Xzandria sliced her fingertip with the razor point of her boot knife. A drop of crimson welled upon its tip, wet and thick. She winced, sucking the digit into her mouth. The folds of her heliotrope robes quivered slightly like vaginal lips. Her eyes grew glazed, and she swayed to some internal rhythm. Then, she removed the finger and gazed at the sanguine fluid as it rose again to bead on her fingertip, loving it so.

My eyes were drawn to it like a flame-the darkness of it against her pale skin-it was so blood red, so beautiful and red: red like her soft, full lips, her painted toenails, her nipples; red like the inside of her beautiful cunt. All these things I wanted to kiss, to taste, to place in my mouth, to swallow and ingest; her blood I wanted too, more than hunger, more than desire, like an instinct I could not ignore, an obsession. I wanted so bad to taste it, to drink it, to lick it dry, and watch as it welled again. It was as if I'd never tasted blood before-yet I had-my own. And I had experienced a strange and awful pleasure from it-

But this was her blood... the vital substance that flushed through her heart... The forbiddenness of it made me delirious; made me ache in the tender void between my legs: Her blood... Her life... beating into mine; I wanted so to nurse from her finger; to quench my thirst with her dying...

Her eyes locked onto mine. She pointed her finger to me. The blood flowed unstaunched, oozing down her finger to her palm. She pressed her palms together, as if in prayer, then spread them before me. They were stained like a henna ink blot. I could see whorls and designs, dark creatures painted by her blood. I thought of how they would feel against my nakedness, those bloody hands, flowing over my stomach, my breasts, smearing me, painting me like a canvas. I pictured my body split wide, skin peeled back like the skin of a grapefruit, my organs glistening and warm, her elbow-deep inside of me, slathered in my blood-

Oh!... She would be so beautiful bathed in my blood.

Xzandria began to lick one palm, as if to clean it like a cat. I thought for a moment I heard her purr. I felt a shiver through my nipples as I watched, her long tongue lapping slow and sensual, her lips painted in her own blood, glossy, wet... All the time her eyes remained locked with mine, as if silently saying, 'Mmmm, taste so good. Do you want some?'

It was perfect torture watching her, wanting my tongue to be hers, wanting so to taste her... I felt her absence upon my lips, in the back of my throat, my teeth itched against my gums as if straining... Her mouth moved wetly over her hand, sucking the fingertip, circling it with her tongue, licking it, loving it with her mouth, penetrating it deep into her wetness like a cock impaling a cunt.

I felt pain, a raw burning, then realized I had bitten my own lip while watching her; I could taste my blood, feel the difference of its texture upon my tongue, the taste of alkaline batteries, thick and salty and metallic. Her eyes seemed to acknowledge this, they seemed to laugh silently, to speak to me knowingly.

Then she came close to me. The blood still oozed from her fingertip and she bent my head back and laid it upon her lap. She raised her finger over me, and squeezed the tip, so a single perfect droplet spilled out and fell to my lips. It splashed heavily upon my mouth like a drop of rain, and my tongue snaked out to lick it away.

Her blood was different, dark and smokey, and I opened my mouth to capture another drop. I tried to lift my head to her fingertip as it hovered only inches from my face, but she held me fast by my hair. Then she touched me, running her finger down the length of my nose, drawing streaks of red upon my cheeks, dotting my forehead, tinting my lips like a bruise.

I felt as if it were a sacred ceremony, a blessing, or a sacrifice. Then she lifted my head, and hers moved closer, her fragrant breath upon my skin, and she kissed me. Her tongue swept into my mouth, tasting the blood. She sucked on my bitten lip, pulling it into her warm mouth. Her finger slipped inside, and press my tongue flat like a tongue depressor, as if searching for my throat.

Our blood mingled, like the blending of fine grapes, mine sweet, hers smoky and rich. I gagged, swallowing, wanting to drink until I could drink no more...

Yes, yes, yes, my precious...

Xzandria removed her finger and replaced it with her tongue. I sucked it as if it were her clit, thick and swollen with desire. I could feel the cold steel blade as she slid it under my blouse and cut the material from my breasts. It was shockingly cool, hard, and I could feel my pussy throb with delicious excitement, even as I was filled with fear. She crooned softly, like a mother's soothing voice to ease the fears of a child. The blunt edge of the blade slid slowly up over my skin, pressing hard enough to dent my flesh. It circled the undersides of my breasts, and pushed through the deep valley between them.

She pulled away from me then, so she could gaze as my exposed breasts. I could see the red stain of her bloodied palm, feel her warmth as she touched me softly, massaging my full breast. I closed my eyes and moaned, my lips falling apart. She grabbed my breast fiercely, and squeezed, as if milking sweet fluids from my depths. I winced, and again tasted blood as my teeth pierced my bottom lip for the second time. Tears welled, and crept from my tightly squeezed lids.

"Look at me." she demanded, as she jerked at my hair and pulled my head back. A shock of pain pulled deep at my roots. My eyes sprang wide.

