Because the Night

“It’s always nice to see you. You are a good friend.” Pressing harder on him, she looked straight into his eyes and whispered, “Red, red, red.”

She rose from his lap, her eyes blazing with wild, uncontainable energy. Her chest heaved with each breath as she reached into her bag and retrieved the knife. Holding it up, the blade caught the dim light, reflecting in her eyes. Without breaking eye contact, she drew the blade across her arm, a deep crimson line blossoming against her pale skin.

He watched, transfixed, as the blood began to flow. She didn’t flinch, her gaze intense and distant, as if she were leading him into another realm, a place he felt compelled to follow, her eyes vacant yet inviting.

Slowly, deliberately, she leaned over him, each drop of her blood falling onto his chest like warm, crimson rain, its heat seeping into his skin and sending shivers through his body. He gasped, a mix of fear and arousal clouding his mind.

As she lowered herself, her tongue flicking out to taste the mingling of his sweat and her blood, he felt a surge of electricity course through him. The warm, metallic tang of the blood mixed with the salty sweat created an intoxicating blend that sent waves of pleasure through his body, making every nerve ending come alive. He moaned, his hands gripping her hips, urging her closer.

With a predatory smile, she pressed the knife into his hand, guiding it to his own flesh. “Red, red, red.” Trembling, he followed her lead, drawing the blade across his arm, mirroring her wound. The pain was sharp, electric, and he cried out, his voice a mix of pleasure and agony.

She brushed the tear from his eye and tasted it, caressing his hair. She leaned in and said, “It’s always nice seeing you.”

She moved down, her lips finding his fresh wound, her tongue dancing across the cut, tasting his blood. She sucked at the wound, the warm, salty liquid filling her mouth, her eyes closing in ecstasy. He watched her, mesmerized, his own pain forgotten in the haze of shared sensation.

Their bodies intertwined, they moved against each other, blood smearing across their skin. She reached down between her legs, her fingers slick with her own fluids, and brought them to his mouth. He eagerly sucked her fingers clean, the taste of her arousal mingling with the blood on his tongue.

She moaned, the sound vibrating through her body as she leaned down to kiss him. Their lips met in a frenzied dance, tongues exploring, tasting, sharing their mixed fluids. The kiss was raw, primal, a desperate connection that went beyond mere lust.

Suddenly, she stopped and said, “REWIND.”

The word echoed, and suddenly, everything reversed. The sensations, the pain, the pleasure — everything pulled back like a tape on rewind.

His vision blurred, and he was thrust back in time, the present fading into memories. He saw her, the blonde woman, in various places he had been over the years.

Three years ago, walking down a crowded street, he saw her out of the corner of his eye. She was behind him, her gaze fixed on him with an intensity he didn’t understand. His cock twitched, hardening as he felt her presence. He went home and jacked off, her image in his mind.

Two years ago, he was at a bar, nursing a drink. She was there, across the way, her eyes never leaving him. Their gazes met, and his cock hardened instantly. He had to rush home to relieve the aching need she stirred in him.

A year ago, he saw her at a different bar. She approached him, her smile enigmatic. They talked, her voice smooth and soothing. She bought him a drink, whispered in his ear, and touched his arm. The touch was electric, making his cock painfully hard. He barely made it home before jacking off, his mind filled with her.

Months later, he kept seeing her, always just out of reach. Each time, his cock would swell with need, and he’d find himself masturbating furiously to the thought of her.

Every encounter, she would say, “It’s always nice seeing you. You are a good friend.” And each time, he repeated it back, “It’s always nice seeing you. You are a good friend,” falling deeper in love with her, his heart and cock both enslaved by her presence.

Back in the present, the memory of her voice and touch lingered. The trigger had been planted long ago, waiting to bloom.

He remembered the first time he truly met her. In a dark alley, disoriented and drunk, she appeared. Her blonde hair was a halo under the streetlight. She spoke softly, her words weaving into his mind, planting the trigger. Her hand on his arm sent a jolt through him, making his cock throb with need.

She leaned over him again, her eyes locking onto his. “You remember now, don’t you?” she whispered.

He nodded, memories flooding back. She had been watching him for years, setting the stage for this moment. Now, as she pressed the knife to his skin, he knew there was no escape. He was hers, to destroy.

He grabbed her wrist, pulling her close. “It’s always nice seeing you. You are a good friend,” he said, then grabbed her hips and bucked hard into her.