KINKTOBER DAY 13 — UNDER YOUR SKIN.
summary: supposedly you and zilla hate each other, girl.
warnings: explicit sexual content, knife/blade play, blood play, unprotected sex, degradation, rough sex, power dynamics, erotic pain, orgasm on object. mdni!!!!
authors note: i told baby this is up there in my “wildest shit i’ve ever written” hall of fame, and i mean it.
the gala attendees: @spiicii, @fearlesschimera, @chocobuttabaybee, @uceyliyahh, @empressdede, @drivefouronthefloor, @pittieprincess22, @bigjuiciisushii, @punksyeet, @sgringcndy, @fafomama, @sumbarbietingz, @sualeo, @psilovey0u.
Arguing and cursing your was native tongue whenever you were around Zilla. No matter how little time you shared in a space, someone could always find you at his throat. You didn’t know what it was about him that set you off, but you couldn’t stand his cocky ass. You hated the way he swaggered around like the world revolved around him. Hated the smirk that seemed to have permanent residence on his face, hated how he moved like he had the biggest dick in the world and anybody who got the chance to experience was blessed by god or something.
Tonight, there was a gala to celebrate and commemorate all the wrestlers—an all day affair, designed so nobody would feel like they were missing anything. Up until dinner, at least. If you weren’t there, then you missed out. And, for some reason, you were seated directly across from Zilla. The moment you realized it, you rolled your eyes so hard you swore they’d get stuck. Crossing your legs beneath the table, you turned your attention to the conversation around you, pretending you weren’t aware of his eyes on you.
This was the first time you’d been “done up” around him. Your hair was in a curly updo, a side-swept bang perfectly framing your profile. The long satin dress hugged your curves, the slit along your thigh was deep, but only enough to make everybody’s wander about those thick thighs. Diamonds adorned your neck and ears, catching the light with every movement. A gem or two complimented your white teeth, accentuating your smile. Not to mention, your skin was glowing. Simply put, you looked undeniably sexy. So when you raised your glass and found Zilla staring, his bottom lip wedged between the gleaming diamond grillz on his teeth, your chest fluttered in a way that made your stomach twist. You told yourself that it was anger and annoyance but deep down, you knew it was something you never wanted to put a name to. “Keep staring at me like that and I’ll carve those pretty grillz right out of that loud ass mouth you got,” you muttered loud enough for him to hear over the sound of all the clattering. His smirk widened, like he’d been intentionally gawking at you so that you would talk to him. “You threatenin’ me kinda soundin’ like you wanna get your hands on me in any way you can, ma.”
Your grip tightened on your wine glass as you visibly forcibly gagged. “I’d rather choke on my own tongue than touch you.” His laugh came out like a low rumble and it made your pulse jump when it wasn’t supposed to. “Chokin’? Mm,” he nodded his head, running a hand over his bearded profile. “I bet you look real pretty like that,” His eyes flickered to the diamond choker around your throat then back up to your face, lingering on your lips for a moment too long. “Real fuckin’ pretty.” You wanted to snap back, to cuss him out in every language you knew, but the words caught somewhere between your brain and your mouth. Instead, you stood abruptly, causing the chair to scrape against the polished floor. “I need air,” you gritted, your eyes rolling at him. You needed to get away from him before you did something stupid, like prove him right.
The venue was a maze of opulence, marble and gold everywhere. Shaded alcoves, serving as a means of hiding from prying eyes, which is exactly what you needed. You slipped into one, the cool wall against your back grounding you as you tried to steady your racing heart. You could feel a shift in the air, your fingers grasping the cool metal that folded right beneath your lace stocking, you pulled it out and flicked it open, only to come face to face with Zilla, whose smirk hadn’t left even though he had a knife pinned against his neck. His broad frame filled the alcove as if his belonged there, one of his hands on your waist but his blade pressed against your stomach, threatening to pierce through your dress. “Zilla, for fucks sake.” You spat, “Get a fuckin’ hobby and stop following me.” The nerve of this man. The audacity. You hated how easily he unraveled you by just looking at you. “Stalking me is crazy.” You sucked your teeth, eyes rolling. “Stalkin’ is crazy, when I was just curious to see what had you runnin’ like you was scared of sumn.” He trailed the blade upward along your dress and you snorted. “You ain’t shit to be scared of you.” The words left your lips but you prayed that the dark concealed the way your hands trembled.
