Drawing Blood

The air in the room is very close, due to the amount of heat let off by the candles. I can't see them because I have been told to keep my eyes shut. My lack of vision, together with the air, which is slightly too warm produces an odd feeling of claustrophobia within me. I can hear your footsteps moving around, but I don't open my eyes, not even for a second. I hear you wander into an adjoining room, and for a brief moment I am left alone. I am straddling a chair in the centre, my arms are wrapped around its wooden back and bound there, and my ankles are fastened to the legs. I hear you return, you are behind me, and I sigh softly as I feel your body press into my back, were I not tied, I would lean myself back into you. Then I feel your arms slowly snaking over my shoulders, your left hand gently takes hold of my chin, and with your right, you press something cold and flat onto my lips. You ask me if I know what it is. In my mind, I have already decided that I will not betray any emotion, and so I simply say that it is something made of metal. You move around the front of me and crouch down. I know that your face is very close to mine, but still, I keep my eyes closed. You say nothing, but my lids almost flicker open, and I draw my breath in sharply as you oh-so-gently touch the blade of the knife to one of my fingertips. This time it is sharp. The adrenaline starts coursing through my veins because somehow I know that this time you are not toying with me. I want to open my eyes, but I don't, and as you stand and move behind me again, I grip my hands onto the chair back. You start to brush my hair around my neck, and I begin to shake my head, no, no, no, I don't think I can do this, I say. I plead with you a little, I'm not ready and I mean it. But then you pull my head back by my hair, not harshly, but firmly, and I melt. You whisper simply into my ear, yes you can...When you pull my hair that way, it always takes my breath away, sends a shiver down my spine, and any words freeze in my throat. When you pull my hair, sometimes I think I'll do anything. You brush my hair over my shoulders and I press myself hard into the back of the chair. First, I feel you stroking the flat of the blade against my skin. The coolness makes me shiver, and then I feel the sharp edge of the knife in the centre of my back. A small cry escapes my lips as I feel you slide the blade a little way down my spine. It barely cuts my skin at all, but cut into it it does, and I bite my lip at the sharp, thin pain. My heart is beating very fast, and my head feels a little dizzy. And then you do something that takes me by surprise. I feel your tongue flick along the cut and then you move around, pull my head back and kiss me. I am sure I taste a little blood.