She stared at him as he brought up the knife, and watched his tongue slide out, lizardlike, to begin licking her own blood off the cruel metal. His movement was in concert with the lapping between her thighs, which grew more frenzied as that blade was lowered to Elandriel's fair body once more, the tip of it prodding up against the soft underside of her breast. Pressing.... piercing, drawing a pained gasp.<br/><br/>But he did not stop, and her gasp became harder, sharper as the blade forced inward, slicing open flesh and nerves, soft tissue and hidden vessels, until the gasps had become without her realizing it short, sharp screems, a counterpoint of pain against the pleasure the human woman was working to stoke between her thighs.<br/><br/>That was heat, and the blade sunk into her breast was like a mockery of a cock, cold, hard, and forcing a heated pain as if it had been set in the flames of the crackling fire before being shoved into that quivering mound - the top of it distending upward slightly, warning briefly before the tip of the blade sliced through.<br/><br/>She had been taught to handle pain, to deal with wounds, and her reaction was automatic. Pale eyes went distant, and she swallowed her own screams to force out whispered, unearthly words of prayer and pleading - begging her Lady not to push the wounds elsewhere, but to take them away entire.