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The pain starts with the rough chafe of leather against your skin, a triple loop pulled tightly and securely and fastened in place with skillful hands, your arms pinned above your head at first. Selfish, as routine dictates, yet merciful so as not to disallow circulation. It’s a minor thoughtfulness, but the moon overhead still chuckles at your discomfort as you flex against the belt binding your wrists together, a simple, pitiful restriction that stokes the fire in your core, and in his. The table beneath you is ice cold, but the heat of the moment is enough to have you feeling unbearably warm within seconds of being asked to part your legs.
The pleasure starts with two fingers, spreading inside you like a pair of scissors and thrusting just as deep, methodically curling against your flesh until you can only bite your lip and hope for blood. You shudder as his tongue works over your clit in smooth circles, your thighs twitching as you struggle to maintain a semblance of composure, a facade more for the sake of your pride than anything else. He smirks against your slit as you gasp and pant and beg for more, but you’re his pet today and he doesn’t have any intention of giving you what you want until you deserve it.
Your submission has Stein treading a fine line between curiosity and madness, and it’s a thirst that he’s always felt could never fully be quenched without going too far and dragging himself into a lapse of control. His fun, his twisted amusement, forcibly dampened and far beyond suboptimal, hangs over his head like a curse, and it’s endlessly frustrating, through all that he’s learned and lived, to have so many questions left unanswered. What is a thrill without risk? Where does the satisfaction stop and the regret begin? No matter how he turns and turns the screw in his skull, nothing ever seems to click into place.
And so he takes his time with you, knowing well that painstaking deliberation can be just as much a tool as the scalpel that he’s been dying to tease you with. He’d love to dissect you for real, but you’re his favorite, and he treats his favorites well.
His fingers press and prod, slick and warm with your arousal, and he imagines splitting you in two, right down the middle, hearing you scream in pure ecstasy like the masochist that you are. He imagines pulling the sharp end of a blade over your soft, supple skin, watching your blood bead at the surface and spill clean over the laceration. He imagines examining the clandestine depths of your soul, laid bare before his very eyes, presented to him as nothing but intimate, unadulterated lust.
The thought of it makes him shamefully hard.
Stein licks between his knuckles, flicking his tongue softly over your entrance and letting out a smooth chuckle when he feels you whine and squirm against him. You want to come so badly that it’s almost agonizing, knowing that he’s merely playing with you in the way that he would tinker with a toy, even though that’s exactly what you are to him, in a sense. And yet, there’s much to be said for the glee that lights up his face every time he leaves you dangling over the brink of release, and the unparalleled satiation that washes over you like stardust when he finally, inevitably sets you loose. Toes curled, eyes rolled back… What bliss.
Stein’s fingers skim the tips of yours as his free hand reaches for the scalpel set beside you, and you jolt slightly at the contact, biting your lip in excitement and fear and something warm that flutters faintly in the pit of your stomach. He lifts the instrument carefully, purposefully building the suspense in your core, and you find that you’re holding your breath by the time he has it pressed against your skin, the sharp edge of the blade sliding down between the line of your breasts, gently, not meant to cut. Not yet.
He teases the head of the scalpel over your nipples, each one in turn, and you shudder at the feel of them hardening under the cool brush of metal, every second spent threatening to draw blood. His fingers are still buried inside you, working slower now that he’s busy tracing over your chest with meticulous precision, but it’s still enough stimulation to be nearly overwhelming, to drive you all but crazy with arousal and impatience.
You want more. Greedily, you want him.
“I wonder…” Stein hums, a familiar tone, his voice deep and thick with nuance. Your cheeks flush hot as anticipation rises to the surface of your skin, and you shift uncertainly under the blade that grazes your abdomen. “I wonder how many of my fingers this pretty little cunt of yours can take?”
Then, he presses the scalpel into your flesh, and you cry out as the incision sends electricity branching down your spine, pain spilling rapidly into pleasure like liquid lightning. He doesn’t let you rest before cutting in again, and again, and again, no more than a nick each time, and yet you can’t help but whimper and moan as wound after wound blossoms over your torso, stippling your skin with flecks of blood and heat. You tremble feverishly under the rush of sensation, tears pricking the corners of your eyes as your core tightens hard and your back arches. It hurts, and it feels impossibly good.
