oooh okay so i’m not sure if this counts as a soft bitch take on this in some incredibly fucked up way, which is obviously the opposite of the point, but you know me so here we go. (edit: i’ve come back to this after i finished it to say this is absolutely not a soft bitch take on this, i have no idea what the fuck this is, but it’s really fucking long and i’m so so sorry.)
but girl who knows exactly what you were doing, she obviously can see through the mindfuck here because that’s the fun of this one, it’s so painfully obvious.
so she doesn’t say it. and sure, it might not have been exactly how you were anticipating this going. you were expecting her to say it, all soft and fearful, so that you could keep going, so that you could fuck her harder and watch her eyes widen in shock and then water with betrayal. you wanted her to say it so you could squeeze her throat until her eyes roll back in her head, and then keep squeezing, until she’s there, limp and unconscious under your hands, under your weight. just for a moment or two, of course. you’re not a monster after all. no, just enough to be able to get a good look at the expression on her face as she comes back to herself, confused and glassy eyed, brittle in a way that you’re certain that you’re the only one who has ever seen.
that’s what you had wanted.
and first it pisses you off that the stubborn little bitch hasn’t given it to you. so the next time you have her panting and whining and avoiding your fucking eyes underneath you like always, you up the ante. it’s an endurance game now, she just doesn’t know it yet.
so when you lean over her to grab something from the bedside table, she gives a little gasp that almost makes you laugh. she thinks you’re grabbing a toy for her, something to make her mindless, turn her into a whining little pet for you. it’s happened before, and every single time, she looks at you with red cheeks and shy eyes for hours afterwards, as though the only thing she can think of when she looks at you is the way she begged and cried.
but that’s not what you’re going for, not tonight. so when she registers that the click she hears is your knife opening, she blinks pitifully up at you.
“how many times do you think i’ve fucked you like this?” you ask conversationally, even as you give another thrust of your hips, angled just so to make her choke on a gasp as she tries to speak.
“like what?” she asks, voice low and uncertain.
“with you hiding from me? closing your eyes or looking away so that you can tell yourself that i didn’t see the way you fucking love it.”
and the poor thing, she doesn’t know what to say. she seems to correctly assume that there’s danger here, but she’s not sure what it is. she’s watching you warily even as you don’t stop fucking her, even as she lets out another little mewl with each thrust.
“what do you think, huh? ten? twenty? a hundred?”
she still doesn’t speak, but you see the moment that she decides her course of action. she rocks her own hips to meet you, clearly her own attempt at distraction, but it feels fucking good so you let her do it, you give her a moan so she thinks it’s working. you even close your eyes, tilt your head back, give her the visual she loves, because there’s nothing she likes more than getting to watch you without feeling your eyes on her in return. but it only lasts a moment until you feel her nails biting into your shoulder, pulling you down to kiss her again. you let her, of course, licking into her mouth until she moans, just so you can pull back and say against her lips, “put your fucking hands down.”
she does, and you watch how they shake.
she flinches a little when you lean down and anchor yourself overtop of her with one hand at her throat and the other on her chest, letting you hold the knife like a pencil with the tip scraping over her collarbone.
“we’ll start with ten,” you say, watching her eyes go wide in fear.
and honestly, trying to do this while actively fucking her isn’t really the way to get the cleanest lines, but this isn’t about that. this is about a running tally, so when you make the first cut into her delicate skin, you’re not that worried. it’s not deep by any means, nothing dangerous, especially considering that they’re not big slashes. just short little tick marks, less than an inch long. just enough to get you a little welling of her blood.
when you look at her, she looks fearful but she hasn’t said anything, hasn’t asked you to stop, hasn’t said the words you’ve wanted all along, hasn’t even hissed at the sting you know she’s gotta be feeling. baby girl doesn’t like being hurt and you know it.
so you lean down and lick the thin line, just to scandalize her, and it works because she gives you a shocked little noise. she tastes like yours but you don’t tell her that. she’d like it too much, and that’s not the name of the game.
the funny thing is that she still reacts to the motions of your hips, still sighs or whines when you move, but you’re distracted now, so there’s no rhythm, nothing for her to anticipate or get used to. it’s mostly little flexes as you move over her, but it’s enough to keep her wanting.
but not for long, because that was just the first slice. the second one gets you a hiss of a breath from her. the third one gets you a minuscule little whine. the fourth one gets you a soft “please,” and that makes you pause.
“what is it, honey? you want more?” you already know the answer, but you can’t give it away.
she shakes her head like you knew she would and you make a comforting noise back at her. “that’s okay, you know what to say to make me stop.”
and the best part so far is watching the wheels in her head spin. because she knows. she knows you’re giving her these marks no matter what and she’s not going to give you the satisfaction of knowing that you did it after she told you not to. so she resolutely keeps her mouth shut, and you give her marks five, six, and seven, just a little deeper than the first few.
she lets out a hopeless moan and this time there’s no pleasure in it. you’re fucking hurting her and she’s letting you, all out of some misplaced sense of pride. and when you look at her face, her eyes are closed tightly enough that you see the tears gathered in the corners. you give her chest a smack with the flat of the blade and it smears the blood there, all messy and claiming, all over her porcelain skin.
