There is something about it that just excites me.
Blood, well my own that is.
It is a kink that came as total surprise to me. The first time he made me bleed he took my hand and wiped it across my bottom and then showed me my own blood on my hand. My reaction was intense, powerful and consuming. I wanted to wipe it on my face but instead I just stared at it, fascinated and appalled. I was hooked.
I am a hugely visual person when it comes to my kinks, I love bruises and marks, I love taking pictures of them, I love watching myself getting beaten and/or fucked. I like watching myself masturbating. I love seeing him cum on my skin. I love seeing my cum on my skin. I love seeing the wax, I love my tattoos, I love it when he draws and writes on me, whether that is with a pen or a knife, I love them both.
I have thought about my blood kink a lot and when you think about all those other things I love then really blood is no different. In fact blood is maybe the ultimate visual mark. It stamps its name with its bright red signature, there is no mistaking it, it is unashamed of itself.
I have fantasied about him tying me down, arms outstretched like a crucifixion. The blade would be razor-sharp, glinting in the light as it pressed it up against the soft skin of my arm. It would only be a little nick, just enough to split the skin and I would watch as the blood formed a perfect red bead before breaking and running down my arm. It is torture, blissful blood-red torture. I want to reach out the run my fingers through it, smearing it across my skin but I can’t. I am tied. I must watch, we both must watch. Just writing that makes me want to reach between my thighs and make myself cum.
I don’t know if we will ever do this. It requires some thoughts about hygiene and also scaring which is not really something I am looking for but maybe in the right place with the right blade it could still be achieved. Maybe.
My love of blood has evolved to include my period too. I used to hate the damn thing but having a partner who is utterly unphased by it has given me the space to look at it with more forgiving eyes. Those eyes have as time as gone on turned to be excited by it. I still can’t say that I enjoy my period, the cramps, the bloating are all fucking annoying, the blood has become something I find visually pleasing. It represents life in its rawest form, there is something beautiful and powerful about it that I find hugely sexy. One day in the not too distant future I will reach an age where I will no longer menstruate. I never ever thought I would say this but that makes me sad and I think I will miss it and mourn its passing greatly. (Warning, bloody images below, scroll quickly or leave now if blood squicks you out)
“I’m a fountain of blood. In the shape of a girl.” ~ Björk
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