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thesightstoshowyou · 7 months

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🩸BLOODFEST🩸

Week 3

Prompts: Trap(s). Ritual. Threesome. Rage

Keywords: Twisted. Fixation

Collective

- Part Three -

(Part 1) (Part 2)

Vincent Sinclair x F Reader x Asa Emory (NSFW)

Warnings: Noncon/dubcon, rope play, blood, knife play, fingering, threesome, degradation, humiliation, orgasm denial, overstimulation, the boys are meanies.

The voice startles you both, makes you gasp and move to cover yourself, but—no, no—your arms are securely fastened behind your back. Your head whips around, gaze falling on Asa. He leans against the doorframe, arms crossed, black eyes reflecting the dancing candlelight.

Vincent jumps to his feet and places himself in front of you, blocking you from Asa’s sight. At least he seems appropriately upset by the intrusion. Your cheeks burn, mortified Asa has seen you like this. How long has he been standing there?

Asa holds out his hand in a placating gesture. “I asked to see your process, did I not? The entire process.” A moment of silence passes. You watch Vincent’s back carefully, your eyes growing wide when his tense shoulders relax a little, his posture losing its vexation. Asa continues, “I had hoped you would be open to constructive criticism.”

More quiet, more careful weighing of words. Fire snaps, the boiler hisses, wax bubbles in its pot. Christ, he can’t be considering—

With measured steps, Vincent moves to the side, revealing you to Asa’s scrutinizing gaze once again. “Vincent!” you beg, but he holds up a finger, silencing you.

Asa pushes away from the door and strolls over to where you sit, defenseless, on the mattress. Your chest rises and falls in rapid, anxious breaths, your heart slamming itself against your ribs. Is he going to touch you? Will he hurt you?

“The piece,” he’s talking about you, “Shows vulnerability. Fragility. But, I feel it’s missing….” His hand slips from his pocket as he produces the knife, thumb easing the blade free until steel glints under flickering candlelight, “Color.”

“Vince, please…” you beg, tears pricking the corners of your eyes.

“Shhh,” Asa coos as he crouches down before you. He reaches out, calloused, scarred fingers tracing your cheek and snaking into your hair to grip the side of your face, holding you in place. Vincent watches intently and leans forward slightly to get a better view.

“Red,” Asa murmurs, “Gives much needed emotion to a piece.” The knife tip presses just under your collar bone, drags through your flesh until you shriek and sob. Asa’s thumb digs roughly into your cheek when you attempt to twist away from the pain. Crimson wells up under the blade and spills down your chest, staining the wax in violent scarlet, like some kind of twisted ritual.

Beside you, Vincent’s breaths shudder behind the mask. You struggle to reign in your own frantic breathing lest to succumb to pure panic. Asa’s eyes leave your face to admire the trickling of blood. Gently, he dips his fingers in red and traces them across your belly, your hip, painting you.

Next, he wets his whole palm with blood and wraps it around your throat. A perfect, scarlet handprint stains your neck when Asa lifts his hand away and Vincent nods excitedly in agreement. Asa ignores him, not yet finished.

“Open,” he instructs, smearing your lips with tangy iron. Tears spill down your cheeks as you hesitantly part your lips to accept the metallic fingers. They stroke your tongue and push into your throat until you gag. Blood-tinged spit dribbles down your chin and splatters onto your chest to join the mess coating your skin.

“Good girl,” Asa whispers, fingers finally vacating your mouth. You suck in a startled gasp when he leans forward and crushes his lips to yours. His tongue replaces bloody digits and laves against your own, overwhelming you with the taste of cigarettes and mint and blood, always blood. His teeth tug on your lip and the moan that bubbles up from your throat brings more burning heat to your cheeks.

This is the kiss you wanted from Vincent….

Asa pulls back and holds you in place with the hand in your hair when you try to follow. The corner of his bloody mouth curls up in a grin as he surveys your half-lidded eyes and swollen lips, parted and painted with scarlet.

“I think you were meant to beg for something, correct?” he murmurs, deep voice huskier now. You blink and attempt to come back to yourself. You’d almost forgotten about Vincent hovering next to the bed.

“P-please,” your voice breaks. You try again, “Please Vince. Touch me?” You look up at him, needy tears clinging to your lashes. He’s nearly trembling on the spot, so enraptured by the display, wholly fixated on the ardent painting Asa has made of your skin. Hastily he kneels, grips your hips, pulls you to the edge of the bed.

The knife slips under the band of your underwear and saws through the fabric. You’re completely bare now and both men can see how you glisten in the flickering light. Vincent wastes no time, dexterous fingers sliding over your folds and brushing your clit before sinking in deep to ease the ache.

Asa grips your face when you keen. He twists your head so you’re looking directly at him as he seats himself next to you on the mattress. His nose brushes yours, lips hovering just inches away, teasing, your panting breaths and desperate moans—are they for him or Vincent—washing over his face.

Your hips buck, Vincent curling his digits until your eyes clench shut. Shamelessly, you hump his hand, dizzy with heat, desire, confusion. You shouldn’t want this, shouldn’t want his hands on you, but you think you’ll die if he stopped touching you now.

