Crimson And Ice

White mists swirled, enshrouded the figure slowly ascending. Gossamer clouds or was it material billowed and then clung alternately with each step closer she took. She was silent, no soft padding of bare feet, no rustle of cloth, she seemed almost ghostly floating across the stage. I leaned back, my eyes never leaving her as my fingers slid along the arms my chair, I was anonymity among the shadows and it pleased me utterly to be such.

Her hair spilled down along her back, shimmering curls which shivered with each sway and step. How I adored the way the light danced through her gown, so that each sweet curve, from her shoulder, to breast, buttock to thigh captured my gaze in various moments her journey from left to right and then turning towards me. And she knelt then, lifting a slender parcel to her breast, her fingers danced along its edges for a long while before they plucked at a ribbon which bound it.

I lifted slightly, as though in craning my neck, I could somehow speed her discovery its contents. Never one for delaying any moment, her small smile and slow movements tormented me cruelly. I longed her face, her response, her reaction, not a small smile, which seemed to tease me excruciatingly.

And did she sense that, for in a moment a small bundle was extracted, set before her and then slowly the material parted.

I heard the gasp, from here, in my shadows and it made my eyes fall closed in pleasure. That was the reaction, that was the sound I ached so to hear, the very one I knew would issue from her crimson lips and yet I'd been in torment all this while waiting for that which I'd created coming to be.

With two hands she lifted it, brought it to her lips, brushed her cheek against it, and another gasp was offered to my thirsty ears. I felt my fingers grip the edges of the seat, felt my own throat tighten in want to answer those sweet sounds. Instead I breathed, inhaled and didn't the air seem to sweeten with her perfume as I did.

Her eyes parted; the fingers her right hand tightening, gripping the handle as she slid the blade along the curve her throat to her breast. I knew those eyes, piercing in one moment and at peace the next saw nothing of me, and yet. How they seemed to look right through me, past the cloaks and covers, past the bravado, past the pain, she looked to the very depths of my soul and never once turned away frightened. How vulnerable I could find myself when caught in her gaze. Even now, even when plunged in darkness she sensed me, or was that just my need to be validated, that I thought it so.

Soft lips, silvered pink parted and then glistened as she licked them, I could see her chest lift, more rapidly now as the blade continued to dance over her material clad flesh. She moaned, eyes slipping to close as she gave herself over to the sensation. Or was it more, was there some deeper thing occurring within her even as I sat oblivious and mesmerized and enthralled by the serpents flickering tongue, cold, sharp.

She gasped as the knife slide along her belly and I could see her back arching, breasts lifting and crimson, seeping in a thin though rapidly bolding line across her belly. Her cheeks grew flushed, lashes fluttered but remained closed and a slow stain of pink splashed over her throat. How I longed to trace my tongue along her, tasting her, my fingers gripped the wood harder as my jaw clenched and I allowed myself a moment to emerge fully in the sensations she brought forth.

She next traced along the swell her left breast and I saw her brow furrow some as she pressed, and a louder gasp and then low moan issued and it seemed her thighs began to tremble beneath the gown that hid nothing. Desire tugged hard at me, trying to over ride any compulsions other than running to her at that moment, tearing the gown from her pale flesh and ravishing her. Instead my hands slid to my thighs, nails raking flesh, eyes unblinking as she writhed before me.

I all but groaned as she ran the flattened metal along the top of both breasts and then with both hands slid it down the length her body, partially rising as it descended with aching slowness its journey to her parted thighs. No cloth inhibited its return to her sweet lips nor did her aching sighs seem muffled as they hovered about my ears.

The cloth fell away from her with but a few quick flicks and again those icy orbs seemed to seek me out once more. A slow, wicked smile tugged at her lips as she lifted one slender wrist in the air. The knife hovered and then plunged, caressing her so intimately, leaving its mark permanently upon her before coming to rest, lifeless once more. And did she seek to slow or stop the flow her essence then, no, she only brought it to her lips and sighed once more, oh I shall never tire the sound of that!