“none of that. you know we’re doing this because you’re scared to look at me. you’ll watch me cut you up or i’ll give you more.”
and sure, she’s too damn stubborn to give you the words you want, but watching her eyes fly open and the tears spill down her face is even better, because you know you’ve found an effective threat.
she keeps her eyes on you, wide and unblinking, save for her winces as you give her marks eight and nine. she cries softly the entire time, little sobs she tries to choke back, but you hear them getting trapped wetly in the back of her throat.
“almost done, honey, unless you want to back out now,” you offer, all sweetness and honey in your voice, even as you give her another swivel of your hips, the one that usually makes her choke on a shout.
she doesn’t even answer you, but she hasn’t looked away.
tick mark number ten is almost anticlimactic in its simplicity because she gives you absolutely nothing. she’s still sobbing a little bit, but there’s no dramatic sense of relief, no big moment when she realizes it’s over, when you drop the knife on the pillow next to her.
and the listless look in her eyes is what reminds you that yeah, you’re still fucking her, because god, she looks fucking incredible with nothing behind her eyes. so you pick up the pace in earnest, taking your own pleasure from her body while you smear your hand all over her collarbone, covering her and yourself in the blood that’s still trailing from her little wounds.
“you look so fucking good like this, wearing a necklace of all the other times i’ve had you shy and fearful,” you tell her, moaning when she doesn’t say a goddamn word, doesn’t blush, doesn’t look away, doesn’t do any of the things she usually does. because she’s not there, she’s fucking gone from this, from what you’ve done to her.
but it’s not quite enough.
“i’m gonna sign you like an artist, baby. i always do. every girl that’s ever let me cut them up gets my initial on them like a goddamn masterpiece.”
you grab the knife while her brain sluggishly tries to process your words, the shock and pain and fear making her head slow and dazed.
she doesn’t react as you carve your initial into her skin, and that’s even hotter, so when you’re finished and you throw the knife down to grab her hips and yank her down to meet your thrusts because fuck, you’re gonna come just like this, using her broken body while she’s not even there at all.
it only takes a few more thrusts before you’re coming, spilling inside her with a groan that matches the rush of blood pounding in your ears and it’s only when you come back to yourself that you realize she’s fighting you. and fucking shrieking.
“i consent to this, i consent to this!” she cries, a high pitched, hysterical note to her voice.
you pull out of her immediately and gather her up in your arms. pulling her to sit sideways across your lap while you hold her like a baby.
“shh, sweetheart, you’re okay. i’ve got you, i’ve got you. you’re okay. you’re safe now, baby, it’s over. it’s all over, baby.” you tell her, pressing soft kisses to every inch of her face.
and it’s only by chance that you catch the look on her face. it’s the look you wanted from the beginning, from the instant you told her what you wanted her new safe word to be. the way her face absolutely shatters with betrayal, with shame, with the realization that she could’ve stopped it all along, if she didn’t let her pride and stubbornness get in the way. the realization that she endured all of this, every cut, every mark, the blood smeared everywhere between the two of you, every single agonizing second and she could’ve stopped you whenever she wanted? (it’s a lie, but she doesn’t know that.) and it breaks her completely and she dissolves into huge, wracking sobs in your arms, pushing you away with clumsy hands even as you hold her tighter.
“that’s it, baby girl, get it all out. i know, i know, i know, you were so scared, weren’t you? poor, sweet baby, you’re safe now. you’re safe with me.” it’s an absurd thing to say in this moment, but the soothing tone of your voice helps settle the sobs still making her tremble in your arms.
it takes a long time before the tears stop completely, and you get just as much pleasure out of watching her slowly put herself back together as you did watching her fall apart.
when she finally settles, her eyes are huge and lost and fucking exhausted and it looks good on her, and you know you shouldn’t ask, but you want confirmation on something.
“what did it, sweetheart? what broke you?”
she narrows her eyes as much as she can, even though it’s totally incongruent with her tear stained face and defeated, crumpled posture. she doesn’t answer you, so you go out on a limb.
“i lied, you know,” you tell her casually, watching her face closely. “i’ve never put my initial on anyone before.”
she closes her eyes and inhales deeply, visibly collecting herself even as you let her pretend it’s all in the name of recovering from her whole ordeal. but she doesn’t have her emotions locked down, not so soon after the overwhelm of what you’ve done to her, because her lips turn up at the corners, just barely noticeable.
you can’t help it, you laugh while you pull her closer and stand, carrying her into the bathroom to clean the blood from her chest and your hands.
“god, baby, you’re almost as fucked up as i am.”
