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Of all the times to get your period, this had to be the worst.
Light glints off the knife at your throat, heightening the fear wrecking your body. You can feel the sickening wetness between your legs. Too cold and too much to be anything except your monthly curse coming to plague your life. Ironic that your last moments on Earth would be accompanied by the breakthrough bleeding of an early period. How pointless. The humour of the situation isn’t lost on you, and the only thing stopping a giggle from bubbling out of your mouth is the terrifying presence before you. The grip on your arm is more than bruising; it feels harsh enough to break the bones beneath your flesh, but you don’t thrash. The icy blue eyes glaring down at you are more than capable of keeping you locked in place. Black and white outline the man’s figure, and it doesn’t take a genius to figure out who he is.
Bullseye.
You’d seen him on TV before, getting carried away by police, chained to the teeth like a wild animal. The cameras hadn’t done him justice. They failed to capture the broadness of his shoulders, the way his lips would stretch into a deranged grin at the sight of blood and, more importantly, how handsome he was. Only now, with his face mere inches from yours, can you see the length of his dark lashes and how they bring out the blue of his eyes in a piercing, yet breathtaking way. The shape of his lips, currently locked in a grimace, makes your heart pound with something other than fear, much to your own discomfort. The blade presses deeper, and a dribble of blood runs down your neck, staining the collar of your dress.
“I saiiiiiid…” Bullseye leans in even closer, and you smell the heady scent of cigarette smoke and whiskey on his breath, “Where’d your client go?”
Your client. A wealthy old man. Sweet and hardly pushy for someone with so much power in this city. It’s not something you were proud of, but between your student loans and rent, you rarely had a surplus of money and being a sugar baby wasn’t the worst gig. You could dress up nice, eat at fancy restaurants, and get held at knife point when your ‘date’ pushes you to the floor as he runs away. Another breath hits your face as Bullseye huffs impatiently, tongue sliding across his dry lips as he waits. The movement makes your knee jerk, fear mixing with a disturbing arousal.
“I don’t know, he just took off running.” Your voice is barely a squeak, but you manage to hold it steady as the hand on your bicep squeezes slightly more, “I’m not his secretary…”
“No shit, dollface.” Bullseye rolls his eyes back so far you’re left staring into off-white for a moment, “But I think you know something, maybe you remember where he liked to bend you over?”
You feel your eye twitch at the crass statement, “I never fucked him, and I sure as hell don’t know where he ran off to. I was too busy picking myself up off the floor.” You mumble, half-hoping he doesn’t hear you and half-hoping he does. If the guy was going to kill you anyway, why bother to be polite?
“Yeah, I saw!” Bullseye cracks a grin, eyes crinkling, as if remembering you getting body slammed was particularly joyous for him, “Oh well, too bad for you.”
He yanks you closer to him as the blade slices a bit deeper, sending hot blood cascading down your neck. You cringe, eyes closing tightly, not wishing to look at the cause of your demise. Bullseye is practically pressed against you as he goes in for the kill. A hard, spandex-covered body provides stability for your shaking form. Then, he pauses. A moment passes slowly, dragging on with each audible breath that leaves your lips. The knife pulls away from your throat, the cold metal tapping against your inner thigh instead. Your undignified yelp echoes around the (now) abandoned restaurant dining hall, and you hear Bullseye let out a low chuckle. Through squinted eyes, you look at him, but his gaze is focused elsewhere.
Bullseye’s staring at your legs, specifically, at the thin trail of blood running down your inner thigh. In the haze of panic, you think he’s started slicing at you elsewhere, intent on drawing out your agony. Upon a brief inspection of your thigh, though, there’s no evidence of a cut, but you feel your heart sink to the bottom of your stomach. Why can't you die with dignity? Were you going to die covered in period blood and actual blood? What a cosmic joke. The gloved hand holding the knife grips your knee, forcing your leg to spread out. Out of instinct, your own hand grabs onto Bullseye, attempting to stay upright as he ruins your balance. You’re both still staring at the red dribble, and you watch with morbid horror as Bullseye walks his fingers up your leg. He whistles low as they reach the hem of your dress, pinching the fabric with a creepy amount of gentleness and sliding it upwards. You feel your face burn as Bullseye slowly reveals more and more of your skin, following the trail of blood all the way to the source. He practically purrs once he finally reaches your blood-soaked panties, ripping his eyes away from your clothed cunt to give you a wink.
“Can’t say I’ve ever had a woman have this reaction to me.” You watch as Bullseye’s tongue darts out to wet his lips again, “You know what they say… Old enough to bleed, old enough to breed.”
You physically feel your eyebrow quirk upwards at his words, confusion and disgust battling the growing sense of dread in your guts. Before you can even think about asking if he was going to let you go, the knife is pressed against your skin again. This time, the blade is poking the junction of your thigh and hip, right by the waistband of your panties. With a flick of Bullseye’s wrist, the fabric is sliced through, and you shiver as the air wafts over your soaked sex. Your panties stay hooked on your body, hanging limply by your thigh, and the reality of what’s about to happen starts to dawn on you. Bullseye shifts his grip so he’s holding you by the flimsy strap of your dress as the knife flirts with your sternum, lining up to slice down the middle of your garment.
