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She sits in his lap, dress pulled forward, out of the way tenatively sitting on it, angling her hips, moving to find the connection, seeing it together in eachothers eyes (all or them), sitting down all the way once, pulling up her dress (end) through her bra,lifting off him directing his eyes with her to see the the white coating over his cock, her creaming at the thought and sensitivity built up. Her prize for him. Her cheek stroked, his hand kissed. Resuming eyes closed so he can watch her any way he wants.
He rips the dress.
Years later they meet in the dark, she lights a candle to show where she sewed it back together. He unties what secures his knife to his bicep, handle into the air. Shows her that the only blood on it is hers.
They kiss. He holds the dress tight instead of tearing it, she inserts the knife into her vagina blade first in line with her body. By itself unmoving it cuts her, but she feels the cut as pleasure.
He opens her with his fingers and pulls the blade out with his teeth, finger over the blade cutting himeslf. She sucks his finger, he laps her vulva. Tongue into her remembering her shyness about her period. Nowhere safe for it he stabs his knife safely into his thigh. An excuse to stay in bed with her when they reach it. He moves her onto his thighs, grinding against it, taking the hilt into her ass. A dirty thing to make her feel pretty all over. Extacy instead from his fingers, Another hand through his mouth upon the slightly smaller breast. Giving it more attention like that might frow it. Sharing the useless pain of the knife between them. Attention to her ass, negligence to his cock. Like a porn norm, stupid enough to sell the viewer on the idea they're superior to a man and a woman together.