“Shall we find out?”
Another incision, and a third finger presses into you before you can even find the time to catch your breath. Stein smiles almost disingenuously as he thrusts, curling his wrist to drive in fast and looking positively delighted when your face contorts in pleasure, a desperate groan falling from your lips and echoing sweetly in his ears. Your hips buck against his palm and the pressure between his thighs has him inclined to fuck you then and there, but he’s determined to push you to the breaking point, and he fully intends to savor the feeling of stretching you wide around his knuckles, partially, guiltily hoping to tear you open during the process.
“P-please,” you gasp, writhing under the belt around your wrists as Stein slots his hand against your slit, four fingers deep, thumb pressing hard over your clit. The scalpel nicks your skin once more, and you nearly start sobbing with need.
“What? You want more? How cute,” Stein coos, the smirk on his face slowly beginning to morph into a devilish grin. “Do you really think that you can take my entire hand? You’d best be careful what you wish for. Your eyes may very well be bigger than your cunt, my dear.”
“Give it to me,” you insist, with all the resolve that you can muster through the tears spilling hot over your cheeks. “Give it to me, you fucking bastard.”
Stein outright laughs at that, his shoulders shaking with mirth as you glare up at him. You always find a way to entertain him so much more immensely than he expects, and as much as he’d love to provoke you further, he finds himself wasting no time folding his thumb against his palm and pushing, sliding into you steadily, patiently. Your breath hitches as his hand enters you in full, curled inward and pressed deeper than you’d ever thought possible.
Your entrance quivers around his wrist and Stein abandons the blood-tipped scalpel held oppositely in favor of stroking himself over, groaning softly as his fingers drag friction under his waistband and along the throbbing head of his length. The sight of you spread around his hand fills him with raw, hedonistic desire, and the more he fucks you on his fist, the more he feels it. Your body, a temptation. Your moans, an invitation.
His restraint wears thin far too quickly, and you can’t help the whine that slips past your lips when he withdraws completely, leaving you empty and painfully aware of it. There’s a slew of complaints prickling beneath the surface of your skin, but they all fall dry on your tongue when Stein leans over you with a crazed sort of hunger in his eyes, making damn certain that you’re watching, appreciating, as he reaches down to undo his pants.
Anticipation has you biting your lip like the wanton need that surges through your blood, and you spread your legs wider still around the press of his hips, tilting in, restless as you ache for him. Stein runs his palm along your abdomen, teasing the head of his length against your slit, and you whimper softly as his fingertips brush over the cuts that litter your torso. He chuckles quietly to himself as he traces the shape of a suture into your skin, stitching the edges of your wounds together in his mind’s eye, imagining how gorgeous you would look sewn up with the pale glow of his soul thread.
He says your name, low and dulcet, and you unabashedly, unequivocally love knowing that he’s not about to hold back in having his way with you.
Stein leans forward, groaning faintly through closed lips as he pushes into you, all at once. Fast. Deep. Far from gentle, but not entirely thoughtless. He would have long since shattered you to bits if you’d been fragile, brittle, like crystal or glass. You’re not, though, and he’s never pretended to think otherwise of you. After all, those who are easily broken are nowhere near as fun to play with.
And so he takes you hard, and you can’t help but gasp at the sensation of being filled, shuddering, letting your head roll back against the flat of the table. You feel the pang of every thrust in the pit of your stomach, and it sends a thrill echoing through you as you moan, yes, please, more. Stein laughs breathlessly, his pace unwavering even as you clench hot and tight around his shaft and leave him to furrow his brow in concentration, his eyes steely under the heavy fall of his lashes.
He decides on a whim that he wants your hands free for this, and his palms are sweaty as he reaches up to unbuckle the belt holding your wrists together, seemingly without any misgivings. The relief is instantaneous, though you really aren’t sure what to do with your newfound freedom, and Stein looks almost childishly amused as you blink in uncertainty, your arms still poised awkwardly above your head.