“W-Wait!” The blade stops tracing the skin of your chest for a moment, and relief washes over you.
Until you look at Bullseye’s stupidly handsome face.
His pupils are blown wide, a heated darkness enveloping his cold irises. “What? Don’t you want to live?”
Your eyelids flutter at the implication, and Bullseye takes advantage of your speechlessness. His hand holds your dress taut as the knife rips the dress in two, snagging your bra as it goes. Your arms come up on reflex to hold the fabric to your body, attempting to keep your dignity. It’s in vain, a simple low rumble from the man’s chest and your limbs drop, the threat of death hanging over you as he pushes the material aside.
“Wow…” Bullseye wolf-whistles loudly and you wince, “With a body like that- hell, I’d be a hooker as well!” He laughs in your face as he appraises you, eyes greedily taking in every curve and contour of your naked and bloody frame.
“... I’m not a hooker.” Your words fall on deaf ears as Bullseye wraps an arm around your waist, hoisting you over his shoulder with surprising strength.
Your fingers grab at his belt, head spinning as your top half hangs upside down. Your legs kick wildly until a gloved hand smacks you on the rear. The hilt of the knife makes contact with your ass as well, and you’re not so stupid as to understand the implied threat.
“Good girl- you sure learn fast, huh?” The pride in his voice makes your stomach flip, and not in a wholly unpleasant way.
You watch the floor as Bullseye strides across the room, eventually stopping at one of the many tables. A shrill clanging echoes out as he swipes the cutlery and dishes from the surface, making a nice space to slam you down on. Blood seeps from the cut on your neck, dropping onto the wood as Bullseye makes himself at home between your legs.
He’s even bigger like this. Looming over you with a sickening grin. You can clearly see the outline of his cock in his suit, hard and straining against the fabric. The wave of arousal through your body only makes you feel worse, pussy clenching around nothing as Bullseye hums thoughtfully.
“Where do you think I should start?” Bullseye rubs his chin in mock contemplation, eyes flicking between your bloody cunt and the mess of gore at your neck.
It takes a moment of silence before you realise he genuinely wants an answer. Your brain runs at a million miles per hour, before you shakily point towards your crotch. In your mind, the sooner it starts, the sooner it’ll be over, and maybe, he’ll let you go.
“I’ve left you speechless? Now that is a reaction I get often- don’t worry, I’ll have that throat working again in no time.” The ‘reassuring’ smile he gives you only sends a shiver of fear down your spine.
As if you hadn’t made a suggestion at all, Bullseye leans down, breath wafting against your neck as he breathes in deeply. His entire body vibrates as his tongue swipes over the drying blood on your collarbone, and you wish it didn’t feel so nice. The heat of his mouth is almost soothing. The soft and wide licks clean your skin, and once Bullseye reaches the cut he placed, his lips kiss at the wound, lovingly. He lets out a moan into your neck as his tongue traces the ragged edges of the cut, covering it in a thick layer of saliva. Your hands tighten into fists at your side as you fight the urge to hold his head there, to enjoy this far more than anyone should. Bullseye doesn’t notice, or perhaps, he doesn’t care. Too lost in his own perverse enjoyment of your body. He sucks at the cut, pulling more blood into his mouth like a vampire as you blink away tears, the wound stinging as it’s abused. Bullseye doesn’t pull back until his face is soaked with blood and spit, eyes tracing the bruise forming around the cut as his hand wipes the mess from his lips.
“Fuck… you taste so sweet.” He says, drunkenly, as if he just chugged a bottle of wine rather than a cupful of your blood.
You can’t look at him, despite how much you want to. Your eyes trace the ornate ceiling instead, a poor attempt at dissociating from the entire situation. Huge hands grabbing your waist, the feeling of fabric against your inner thighs. It fades from the forefront of your mind until you feel something hot and blunt against your pussy. Bullseye’s suit is apparently a two-piece, allowing him to free his aching cock from the bondage of spandex without exposing himself entirely. A luxury not afforded to yourself, completely bare for his viewing pleasure. Before you can stop yourself, your eyes fall to his shaft.
It’s thick, long and throbbing. Under different circumstances, you’d be thrilled. It’s the kind of cock that even the mere memory of it would have you wet, the kind of cock that you think about late at night when the city finally sleeps. You bite your lip, half in anticipation of pain and half in anticipation of pleasure. Bullseye doesn’t move. He just keeps his cock pressed against your bloody sex. His fingers twitch on your waist, almost like he was thinking about something and hadn’t quite come to a decision yet. Your eyes find his face, and that seems to trigger him to move, but not his hips. A thumb slides over your clit, rolling the sensitive bud with careful consideration. Despite the lack of foreplay, the blood covering your sex allows for ample lubricant as he plays with your cunt.
“Come on… I know you want to enjoy this- just like me.” Bullseye goads you, lips forming a smug grin as heat starts to radiate from your pussy, “Don’t you want to be good for me?”
