A Birthday Feast, part 10

mollyinthemirror.jpgKnives fascinate me in a visceral, hypnotic kind of way. They bring to mind ritual sacrifices. I imagine that is how we must look: as if we are making such a sacrifice. The three of us kneeling around a large flat rock upon which we have lain this beautiful young woman, upon whom we have heaped our offerings.

Watching Andale’s hand guide Kate’s on the handle of the knife, watching the knife slice through the block of blue cheese, watching the blade come into contact with Janie’s taut skin, watching that skin bend around the blade of the knife, yet remain intact. I realize I have been holding my breath. I exhale. I watch the blade slide under the quince paste, skimming the surface of Janie’s breastbone, blade sliding up and over the curve of her right breast, not catching her nipple, but whispering so close to it that I can feel the air move over my own. I breathe again.

And I watch Andale’s hand between Kate’s legs as I take the morsel that is offered to me, letting my teeth touch the cold metal of the knife blade, letting my tongue flick at its tip. I see Kate’s eyes on my tongue, my tongue on the tip of the knife, and I know that she as she feels the pressure of Andale’s fingers it is my tongue she is imagining on her clit. It is her cunt I am tasting as I take the sweet/sharp/sour bite she offers.

It is at that moment that Janie moves, the wine spills and I taste a drop of blood — just a drop — where my tongue and the blade intersected for just a moment as I moved. I swallow blood and quince and cheese and put my lips to Janie’s throat. It feels like a vampiric gesture. My tongue laps at the wine spilled between the V of her vocal cords but I do not stop there. My lips and teeth connect to her throat. The salt of her skin mingles with the wine and the blood on my tongue. I have a sudden overwhelming urge to bite her, to draw blood, but I don’t. I chase down the rest of the rivulets of wine, my lips and tongue finding their way along her collarbone, stopping to bite her shoulder, sliding back and up her neck to her ear. I whisper that I want desperately to kiss her, but that her lips are occupied so sweetly holding the wine.

She dare not move in any case because Kate is now preparing more cheese/quince, and this bite she offers to Andale, who has managed, I see, to unbutton Kate’s blouse while Kate has been wielding the knife on her Lover’s belly. Then another morsel is prepared, the knife slicing down toward Janie’s stomach, touching her skin so she can feel the pressure, but not pressing enough to cut, edge skimming her chest under the quince, moving the air above her nipples as it passes, and this bite Andale controls. She takes the knife from Kate’s hand. She holds the knife in one hand and I see that her other is again between Kate’s legs. I see the wispy fabric of her skirt moving. I see the concentration on Kate’s face as she tries to take the food from the knife without cutting herself as she reacts to the fingers that I know are probing the folds of her cunt.

And Janie. She knows this is going on but she cannot look without spilling more wine. She dare not flinch because she doesn’t know where the knife going to be from one moment to the next. And I don’t know if it is cruelty or desire that motivates me, but knowing she cannot move I lower my face to her breast and I take her nipple between my lips. I roll it around on my tongue, pressing it against the sharp edge of my teeth. I place my hands on her shoulders to steady her, to help her not to flinch, and I suck, hard, on her nipple, turning it into a hardened pearl-shaped addition to our feast. And then, after a moment, I raise my head and take the wine glass from her lips. She gasps, breathes as I take a sip of wine, then place my hand under her head to raise it just a bit, and offer her a sip. Then I cover her mouth with mine, in a demanding, hungry, vampiric kiss before placing the stem between her lips again.

I take my hand from beneath her head and place it again on her shoulder. My other brushes down across her body and finds the wetness between her legs. It is a combination of oil and her own arousal. Strained sounds gurgle from her throat as my fingers circle her clit, and stroke her glistening wet pussy, while the knife continues its rounds, slicing down above her belly, brushing against her chest. Does she fully realize the distraction inflicted upon the wielder of the knife? Does she understand how vulnerable she is at this moment, I wonder, as I slip a finger inside her. I take the wine glass from her again, freeing her to move her head. I take a sip, and our eyes lock and I slip a second finger inside.

A Birthday Feast, part 10, written by Molly. Part 11 to come soon! To see all parts of the story so far, click here.

~ by Molly Montrevoir on February 22, 2007.

2 Responses to “A Birthday Feast, part 10”

  1. oh damn. I don’t even know what else to say.

    Each piece of this story leaves me more speechless than the last.

    Wonderful, divine torment!

  2. […] hope it lasts forever, though.  Molly gives us Chapter Ten of A Birthday Feast, an erotic story by Andale, Molly, and Kate, wherein the four of us are […]

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