The room had been transformed into a shrine for the sex goddess and an altar for her sacrifice. Smells of sweat, lust and saliva reigned the air. Sounds, rich and vibrant though subtle, slithered and squished with minimal moans to accompany them. Curtains flowing rhythmically in the air, following the movements in the center. Ghosts, reflections of earlier encounters projected on the wall, watching like antique woven tapestries, but invisible. Beyond the walls perhaps an audience, a thousand followers adoring the goddess, wishing for her gifts of unique pleasure and experience. Beggars but no priests. No one was allowed to directly call on the goddess. For to name her was to tempt fate, to play with your life that was hers to destroy.
All attention was on the sacrifice's movements, first allowed to enter while on top. The goddess patiently enjoying, waiting for her moment to strike while the motions continued. Pleasure deep inside, both in anticipation and caused by the friction of a not-disappointing member, sliding in and out of her body. Eyes glistening with intensity, waiting, planning, looking at each strand of hair or piece of skin that was offered to her.
Positions changed, a surprising, but not unwelcome twist in the thread of fate. Legs moving, ankles pushed until the lamb entered from the side, holding one of the divine legs up, thrusting his member deep, rubbing perfectly over the g-spot. It got the desired token moan of appeasement with the first plunge, an extension of his sentence. As long as he could keep her, me, amused it would all be well.
But I knew my stamina would outlast his.
The goddess was me, all of this revolved around me. It made me feel strong, alive, intense and almost immortal. No matter how much would change in the world, this moment would always be mine. His movements became a little slower when he actively tried to avoid an orgasm. It was time to set up the final elements of the event, but I needed a little help. This was my first time after all, a virgin in what I was about to do.
A simple, suitable idea entered my mind that, once spoken aloud, delivered results beyond initial assumptions. He eagerly allowed me to blindfold him (just a blindfold, nothing else) laying both patient and impatient on the bed for my hips to lower on his. I made sure that the blindfold would cover his eyes completely but not be so tight that it would leave any marks. It made the following a game I knew I'd love to play again.
The interesting thing about having him blindfolded is that it gave me incentive to play with him for his pleasure as well. Licking along his body, tasting my own juices and taking my time to make sure he was ready. It was a little redundant to clean his cock of my sap, but I had always enjoyed the taste of my own lust and, as this man was going to be my victim, he could at least grant me the honor of licking the reflection of our carnal urges off his body. Such I did, with great pleasure. My tongue travelled all around the sensitive skin of his erect shaft, teasing the extruded skin around the head, feeling the shivers travel up and down his spine. It was all done with care. His orgasm would have to wait until the perfect moment.
A moment that was nearing soon.
Grabbing the knife unnoticed was easy enough, especially with his blindfold. It was no challenge to unwrap it from the cloth, take it in my hands and hold it ready. It was actually a little too early to hold the knife, I realized later, as one shift of his blindfold would betray and spoil my plan. But this time, this first time, it didn't need to be perfect. I was still learning. The moment he had been waiting for since I covered his eyes approached. He felt my legs against his, my hot, moist vagina rubbing his member. A gasp as I finally lowered myself on top of him, his shape pushing my labia apart, gaining entry by the pressure of my hips. He slid in with almost no resistance, the wild coupling before playing some part, but the sudden warmth for the both of us was glorious. Then, slowly, I started to move, holding his hips down as best I could. He stayed almost perfectly still.
The goddess was pleased.
Movements, moans and menace increased. My eyes were burning inside with desire, I wanted to orgasm so badly. He was not far off either. I could feel the tension building up in his body, feeling the tsunami that was about to be unleashed. The dagger was in my hand, the tip in my mind glistening with a single bead of crimson already. Around me, unheard drums were feverishly swelling up to a crescendo, the adoration for the goddess growing, the desire intensifying, the time approaching. His face changed, the trigger of orgasm having been pulled, all that happened now was inevitable.
My hands plunged, aiming well.
The bed broke.
