The first step is cleaning the knife.
She keeps a carving knife special for occasions like this, locked away in a drawer with her own psychological file. It shines when it’s unearthed, sharp, and rarely used, but Denise likes to clean it anyway. She likes to to be able to see her reflection in the stainless steel blade.
She looks beautiful, of course, wicked and striking. Attaining physical perfection is step zero, but that’s rarely, if ever an issue.
Step two is calling out, “Rhonda, you had better be ready in my room. I’m almost done.”
Tonight this is met with a groan.
“Oh my god. Hurry up. I practically have a blue balls right now. Just come in here and bang me.”
Rhonda doesn’t entirely understand all of the rituals involved, but her frustration and eagerness just makes stringing it out more delicious.
Step three is to enter the doorway, knife displayed prominently. It is tonight’s special guest. Denise knows Rhonda is happy to see it, because her fists curl into the blankets in excitement, and her face turns red. She has such easy tells.
“Such a trusting young woman, to be here all alone with me. You chose wrong, Rhonda. How does that make you feel?” asks Denise.
Rhonda gulps. “Scared.”
Denise smiles, predatory; the knife is close enough to her face that she can see her own glossy white teeth reflected back at her.
Step four is crossing over to the bed, and placing the knife down on a pillow. Denise sits down next to Rhonda and cups her face in her hand. They touch foreheads. Rhonda’s already heavy breathing is causing small pieces of Denise’s hair to scatter in opposite directions.
“What are you gonna do to me?” she asks.
“First I’m going to kiss you,” says Denise. She rubs her thumb under Rhonda’s eye gently, tracing the curve of the socket. Then, she plants a gentle kiss on Rhonda’s nose. “After that, I’m going to fuck you.” She kisses her on the mouth now, forceful and sexual and slow. Rhonda’s tongue is in her mouth, and her hands grapple for Denise’s hair. She pulls away – not yet.
The knife is in her hand, and then it’s at Rhonda’s throat. She moves the tip across Rhonda’s collarbone, over her dress.
“That’s it?” says Rhonda, playing along. Her hand is on Denise’s thigh with several fingers underneath her skirt. “What would you need this knife for if we’re just going to do the same vanilla stuff as always?”
“Oh Rhonda. Dear, sweet Rhonda. I don’t want to ruin anything,” says Denise. She puts the point of the knife on Rhonda’s chin. “Get on your back.”
She puts the knife down again when Rhonda complies, then straddles her partner, who is smiling in a dazed sort of way.
“Goddamn it you’re pretty,” she says. “You’re a little bit hard to look at.”
Denise leans down, and puts her mouth next to Rhonda’s ear.
“I have sculpted my body for maximum desirability. The lesbian hiding inside of you never had a chance.”
She presses a kiss underneath Rhonda’s ear. A shiver runs through her partner, vibrating against Denise’s mouth.
“Not fair at all, dude,” she says, as Denise puts her nose into the crook of Rhonda’s neck and inhales. She pictures it running with blood, mixing Rhonda’s familiar natural scent with that of copper, of a hunt, of dying prey.
Rhonda turns her head to the side. “I look good too, right?”
“I gave you a compliment and you didn’t return it. Not even like a ‘you sure look like a hooker I would kill on the side of the road. But less slutty than an actual hooker, like maybe a hooker who was being a whore for the first time when she was getting murdered – ‘“
“Oh my god –“
“I’m not just gonna be an ugly victim who doesn’t even make the nine o clock news!”
Rhonda is pouting.
“Victims don’t pout. You are throwing off my rhythm.”
“Your rhythm of not complimenting me.”
Rhonda’s modest yellow dress is askew, revealing that she’s not wearing any underwear underneath. Denise puts her hand halfway up her thigh. She kisses Rhonda.
“Just be patient,” she says after breaking the kiss. “Let me have my system.”
Step five is removing Rhonda’s dress. Denise unzips it slowly under Rhonda’s weight and helps her shimmy out of it.
Denise never gets naked on nights like this. She has to stay in the driver’s seat.
Rhonda looks so pale in the dim light of Denise’s bedroom, except for the red of her breast and her face. She’s still breathing fast, in the moment.
Denise’s breaths are even and slow. She is in complete control.