The knife in your hand pressed harder against his neck, enough to draw a thin bead of blood. Your breath shook as you watched the crimson line trickle down beneath the black button up shirt he wore. The way he didn’t falter or flinch, only pissed you off more, but it also made your pussy walls clench. The fire in your chest flared hotter, twisting with something darker and hungrier. His own blade was cool, resting against your bare stomach. Your slick pooled in your panties despite every ounce of hate that you swore you felt. “You scared now?” His voice low and deep. It made you want to cut him deeper and fuck him senseless all at once. You swallowed hard and his eyes locked on yours in such a predatory way that every part of you began standing at attention. Your nipples poked through the fabric of your dress, you had goosebumps; he pressed closer against you, the knife dipping lower to trace the slit along your thigh. “‘Cause I can feel you shakin’.” Your thighs clenched, your body but your mouth wouldn’t let you admit anything. “Fuck you,”
He chuckled, grabbing your wrist to guide your knife down his chest, the buttons popping off of his shirt as it popped open and the buttons dropped to the floor. The blade pressed against his perfect skin, a shallow bloom across his peck as he swallowed a groan, pressing into the sting of your knife. You could feel his dick twitch against your hip through his pants. “That’s it…” he grunted. “Mark me up, baby.“
Your pulse sped up. The power of the holding your blade to his chest and him holding his against your thigh; making him bleed sent a rush through you that was as intoxicating as it was fucked up. You hated him. Hated his smug grin. But the way his body responded to your cuts, the way he didn’t move from you, had you dripping, your panties soaked and clinging to you. “You’re sick.” You hissed, but you didn’t pull away from him. You dragged the blade lower, nicking his abs, and watching as another line of red, bloomed under your hand and his groan vibrated through you, making your clit throb. “Sick?” He taunted, flipping the script with a simple flick of his wrist. His blade went to your neckline now, trailed across the exposed swell of your breasts. The cold metal kissed your skin and he pressed it hard enough to draw a cut across your collarbone. The blood beaded instantly, spilling down your cleavage and you gasped as he leaned forward to lap at it. “You one to talk, psychotic bitch.” The sensation was dizzying, the pain and pleasure tangled until you couldn’t tell where one started and the other begun. Your free hand twisted in his hair, yanking hard as he raised his attention to you; his lips smeared in your blood, sucking at your wound. “Taste so fuckin’ good, ma.”
You shoved him back, just enough to flip the dynamic once again. “You don’t get to enjoy this, I fuckin’ hate you,” Slicing at him again, but what betrayed you was the unintentional roll of your hips against his. You grinded against the hard bulge in his pants and the moan you swallowed was a traitor. You were both bleeding now, your blood on his lips, his on your fingers, while the metallic tang filled the air between you like an aphrodisiac.
Blade still in hand, he slipped between your thighs, finding your soaked panty with ease and ripped them apart with a single tug. “You a fuckin’ liar,” he murmured as he drew another thin line, this one closer to your core. The sting made you cry out, your walls clasping as blood trickled down and mixed with your arousal. “Shut up,” you gasped. You grabbed his wrist, but he was already moving the knife higher and letting graze your mound; the sharp edge teasing your swollen clit. Your breathing hitched, the mix of fear and anticipation had your toes curling. Your thighs trembled, as he placed a hand on your hip spreading you open wider while you rocked back and forth against the blade, making the ridges catch your swollen bud and sending shockwaves through you. You could hear your wet pussy, the smacking sound filling the alcove, your sticky mess smearing the knife with every subtle movement. He twisted the blade just a bit, letting the flat side press your clit while the edge nicked the tender flesh nearby, your pain shifting into white-hot pleasure that made your vision blur.
You cursed, a string of venomous words that made him chuckle while his diamonds danced in the dark. Zilla leaned close to you, his warm breath against your ear making you shudder. “Hate me all you want, tell me what other muhfucka got you cummin’ on his knife.” He teased, dragging it back slowly and tracing lazy circles against your clit. The pressure built with every pass. Sloshing, sloppy kisses against that blade as you held back every moan that you could. Your hips bucked involuntarily, chasing the literal edge as the sting of the fresh cut amplified every feeling. The filthy glide had you moaning now, loud and shameless.