The legs of the bed had given out just a fragment of a second after my knife had pierced his chest. For a single moment, as the bed changed from purely horizontal to slightly slanted, it felt as if I was an angel, flying in the air and taking the life of this sacrifice. I was the goddess and her messenger. But all of that wasn't enough to stop the other thing that had been building up and was dying for release.
My own orgasm hit.
The tremor started in my toes and fingertips, still holding the knife, and travelled up my legs, my arms at a record speed towards my chest. There, it was like my vagina and heart were fully connected for a single position in time. That short-circuit caused an explosion of electrical proportions that shivered through every nerve of my body all at once. Muscles tensed and relaxed. Deep inside of me that glorious sensation that I desired so very, very much was set in motion. The incredible sensation of pressure moved from my chest to my stomach, then below and a thick but clear fluid was pushed out of my body at an impressive speed. It burned my senses like a marsh-mellow at a campfire, the flames serving only to make me sweeter, tastier and hotter. I joined his scream, a deep guttural scream of covetousness craving. His for life, mine for lust. A disjointed synonym in the realm of existence.
It had been so much better than planned, better than expected. My orgasm had caused me to collapse almost on top of him, my hands still holding the knife down, stuck deep into his chest. He had stopped moving, and, deep inside of me, I could feel the difference in his penis. No heartbeat. It was a few more moments of riding the final passing waves, before I wanted to raise my hips. The room was suddenly silent, disconnected from the intense realm of the gods and with bland, untapestried walls. All the ghosts had gone away, the show was over. All that was left was for me to draw the curtains, clean up the left-overs and go home.
Exactly what I was going to do, except the curtains.
This was when I found out something that I would learn from. The wound had only bled a little, held back by the pressure of the knife. Internally, there had probably been plenty of bleeding, overflowing in places it shouldn't, but it barely went outside. My hips lifting and releasing his manhood made little difference. My hands moving away, however, did. It was so red, thick and intense. When the knife was fully extracted, the blood flowed, but slowly. Even in this boring light, the bordeaux liquid had a glow that just drew the eye. With a whiplash from my mind, I came to my senses enough to do my own thing first before I would waste time staring at his blood.
The air changed.
While some of it was still the thick, musky smell of sex, it got replaced by blood and bleach. Especially the latter did not exactly inspire eroticism. It was a small job to clean his body, leaning down as it did. The bed, apparently, had it's own adventure while we fulfilled ours. The ride on his body so close to the rear supports had proved too much, they had collapsed with only a sharp crack. The timing of it had been... interesting. While I dressed, removed the blindfold and made sure no other trace of me remained, I tried to recall how it had felt to be without support for just an instant. The sensation had definitely helped by making it more exciting.
Not a flawless attempt, but good enough.
With not a sliver of regret, but instead the warm glow of a recent satisfying orgasm in my whole being, I left the apartment behind me. The building was quiet and strangely appropriate considering what I had just done. Life would all just go ahead like normal the next morning. People would walk past his door not knowing what had happened behind it. In a way it was sad, that people lived their lives ignorant of those around them while still feverishly following the news from places far away. So man opinions on things they had never touched, felt or seen, while ignoring the neighbours plight.
The streets were a bit clammy. Rain had fallen, puddles tainted the ground as much as the wet fog teasing the air. It muffled sound somewhat, making the city appear even darker than normal. But there was no one, no others while I walked back to my car. It was all just a memory already, his house, the feeling of the knife into his skin. It all paled in comparison of the reason behind his sacrifice. The goddess was pleased.
The engine revved like a purring kitten when I started it, reflecting my own satisfaction. Even the seat felt like a little blanket filled wicker basket I could just curl up in. It was already late, or early depending on the point of view, and it would soon be considered Sunday. I took a moment to decide if I wanted to sleep now for only a few hours and go to bed on time, or if I wanted to lay in bed as long as I could, even throughout the day. The guy had worn me a little bit, in a good way. The option seemed clear enough. At home, the heating was turned on, books and a glass retrieved for next to my bed and time was taken for a quick shower.
I slept like an angel.