbow. I know how that sounds, rather unscrupulous and puffed-up, but in spite of this, it’s the truth.

  Now here’s where things get really mawkish. Not to sound like a pussy, but with Elena, however, I wanted things to be, well, real. To be different.

  No word could describe how it felt in my chest when I found her in my living room, heard her giggle, and smelled her perfume. Propped on her side, Elena was lounging on the floor in front of the sofa, snuggled like a child between a nest of pillows. Good choice and excellent pose, basic psychology came to mind. Her Fausto Puglisi sleeveless A-line dress was half-hiked until her butt, operant conditioning being rewards for positive comportment, punishment for negative behavior. Furthermore, as she bided her time her tone had remained respectful, her demeanor calm, her appearance flawless, her company soft and sweet.

  I leaned down until my lips brushed her ear. “Good evening, Elena.”

  “Tickles!” She giggled. “Good evening, Alexander.”

  “My friends call me Alex. It’s simple, two syllables. You may use it as well.”

  “We’re friends?” Her voice was uninflected.

  I let a hint of naughtiness tint mine. “I want to be lovers.”

  “That’s better.” Full lips glossed glassy, she licked them. “Make love and such.” I liked that she’d favored her appearance with a broad swath of periwinkle eyeshadow above each eye, and dabs of pink-colored rouge on the apples of her prominent cheekbones.

  I sucked in my breath and reached out to smooth her raven hair away from her face. “Look at me.” She tilted her face into my palm and my heart beat a little faster as her gaze focused. “I want to fuck. Hard, and extensively. For that to happen, you need to learn how to stop me.”

  Her pupils flared and her lips parted in a quick gasp. “Stop you?” I felt her pulse accelerate against my fingers that encircled her wrist. “Why?”

  I took the gloves off. Took my candidness to the extreme when I gave her the rules and the boundaries we wouldn’t cross. Things that were sensible: nothing involving role-playing and humiliation, nothing involving children or animals; nothing that could leave permanent marks on both our bodies; nothing with fire, blood—raider attached to this part, electrical current, animal equipment, medical instruments, breath control, urine or excrement. Maybe she strayed because she had to tilt her head back to keep meeting my eyes. I registered the palm of my hand contacting with her cheek, physical assertiveness in the heat of the moment.

  To be clear, this wasn’t bloodplay. If it were, I’d be using a stylus, not a knife. Write it down, google it, and stop being shocked. Knives, just like razor blades, I considered sadistic tools, and that’s why I always carried a knife in my briefcase. All my girlfriends had a love-hate relationship with it, I only had a love relationship with it. Easy to manipulate, stone cold touch, highly efficient.

  I know you’re wondering why I like this shit. Human beings are smart animals. Some nights, all I want from a girl is have her in proximity, and maybe strike up an interesting conversation with her. Other nights, I want to treat the same girl like the huntable, breakable creature she is. I knew Elena feared the blade, and was glad to see she endured it like a man. She didn’t try to pacify me in that pathetic, common way people react to a threat. Shy, coy looks, crying, biting a lip: things I couldn’t stand during play. It always astonished me how much terror, distress, and pain a person would suffer if they felt that crying and pacification had a chance of success. Only when the knife-tip skimmed the curve at the side of her hip, did it look like she was unable to control her breathing. The shallow, panicked gasps she took forced the tip further against her skin.

  Be it a little late, she managed to use her safeword. For beginners the inexplicable rush of endorphins divulges an odd chemistry into the bloodstream, and impending thoughts fall off the cliff. Experiencing her like this was a first for me. I didn’t use safewords nor did I have limits with lovers. The limit was the lover in question, the safeword her trust. She expected me to be sensitive, alert, perceptive, and even get it wrong at times. If I did get it wrong, we still both enjoyed ourselves a great deal.

  I closed the Italian Stiletto switchblade and set it aside. It was just a little nick, a dull red blossom staining the cotton weave of her dress. The high thread count fabric gracefully soaked the fluid. At first it pulled the redness into a star-like pattern, defacing it as the refined weave drew the dampness one way and the weft pulled the particles to another.

  Once Elena saw the stain, her gasps kept increasing in volume and her head fell back on my shoulder. Closing her eyes, she took a gulping breath, and exhaled harshly. To acknowledge her dilemma, I spun her around and admonished her while positioning her body. Then I crushed my mouth to hers to absorb her sound of shock. My lips cut off her protests, giving her a chance to rely on me. Her tongue caressed my lips before darting between them, not for long, though. She scrabbled at my pectorals to push me away.

  I waited for the flash of fear to disappear from her eyes. “Calm down, it’s nothing,” I cooed softly, though my intent wasn’t to comfort her. I placed my hands on either side of her body. I wanted to fuck.

  She rucked up the skirt of her dress. “You’re right, it’s just a little scratch, it’s nothing, Ale—,” she shook her head, “It’s nothing, point.” A red stain gleamed over her pale hip, and another bead of blood erupted, glittering like a ruby in the dim light.

  With a consolatory tone, and pun intended, I said, “I’ll cut you some slack.”

  I laid her down on the bed. Slowly I skittered my hand across her neck, between her breasts, pausing at her navel. I bent and sipped at it, gliding my hand down toward her pubic bone. The silk fabric between my fingertips and her skin was spoilt like milk.

  I allowed my lips to move over her flat stomach and over her protruding hipbones before sliding the curve of my mouth over my sin. Inhaling the scent of her skin and the citrusy copper aroma, I pressed my lips to the bloody smear to taste my misdeed.

  “Oh God,” she cried.

  “Not God,” I teased, watching her drop her head to the side in shame. My lips caught her ear, and I nibbled on her earlobe before trailing them down to the curve of her neck.
She felt so smooth, a hundred times silkier than a rose. “Elena?” My breath was ragged, jaw set with the tension of it.

  Her dizzying eyelids gave away how she was slobbering on the inside. “Yes?”

  I lifted my head so she could get a view of the blood on my lips, inching my mouth close to hers so she could smell my guilt. To my surprise, she wasn’t shocked at the sight of my perverse pleasure at her. Her lips smeared over mine, the startling act soon turning into a full-blown kiss that sent chills chasing each other down my spine. She kept moaning into my mouth as my tongue massaged hers with such delicacy that she couldn’t resist me. When she fought for control over my lips, I let her have it.

  “Wait.” I pulled my lips away from hers, curiosity in my eyes as they lingered over her features, which quickly morphed into viciousness when I moved back a little and she followed me. She invited me into another kiss, and I welcomed it.

  I could feel her shivering, goosebumps marring the smooth skin of her body as my fingers headed southward. The tips of my fingers trailed along her inner thigh, absorbing the warmth between her legs as they tried to find the source of heat. I knew what was coming next. I seized her harder when she fought and tried to rock her hips off my thigh. In fact, the imperious seal of my signet ring rubbed against the swollen nub nestled between her inner thighs, and she liked it.

  Civility left me and I let loose the animal inside of me. Gripping her behind, I pulled her against me, eliciting a small cry from her throat that went right into my mouth. My tongue became aggressive as hers swirled around it. She pushed at my chest in an attempt to dislodge, but she wasn’t able to move a millimeter.

  Shifting, she stopped kissing me. “Not…today.”

  Grudgingly, I let go of her and let her have a moment.