Your thighs tense, your hands balling into fists, toes curling in anticipation. “Vince, I’m gonna—

“Manners,” Asa chides, his grip on your face tightening. Your eyes widen, breath stuttering in your chest. Oh no, you’re so close, burning tightness deep in your belly about to implode, can you stop it in time?

“P-Please! Please, I need-can I please—

“Please, Sir,” he corrects causally, like you’re not about to cream all over Vincent’s fingers any second. If he would just slow down a little….

“Please SIR, god I can’t hold it, pleasecanIcum—

“Please, Sir, may I cum?” he instructs and you cry out in frustration.

“I CAN’T—

It’s too late. You bow forward as much the rope and Asa’s grip on your face will allow, walls clenching on Vincent’s pistoning fingers, euphoria roiling in your gut. The knowledge that you fucked up is almost a distant memory in the wake of such pleasure.

But not for long.

Fingers dig into your hair and tug you upright, a frail whimper falling from your panting mouth. Cracking open your teary eyes, you timidly peer up at Asa. His mask of indifference hasn’t shifted, but there’s something glinting there in his dark gaze. Something eager.

“Untrained,” he comments, then looks to Vincent. “There’s a simple enough fix if you’re willing to put in the time.”

The knife returns, slips past your parted lips, blade tapping against your teeth as the flat edge settles on your tongue. You freeze, wide eyes flicking from Vincent to Asa and back again. What if he slips, what if he pushes deeper? Not there, please not there….

“Proper incentive is key. Let’s try that again.” Asa nods to Vincent. A delighted snicker slips from behind the wax mask. Your mouth goes dry. There will be no mercy from either of them, you realize, when Vincent scoots closer to you, his shoulders hunched with barely contained exhilaration.

It reminds you of how he looks when he’s working on a new project.

Vincent curls his skilled fingers once again and the whine that leaves you is distorted by the steel seated in your mouth. Your back is ramrod straight, every muscle focused on keeping you still to prevent the knife from slipping. You’re almost thankful for Asa’s hold on your jaw.

Still, past trepidation and dismay, pleasure blooms in your belly. Your eyelids flutter, displacing tears until they’re streaking familiar paths down your face. Unable to swallow, the saliva pooling in your cheeks spills down your chin. Damn those fingers, damn him, damn them both….

Close, fuck, you’re getting close, you need to ask for permission, but you’re terrified to speak. You look to Asa, pleading with your eyes, but he merely smirks in response. Minutely, his head tips to the side like he’s waiting for you to risk speaking.

Are sliced gums preferable to more of Asa’s discipline?

You decide they are.

You try to ask properly—please Sir, may I cum—but your speech is slow and garbled as you attempt to keep your tongue from touching the blade. Hurry, hurry up, you’re climbing the precipice too quickly, please Vincent just slow down for one fucking second!

“I didn’t catch that,” Asa taunts, leaning in to hear you better. You sob and turn your pleading gaze to Vincent. He doesn’t stop his assault on your cunt, choosing instead to circle your oversensitive clit with his thumb until you choke on a shout.

Desperation takes hold and you force yourself to speak clearer, heedless of the knife, “Pleashh Shhir, mnay I cuh!” Your face burns in humiliation and ire, messy chest heaving, spit dribbling onto your belly, twitching muscles pulled taut to keep you from careening over the edge.

Asa chuckles and releases your jaw to condescendingly pat your cheek. “That’s a good girl. You may.”

Instantly, your vision whites out, eyes rolling back, a scream ripping from your throat when your walls ripples around Vincent’s fingers. Thankfully, you have the presence of mind not to tip forward lest you impale the back of your throat.

A trembling gasp brings you back to reality. You ache, the intensity of the last climax still prickling across your flesh. Finally, you feel the knife slip from your mouth. Asa tilts your head up again and you crack open damp eyes to peer up at him.

“You’re a quick learner,” he purrs and some annoying part of you relishes in the praise. Gently, Asa wipes the blood and tears and drool from your face with his sleeve. He orders you to stick out your tongue so he can assess for injury. You’re too exhausted to do anything but comply.

Vincent withdraws his dripping fingers and you whimper, slumping against Asa’s solid frame. You flex your tingling hands, only now realizing you’ve lost feeling in all your limbs.

“Vince…my arms…” you mumble. Vincent stands to pet your hair, but doesn’t move to untie you. You frown and glance up at him. The room is too dark to see the good eye behind the mask.

Asa hums in understanding, a breathy laugh leaving him. You lift your head, looking questioningly from Asa to Vincent.

They can’t be serious….

Realization hits like a punch in the gut and you shake your head in protest, but Vincent is already digging his fingers into your hips and flipping you onto your front. Your babbled pleas fall on deaf ears, Vincent’s eager cock already lining up with your slippery entrance. The scream you loose when he buries every inch in your cunt is deafening, even to you.

“It seems the lesson is not quite finished, pet.”

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