The Blood is the Life

I haven’t written my blog in a week because I’ve been busy living it. My wife laid down the law when I tried to post after our first scene last week: “You can write about it, or you can do it. That’s your choice this weekend.” Naturally, I haven’t looked back.

It’s been a long weekend with a lot of experimentation. New things. Old things done in new ways. And…

Complete, absolute submission and ownership. For one, beautiful moment, I felt myself disappear and her control become absolute. For five or ten minutes, it was perfection.

(If you have problems with blood, skip this post. For the rest of you, more after the jump.)

I got in to town Friday afternoon and had a good time with my wife and daughter. By evening, I was pleasantly relaxed. My daughter got put to bed and my wife and I sat on the couch and watched TV, talking. After an hour, my wife and I started flirting, one thing led to another, and she went into the kitchen and got a carving knife.

We’d been talking about knifeplay, and here it was: zero-hour. After this, we were either going to do it or throw it aside. Did I trust her enough to just let her cut on me? Did she have the skill to do it right? How would this play out?

She knelt over my lap, my arms were spread to the sides, and my shirt taken off. The knife wasn’t particularly large, but it looked viciously sharp. She asked me if I was ready, her beautiful blue eyes glinting, her hair a deep scarlet in the light. She was smiling. She put her weight on my lap, pressed her elbow into my arm to hold it steady. She kissed me, deep, passionate kisses. She started biting my tongue, chewing on it, the pain intense, my head swimming in the abuse.

“Yes, please, cut me.” I said.

She dragged the knife across my shoulder and it didn’t draw blood, even though it hurt. Just a scratch. She looked at me, her eyebrows raised. I said, “You can…you can do it harder.”

Her face was a model of concentration, her lips pursed in thought, her eyes squinting as she focused on the next cut. She pressed down hard, and I felt my skin give. She pulled the knife away, and we both looked. Nothing. Then, an instant later, a line of scarlet appeared. My wife’s smile lit up. I couldn’t believe how excited she was, how happy — like the proverbial kid in the candy store. She’s a mystery to me, when she’s dommeing me, and this was no different: I had no idea the level of excitement she had.

She leaned in and kissed the blood. Then, she licked it. And then, she bent in and began sucking it. Her mouth was open, her lips sealed around the spot on my shoulder, and her tongue was licking wound as she sucked, and I swooned.

Swooned doesn’t describe it. When she began sucking the blood, I got high. My head started swimming and I felt like I was on the best drug in the world. I gasped. I couldn’t move, just lay there, as she sucked my blood out of my body. What the hell was this? What was going on?

She lifted up her head and the blood was flowing freely. She kissed me so passionately, and then dipped her finger into it and told me to suck. “How’s it taste?” she asked, and I couldn’t answer. Then, she licked my wound again and began kissing me, the blood in our mouths mingling. The coppery taste flooded my mouth, and her kiss was so deep, so intense, so needy. “I own you. I have your blood in me. It’s mine.”

I couldn’t answer in anything but repetition. “You own me,” I said. “You own me.” I felt like nothing. I was pinned immobile, my shoulder aching and stinging and her mouth on it, and for one moment, her control was absolute, total, my existence hers totally. Soccer-mom wife who’s never read a vampire book in her life was leaning in, drinking my blood.

“I am so turned on,” she said. “I never thought it would be like this.” All I could do is sigh as she dabbed in the blood, licked the wound as the blood-flow stopped. I lay there, high, owned, marveling at my own lightheadedness. I know it’s all psychological, I know there’s no sexual pleasure to be had from having your blood flow from a knife wound. But there I was, reeling, drunk, stupid.

“Come to bed,” she said. “I’m going to suck your dick and swallow your come. I want everything you have to give. I want all of you…your essence.”

“Yes.” I said, dumb.

“Does it disgust you?” She asked at one point, as she let my manhood flop against my belly midway through the blowjob. “Your blood and come in my tummy?”

“No.” I said. I stroked her hair as she returned to business, and a moment later I was coming. “You own me. You drank my blood and you own me,” I moaned as I came.

She came back up to me and wrapped me up in her arms, and said, “Yes.” She looked me in the eye, so happy and joyous, the same smile on her face as when she hears a pretty song or sees something happy. “Yes,” she repeated. “I do.”