His words only make it harder to hold back the moan that wants to escape your throat. Each pass of his thumb feels better than the last, if that was even possible. Your thigh twitches as he picks up the pace, sending a wave of pleasure through your body that finally releases the noises trapped in your chest. As the first moan slips from your lips, Bullseye juts his hips forward, pushing the head of his cock into your tight hole with a groan. The sudden stretch makes you mewl, legs wrapping around his sturdy hips as he continues to press into you.
“Taking me so well. Be honest,” Bullseye leans over you, one hand still playing with your clit as the other holds your hips steady, “This is definitely how you saw your night going, right?” You can barely focus on what he’s saying as his cock brushes against a particularly sensitive part of your anatomy.
“I mean, letting some guy defile you for a payment,” Bullseye is practically babbling, fingers bruising your hip as your pussy swallows more and more of him, “I know the reward in this situation is your life, but let's be honest, money and life? Practically the same thing these days.”
His hips are finally flush with yours, and you take a shuddering breath, the feeling of fullness outweighing the disgust rolling in your stomach. Bullseye barely gives you a second before he starts a punishing pace, pulling out nearly completely only to slam back into your pussy with a wet squelch. He fucks you as if he hates you. Each thrust is merciless and cruelly aimed at the most sensitive spots. Your hands find the confidence to move as he practically fucks you off the table, coming up to grab at his shoulders, if only to stay in one place. Any type of silent treatment has long since been forgotten, moans falling from your lips with such frequency that it's practically just one long, continuous stream.
“Told you I’d get that throat working. Not so uppity now, are you, whore?” The insult only makes you clench around him, mind fully given into depravity.
Your mouth opens to say something, maybe hurl an insult of your own, but “F-feels soooo gooood.” is all that comes out. Much to your disappointment and Bullseye’s glee. The thumb on your clit doubles its efforts again, almost like a reward for your honesty.
An orgasm starts to build in your gut as Bullseye ruts into you, each sickeningly wet slap of skin against skin only heightening the waves of pleasure. Just as you’re about to dive off the edge and revel in oblivion, a hand squeezes tight around your throat. The grip is enough to jolt you from your haze, focusing once again on the man above you, who grins like a maniac. Bullseye’s other hand is behind your knee, forcing your legs to stay spread for him as his pace speeds up. Your moans and mewls are effectively silenced, and your breaths are laboured as your lungs struggle for oxygen, causing you to thrash beneath his heavy frame.
“That’s it… Look me in the eye,” Even with his cowl, you can see the pink blush of exertion on his cheeks, “Wanna see your face when I come inside you.”
You can feel his cock twitch inside you as he chokes the breath from your lungs. Bullseye’s thrusts become more and more sloppy as you shake, not from pleasure but from the lack of air. With one final, devastating slam of his hips into yours, he moans, and those pretty blue eyes roll back in his head. Despite how wet you already feel, Bullseye’s load inside you is distinct. It’s burning hot and right against your cervix, pressing nearly uncomfortably into the already sore organ. His grip on your throat finally relinquishes as his hips stop grinding into yours, and you pant, gasping for air as your lungs burn. Bullseye pulls away from you, softening cock slipping from your stretched pussy, covered in blood, slick and his own spend.
Every part of you aches, and you hope for one stupid moment that it’s all over and he’ll finally let you go. That hope turns into mush as Bullseye drops to his knees, hands grabbing your waist and yanking you to the end of the table. You’re far too tired to care, body limp as he pushes your legs apart again. His tongue flattens against your clit, and the heat of his mouth feels searing compared to the quickly cooling fluids covering your sex. A moan works its way from your ragged throat, thighs twitching as he lavishes your pussy similarly to how he mouthed your neck earlier. Bullseye’s tongue is every bit as accurate as his fingers and cock, easily rolling your clit in a way that makes your mind hazy. Barely, you think he spells something out against your cunt, feeling the distinct shape of an ‘L’ over your swollen bud. The orgasm from before rises again with a fierce intensity, and it’s barely a minute before you’re cumming on his tongue with a pathetic cry. Bullseye is looming over you again once your eyes finally open, cool blue doing nothing to soothe the burn in your lower stomach. His mouth is covered in blood, and the sight should be horrifying, but all you can focus on is the way his lips quirk into a grin.
“Bet I’m a better fuck than that old guy, right?” Bullseye pauses, waiting for you to answer. You don’t have the strength. “... Well, I’ll take your silence as a yes.”
You blink at him before lifting yourself up on shaking arms. Bullseye doesn’t move as you slot your mouth over his, finally feeling those lips on your own. The taste of iron and musk makes the arousal in the pit of your stomach come to life again, your lips moving desperately against his. He doesn’t kiss you back, holding still as if he’s completely taken aback by your actions. After a few moments of a one-sided kiss, embarrassment sets in, and you pull away, avoiding his bewildered gaze. You stare at the bruises forming on your hips as Bullseye steps backward, awkwardly shuffling with his ‘pants’ as he grabs his discarded knife from the floor.
Neither of you said anything.
Soon enough, you’re sitting atop the table, alone and naked. Bullseye had long since left, not saying a word as he turned his back to you. Blood and cum leak from your pussy and onto the mahogany.
Definitely the worst time to get your period.