Step six is picking up the knife again. She leans over and presses the blade to Rhonda’s throat. She places the thumb of her other hand on Rhonda’s jugular vein.
“My pretty angel. You don’t even know what you’ve gotten yourself into,” she says, and kisses her with her fingers splayed across the knife handle. Rhonda bucks up against her, wraps her hand around the one pressing against her neck. She squeezes it hard as she kisses Denise passionately.
Denise moves her mouth to Rhonda’s chin, and then to her neck, kissing around her fingers, kissing around her pulse, kissing around the knife. She makes sure that her hickeys leave marks. Rhonda moves her hand to Denise’s head, pressing her into her skin.
“Fuck, Denise. I feel like I’m gonna die,” she says.
Denise raises her head, looks Rhonda in the eyes, and says, “Good.”
Step seven is pressing the blade, slowly, gently, until a thin line of red appears. Denise pulls the knife away as Rhonda hisses with pain, and kisses the cut, tonguing at the blood. Rhonda’s grip on her hair tightens.
“Is that all you’ve got?” she says, panting.
“Shhhh, pretty baby. I’m not done yet,” replies Denise.
Step eight is resting her ear on Rhonda’s chest, listening for her heart. It thunks, life giving, erratic. Denise could make it stop.
“Do you ever think about your heart?” she asks.
“Not really,” says Rhonda. “Do you?”
“All the time,” she says, picking up the knife again. She places it between Rhonda’s breasts, pressing down a little with both hands, but not enough to leave a mark. Just enough to imagine.
“Tell me more.”
Rhonda’s eyes are reverent.
“I wanted it, in every sense of the word, for so long, oh Rhonda, you tease.” She presses down a little more. The skin underneath is becoming paler. “I wanted to own it.” Finally – a little blood. Rhonda’s knuckles are white, fisted into blankets. “I wanted to hold it in my hands.”
Rhonda’s pussy is against Denise’s knee. It’s wet. Denise rubs her knee against it as she thumbs the cut she has made. A shiver runs down Denise’s spine; she can feel a climax starting to build.
“You’re terrifying,” gasps Rhonda.
“I know,” says Denise. She kisses Rhonda’s chest, brief affectionate pecks. “I’m almost inhuman.”
“Just think what you might have done to someone else if you didn’t have me, if you didn’t have this.”
“You’ve probably saved countless lives,” says Denise, thrusting against Rhonda. “Our great protector.”
“Oh shit Denise, I’m so close.”
Denise is close too. Warmth is spreading through her; she can feel her god hole filling just a little bit. She smiles.
Step nine is moving the knife down, down, until the handle of the blade is against Rhonda’s mound. The blade lines up with her belly button. Denise slides it up and down with one hand, flat against her skin, careful. Rhonda moans.
Denise’s other hand is around Rhonda’s wrist. She can feel her pulse. She could take it away so quickly. She could have Rhonda naked on a slab, cut down the middle, white and red.
Rhonda is making small whimpers, her face tense. Her forehead is sweaty; her heart is racing, racing.
“The heart stops for a moment when you come,” says Denise. She is panting too. “Let me stop your heart.”
She presses the knife down, making a thin cut. Rhonda gasps, and then comes, her body clenching tightly before it goes limp.
Denise puts the knife aside and kisses Rhonda on the mouth, her thumb at her pulse again, feeling fall back into its natural rhythm. Rhonda’s fingers are on her clit now, finally touching back, groping, and she almost died, probably. She made it happen.
Her orgasm is powerful, like impersonating a dead woman, like taking a life. It rushes through her entire body, and for a moment she feels complete.
She rolls off of Rhonda, her brain hazy. Rhonda slowly wraps around her, a little too tight. It feels nice though, contained and safe.
She’s probably getting blood on Denise’s clothes.
“You ok?” asks Rhonda.
Denise laughs. “Much better than ok.”
She turns on her side to face Rhonda, whose face is soft. She brushes her cheek with her hand.
“You’d look so beautiful dead, but I wouldn’t actually – “
Denise kisses her, because she doesn’t know what she is, or what she might do, and Rhonda doesn’t care. She loves her anyway. Denise doesn’t know if she’ll ever feel love, and doesn’t think she’ll ever be whole, but whatever this is comes pretty damn close to both.