She was so lovely, so dark and pale all at once, her eyes the color of smoldering amber, her lips as red as wine, her skin impossibly pale against her inky hair.

"I want you to watch as I pierce your flesh." she said, in a calm, smooth voice, as if she were talking merely of ordinary things. "I want to watch your expression as I cut you, and I want you to see my pleasure and desire for you color my eyes. You must not move, or think to stop me... do you understand?"

I nodded. I could find no voice with which to speak.

She then smiled, showing her small, yet brilliant teeth beneath the crimson of her lips. The smile was not of humor, but ominous, and her eyes gleamed wetly like whiskey in a glass. She picked the blade off the floor beside her and lifted my breast in her hand, squeezing. My nipple was thick and swollen and strained up towards her. She pressed the point of the knife against it, and I felt a quick, sharp pain pierce me. I saw colors of dark shadow explode behind my eyes, and my eyes rolled back into my head. I would have passed out if she had not slapped me across the face.

My eyes fluttered open, and I looked down at my nipple as she pinched it. Blood oozed forth and spilled onto the pale flesh of my breast. Her eyes were hypnotic as she watched the blood flow and I could hear her breath in quick little gasps of excitement. Her tongue snaked out between her lips as she wetted them unconsciously.

Then she descended upon me and grasped my nipple in her mouth. The blood pumped from my breast, her wet warmth enveloped me. The slow pressure of her mouth was exquisite, as she suckled, swallowed, suckled, swallowed, drinking in my essence. I looked down at her dark head, her ebony hair falling like silk around her face. She was oblivious to everything, but her mouth on my breast, the warmth of my blood gushing down her throat, as she pumped my full flesh with her hand.

My heart beat hard against my chest, straining with the loss of fluids. It was as if she nursed my blood right from the pumping fist inside of me, and I ached so deeply, with such fierce pleasure.

Xzandria lifted her head then and laughed, her voice sounding dark and hollow in the cathedral room. Her mouth was smeared with my blood, and she looked absolutely demonic. Her tongue flicked in and out of her full soft mouth, as if tasting the air. Strands of dark hair stuck to her damp forehead and neck.

She slid me off her lap and laid me on the floor. My arms she spread wide and my legs parted. It was then I noticed the leather shackles, and knew of her intent. My fear of being bound and helpless far outweighed, my fear of being mutilated. It was ridiculous, but now, I would surely be at her mercy, and it was a thought I could hardly bear.

The leather was warm and organic against my wrists. She pulled the shackles snug, then adjusted the chains that fastened them to the floor. With her small knife, she sliced my skirt and black hose from my legs. Slowly the point of the blade slid up to uncover my most secret of places. I feared she might slip and cut me there, yet I wondered too what it would be like. She secured my ankles then stood.

I noticed a soft, eery melody in the room for the first time, so faint, yet I wondered why I had not heard it before. It had a slow melodious rhythm like the sound of monks chanting. It hummed low and moved through me until I was sure that the music was internal.

She lit many candles, blackberry and wine, and the tall room glowed and flickered softly, moving shadows in and out of the corners, like specters awaking from the dead. She peeled away her long solferino robe and stood naked before me, scenting the air with her delicate sex. I observed a strange pentacle branded into the center of her torso, just beneath the breasts where her solar plexus would be. The flesh there was pale and smooth and shone like wax. She placed the candles in a circle of light around me, then removed a small highly decorated box from a nearby shelf. From it she drew a tiny bottle of liquid.

She bent over me and opened the bottle. A spicy aroma filled the air. My nose tried to pick out the mixture of essence oils I detected: patchouli, sandlewood, yang-yang perhaps; yet there were many others I could not identify.

"You must trust me." Xzandria whispered close in my ear as she began to anoint my body with the oils. "If you wish to become, then you must be properly sacrificed first. Do you understand."

I nodded, even though I was sure she meant to kill me.

She anointed my crown, my forehead, my throat, and each nipple. Her touch was feather light and fleeting. I could hear vibrations moving from her throat, and humming inside me grew deeper. She then anointed beneath my breasts, my navel, my mound of public hair, each palm and the soles of my feet. She stood, seemly satisfied with her work and removed a small jeweled blade from the contents of the box. It glistened it the candlelight, throwing off fractured fragments of light in all directions like a prism.

She began to dance, slow and sensual, her naked body writhing and contorting. She held the blade over her head, and the beat of her step quickened with the beat of my heart. She danced faster and faster, circling my prone body, spinning in dizzying twirls around and around, her hair flying out around her, her back arching gracefully, knees lifting, toes pointed. Her hands held the knife and they too became an intricate part of the dance, slicing at the air, plunging and soaring. Her hands moved like birds in flight.

I felt myself becoming hypnotized by her movements. My head lolled to the side and I could no longer follow her with my eyes, only catching shadows of her dancing over me. I felt a dizzying intoxication, as if I'd been drugged. The room seemed to reach ever so high above me, and I felt dislocated, as if I watched my body from a far-off distance.