Your hand tightened on his wrist, only to make him press the metal harder against your clit, danger be damned. You were panting, your body a live wire of tension. The paint twisted into ecstasy as he rubbed the flat side against you, giving you a raw perilous friction instead. Your walls fluttered, clenching desperately as the build up coiled tightly in your belly like a spring about to snap. “Zilla— oh, fuck, Zilla!” He watched as you unraveled, legs spreading as your hips bucked for one more glide against the blade that had your body jerking while he held you in place. The orgasm hit you like a storm, ripping through you with a brutal intensity you hadn’t experienced before. Stars exploded behind your eyelids, your pussy spasmed, waves of pleasure crashing of you in relentless pulses. Honey gushed from you, coating his blade and dripped down to the marble floor, mixing with the drops of blood you both stained it with. He didn’t pull it away until the last jerk faded, his eyes dark with satisfaction as he brought it to his mouth and licked it clean, with a groan that made your pussy twitch.
Your hands fisted his shirt as he filled you with every inch of his dick. He was so thick that the stretch made you inhale a jagged moan. Your pussy clenched around him as he pinned you against the wall, betraying all the things you claimed to have felt for him. “You twisted freak,” you whispered while you bounced down on him. Blood smeared your lips, you both indulged in a sloppy, heated kiss. Red painted your finger tips and his neck and chest, there was no way either of you could go back in the party like this — gown ripped, shirt popped open, bruised and bloodied. Zilla was in your ear, moaning and groaning. “Hate you back.”
That hate poured into every thrust, every clawing touch, as both of you gave into each other. Your nails raked down his bruised chest. His groans low and primal as he slammed harder into you, splitting you open like he was punishing you for the shit you’d put him through even before tonight. “Mhm… hate me while you paint this dick.”
“Shut the fuck up,” you whined. Your hips rolled to meet his. His hands slid up, one gripping your ass, the other tangling in your curly updo, pulling it loose so that it spilled over your shoulders in wild waves. “Look at you,” he smirked, his voice layered with lust as his gaze raked over flushed face and parted lips. “You were made to take this dick,” he taunted, his grip on your ass tightening as he lifted you higher so he could dive deeper, the angle forcing a downpour of your cream. Your head fell back against the wall, your body arching up into him as you matched each other thrust for thrust. His mouth crashed into yours again, hungrier and deeper. Swallowing all of your protests as his tongue invaded your mouth, making you taste the blood on his oral muscle and his plump lips. You bit his lip, hard. It only made him fuck you faster, a savage rhythm that you didn’t want to end as you were being pushed closer and closer to the edge.
Another orgasm rocked you. You screamed his name this time, not Zilla, but the one on his birth certificate. “Isayah, fuck!” it echoed, you were sure everyone in the party heard you but you didn’t care. Your fingernails dug deep into his shoulders, your body shaking against his and your nerves alight from the overwhelming sensations you’d just experienced. He didn’t slow down, he fucked you through the after wave, his groans rough and uneven as he chased down his own release. He buried his face into the crook of your neck, immediately sank his teeth into your collarbone which made you yelp out right before slamming your hand over your mouth. The sudden sharp pain made your pussy walls tremble again and caused an orgasm you didn’t expect; he slammed into you more time, spilling inside you with a low, guttural moan; his dick pulsing as he filled you and your body shuddered.
You both stayed there. Sweaty and panting, pressed against the wall. Your dress was a ruined mess, his shirt shredded. “You still hate me?” He smirked, his grillz glinting in the light as he leaned back to look at you and your eyes rolled as he brushed his thumb over your swollen set. “Always.” You rasped, your voice much softer now as your body hummed. The way you leaned into his touch told a different story. He chuckled, pulling out slowly although he didn’t want to, leaving you empty and aching. “Fuckin’ liar, you gon’ beg for this dick again. I ain’t worried ‘bout it.” he patted you on the ass one more time before telling you to have a good night and disappearing into the crowd.