Then, without warning, he dips his mouth to your breast, the silvery tips of his hair grazing your collar as he tugs your nipple between his teeth, lightly, biting when he feels you take a shallow breath. You cry out with a jolt, and it earns you the smooth warmth of his tongue laving against your flesh, not so much to ease the pain as to stimulate further. Your fingers curl into the back of his skull and he hums lowly at the contact, rocking into you roughly and all but luxuriating in the feeling of your body tensing beneath him.
You’re the warmth in his chest, throbbing, dripping, seeping slowly into his skin, and ah, he thinks, does your soul burn this brightly for others, too?
His nails dig deep into the soft curve of your waist and you gasp, unintentionally playing at innocence as your voice breaks on a moan, and Stein feels something carnal crawling in his core, thrashing its way up the back of his throat as you tighten and quiver around his length. His lips curl up into a broad smirk and his vision blurs just a bit as the shadows in his mind begin to swallow him from the ground up, urging him, taunting him, steal their breath before they steal your heart.
“You look so lovely like this…” he muses, his fingers trailing gently, teasingly up the center of your chest, then slowing to a linger at the base of your neck. His thumb caresses your jaw with feigned concern, yet clear intent, and you bite your lip, certain that you should be frightened, possibly even terrified by the look in his eyes, but finding that it only fills you with heat and lust and daring.
You’ll dance with death, time and time again, so long as it’s Stein who leads.
You meet his stare deep with determination and coil your fingers carefully around his wrist, and he’s borderline unhinged as he watches you, sweat beading down the sides of his face, pupils blown wide under the disheveled fall of his bangs. You draw his palm over your neck and press lightly against the back of his hand, refusing to look away first, even when you know that he can feel your pulse hammering in your throat, echoing like thunder beneath the surface of your skin. Stein sinks deeper into the darkness, feeding the demon that begs him to throw away control.
“Are you scared?” he asks.
“No,” you whisper. You wouldn’t have expected him to believe you, but his smile seems to suggest that he does.
“Good.”
Stein lets his palm slot flat against your throat and promptly bears his weight against you, his fingers curling under the edges of your jaw as he takes you just like before, gripping hard and feeling his core churn hot with every thrust. You whimper as the pressure builds, clinging to his wrist for stability and treading the boundaries of collapse, your legs curling in and around his hips as he pounds into you.
The pace he sets is unforgiving, and you’re dizzy with pleasure by the time Stein really loses it.
Your fingers tremble as you reach up to trace the stitches cutting across his face, and he grins wildly, fucking you like his life depends on it. You can feel his sanity slipping as his palm presses harder against your throat, but the beat of his soul grounds you like the arrows on his floors, and the adrenaline coursing through your blood only serves to fuel the desire raging under your skin. He pushes into you faster, rougher, his breaths growing ever erratic as you choke on moan after moan, and it’s then that Stein realizes how much he loves wrecking you, watching and listening as you fall apart at the seams and finding that he isn’t so reluctant to let you pull the pieces of yourself back together, just for him, all for him.
And when you come around his length, arching against his chest like a thread pulling taut, he can hardly believe that you would grant him such an indulgence.
He bows his head and groans at the warmth that slicks over him, shuddering, skin catching on the wetness that leaks down the insides of your thighs, and you find yourself coughing on a rough gasp as he all but tears his hand away from your neck, pulling your hips to his own and driving himself desperately to completion. Catharsis floods his core with heat and his orgasm hits him like a truck, leaving him to throb and pant and moan as he spills, and it’s all blood and sweat and tears painting your flesh like a canvas, and he had forgotten how it felt to be content.
You sigh heavily and let your eyes flutter shut, limbs falling lax against the damp of the table, and Stein smiles to himself as he reaches aside to light a cigarette, twisting the bolt in his head twice clockwise and admiring you all the while. There’ll be a ring of bruises around your neck by the time the sun laughs its way back into the sky, but you look blissful, beautiful, even asleep and a mess from his sadistic ministrations.
He realizes then that he’ll never grow tired of looking at you, and ah, he thinks, is this what affection feels like?
For once, he finds that he’s okay with not knowing the answer.