A shy public reference librarian, and a college dropout who was disowned when she refused to submit to conversion therapy, encounter each other in a bookstore. He's been waiting his whole life for her. Meanwhile, she's starting her whole life over...
Contains description of intense needle, scalpel, and knife play (see section 7 for the more detailed warning)
Oops! This image does not follow our content guidelines. To continue publishing, please remove it or upload a different image.
After what feels like an eternity of lines being engraved into me, none of which bleed, and most of which put me just this side of another orgasm, for all that they hurt, he puts the scalpel down at last. "If I use this much longer, I'll make it dull, and that won't do," he says. "Not for this." And then he pulls another blade off the tray and shows it to me. This one is not disposable. It looks like it has a sharper edge, too. "This is a Liston knife. In medicine, it's usually used for sawing through bone. I don't use it for that. I use it for bloodletting. I find it a little more sensitive and precise than my fleam, although it's not appropriate for finer work, such as cutting sigils, brands, and designs into flesh. That requires a very sharp surgical scalpel." He puts it against the left side of my neck, directly on the pulsing vein. Or is that my carotid artery?
I draw in my breath sharply.
"This would be a remarkably inappropriate place to cut. Which is why I won't cut you here." The blade slides down, slowly and gently, to the center of my chest, just between my breasts.
And he presses down, parting my skin as he cuts. A sudden pain burns coldly where he has slashed my chest.
"There. That's what I was looking for," he murmurs; then he lays down the blade, puts his mouth to the surface wound he made over my heart, and drinks me in.
As he drinks, my chest grows cold, in contrast to the soft warmth of his mouth and tongue. Then the rest of me grows cold. The room spins around me. It feels almost pleasant. Don't faint. Don't faint. If you faint, you might slip, and then you'll tear yourself off the chair. Don't faint...
Oops! This image does not follow our content guidelines. To continue publishing, please remove it or upload a different image.
