The artist moved his hands gently across her shoulders as the dim candlelight cast its glow across the living canvas. He kissed her neck and then let his lips trail softly down her back, stopping periodically to bite her sensitive skin………Searching for its secrets and how she would react to the bamboo. He began to outline his creation, starting just above her buttocks, and moving quickly along her spine. She squirmed under the quill’s delicate point, but would soon feel the burning desire of the dark art itself. His fingertips began to tap along the bamboo shaft that held the point, and he could feel the sensations of his passion as the first blood was drawn in a mixture of black ink………..He became aroused by its beauty as her pain, then her pleasure became the soul crying out in sensitive desire…………As the creation became one with her passion in deep submission.
The night itself became the stray companion to life’s dark obsession, the feel of his tender touch combined with the pain inflicted by his cruel nature. I can still remember the sweet sensation, the sharp point of his bamboo brush piercing my sensitive flesh as he moved along the landscape of my restless soul. My pleasure became a reservoir as the black ink flowed into my open wounds, mixing with the blood of sacrifice, and then moving along the spine, until it pooled at the small of my back. It felt cool against my burning skin, creating the wetness between my thighs in a flood self- betrayal, swollen sensitive flesh that anticipated a dark fulfillment.