"You call that a knife? THIS is a knife!" a hushed, sultry voice breaks through din of the dark room, the owner's five delicate fingers wrap around the handle of said instrument, the blade reflecting green off its polished edge as eager eyes inspect the blade with fervor. If the knife had any sense of self, it would feel thoroughly violated.
"But that's too big, Tomo-mo, I can't cut myself with that," another voice, this one with less allure behind it, but the restrained longing that permeates with each syllable of her sentence could make the most stoic of men blush.
"Shhh, baby, shhh," the first one coos, brushing a thumb gently around the lacing of the reserved one's eye patch, trailing down to her lips with slow, deliberate grace, "I know it's intimidating, but there's a first time for everything, sweetie. Once you try this you'll never want to use these widdle razors again. Your skin is so delicate, so pure, it deserves something better, something more...thorough."
Katja debates internally, she's always considered a touch of something larger, fantasized about more of her skin being covered by the hard, stiff blade violating her skin and internal juices pouring from within, erupting over her arms and basking her wrists in a warm glow, rivers as opposed to the streams and trickles she so shyly mingles with.
"Are you sure about this?"
A shrug.
"The last two survived. That's how I got here, my sweet, they told the stories of my artwork. They simply did not understand the pleasure it can give unlike you." She tops her anecdote off with a kiss, emphasizing the pleasures which she promises, their breaths mingle now, growing more heated as the inevitable temptations seep through.
"Well...just a quick slice maybe," laughing sheepishly to her partner, "you'll be gentle right?"
Another kiss.
"As soft as a bee sting, dear~"
Unbinding her bandages, Katja reveals her soft skin crisscrossed with little crevices and crags of healed over flesh-made-soft with her previous brushes of their personal form of lust. A cold, steel edge touches over a fresh patch of skin that has yet to be penetrated. The beauty behind this intimacy is that some part of your body will always be a virgin yet to feel completely connected with a foreign member.
Tomoe looks up into her twisted lover's greedy eye, the fire of passion within it is the only confirmation she needs to begin. She presses down on her lover, gasping in tune with Katja as her body tries to withdraw in reflex to the sensations, but she holds firm, her own breaths mingling with her own as a redness pours around the blade, spreading across her arm making contact with Tomoe's restraining hand, dripping onto the mattress beneath them and staining the blade's perfect sheen, red blending with green as three eyes and a socket watch in anticipation.
With a sudden jolt, Tomoe slices swiftly, removing the contact and splashing blood between the two, silky cream dotted crimson. Katja's back arcs, her hips begin to buckle and grind involuntarily from the corrupted sensations of sharp pleasure-pain. A non-red dampness trickles from below.
"M-more!" she squeals. Her voice is barely croak at this point, barely restraining the giddiness she feels. Big was better after all she thought, and she was never going back.
Tilting her arm down hill, Tomoe greedily suckles the red liquid that torrents down her fingers, tongue sliding along, around and across each of her fingers, sweet sucking noises and gurgles fill the room.
"Tomo-mo, a-again!" she thrusts her hips forward again as anticipation boils in her stomach and tickles her fanny. More than anything, she needs this stinging sensation to overcome all within her, this lust is only as strong as the loudest feeling across her body and she can't have it end.
"So greedy," Tomoe scolds, gliding a tongue across her arm and teasing the surface of her fleshy-chink, "you deserve punishment."
With a slither of dexterity, Tomoe lashes at Katja's arm again, no longer expressing patience and consideration for the cyclops. A gasp-mixed-moan cries out, blood splashing theatrically in time on her partner's face, violet tips now soiled red. The green-eyed minx toys with a stained lock of her, eying it contently for a moment before looking down at the writhing, bloodied girl beneath her.
"This is a nice color..." she licks the blade, "I want my hair this shade from now on." her eyes widen in artistic stupor, "the night is still young. Let us continue, my love."
 
An arm seizes the blonde haired girl's reddened wrist once more, crooked laughter erupts out into the halls. The night is still young.