Page 12 of The Last Feast
As I wait for her to relax, she reaches behind her to gently stroke my hair. Her moans are softer too, so I take that as the green flag to push inside her tight ass.
“Jamie,” she moans, making me fucking hate that I gave her a false name.
But as I look in the mirror, I see her fingers work between her thighs. Blood stains her clit from the cut on her palm as she buries two fingers inside her cunt. I push my tongue down, trying to feel them through the thin barrier, but it’s not enough. The position takes her deathly features away, so I bite the back of her thigh. “Turn around.” Another bite, another beg. “Show me how you fuck yourself, baby.”
Hana turns, pushing me away, only to flatten her back against the mirror and plant her foot on my shoulder. She welcomes me back with urgency. I meet her with the same need as I bite her calf and watch her cunt stretch around her fingers as she adds a third.
“Filthy rich boy,” she moans. “What would your friends think if they knew you had your tongue in my ass?”
I don’t give a fuck about anyone’s opinion of me right now, no one other than Hana.
My hips move, fucking the air as I soothe the sting of my teeth with my tongue. She sinks her fingers deeper as she grinds the heel of her bloody palm on her clit. I chase it, craving more of this woman as I kiss up her thigh. She obliges me by angling her hand so her blood seeps down to my open mouth, and I fucking moan. Like a pathetic fool, I moan.
“Come for me,” I beg. “I want to see.”
She massages up her body, bringing the black dress up to reveal her bare, beautiful tits as the wires are stretched, allowing my arms to drop half an inch. I can’t focus on the static-like feeling of my blood rushing back into my hands, because she moans and squeezes her tits with one hand. My hands I can barely feel are jealous of her, envious of the knowledge of what it’s like to feel her heart speed up as she bites her lip, trapping the moan my heart is slowly beating in rhythm to.
I fuck the air harder, my hips moving faster, needing more, needing her to keep me suspended in this place that feels like tomorrow and yesterday don’t exist.
And she grants me that as she curls her fingers up, riding them at the pace she needs and allowing me to witness it as I kiss her thigh then push my cheek to the inside of her knee. She pushes her foot harder against my shoulder, but she’ll have to kill me if she doesn’t want me to witness her come.
Her thigh trembles as her eyes widen, and her hand moves in a blur as she fucking washes me in her cum. It hits my face with such a force that my eyes instinctually close. But I suck, filling my mouth with the taste of her—cum and blood, everything I can get.
I need her to continue squirting until she’s depleted of all energy and the paint has fully flaked away from her face to reveal the beauty underneath. So, I fight the restraints burning my skin as the plastic squeaks and try to push my face between her legs.
But she slaps at my forehead like I’m the one in control. “Too much.”
I don’t stop. I keep going, trying to get more.
Hana cocks her arm and slaps me across the face so hard, I’m forced away from her. Her face is set in hard lines as she grabs my hair, gritting, “Whores aren’t in control.” Twisting her fingers in the strands, she asks, “What are you?”
“A man.”
“No.” She pulls harder. “A whore. Men take. You don’t get to do that to me.”
She is broken.
She’s just like me, and we have the same scars, specifically the crucifix branded into her side as I fully take in her body. Mine is on my soul, a mark the Father left behind of his pectoral cross hanging above me.
The irony of the situation makes me laugh. I’m yet again on my knees with a cross glaring down at me, but there’s no judgment on the features of the person above. There’s no pain or fear of my parents dying if I don’t obey.
The fear comes when she lets me go and walks away, pulling her dress down. I watch her retreat in the mirror as she steps into the shadows behind the spotlight.
“Where are you going?” I call out over faint murmuring echoing around me. “Hana?”
Fuck. She’s left me here, tied up, her cum and blood staining my chin. Small drops cling to my lashes like tears, and I watch them race down my cheeks as I blink. There’s blood on my back too, little dots that have trailed down my spine and a smudged shoe print on my shoulder. Some of the drops have dried, showing where they originally hit my skin and where they stopped around the middle of my back in my bowing position.
I look up to see where it’s coming from to meet the wide eyes of the woman I forgot about. Odette hangs on the support beams for the pitched roof, blood dripping from her wrists. The same wires wrapped around my wrists and ankles secure her to the thick metal poles. There’s also a sharper wire parting her skin, embedding itself deeper as her body weight pulls her down. But she’s gagged, so as she tries to scream, it only comes out muffled. Her eyes widen, and she tries to tell me something. She’s both too high up and muffled for me to make out what she’s saying when leather wraps around my face.
Hana stands behind me, securing my belt over my lips.
She’s back.
She didn’t leave me.
“Wha—” I try to ask, but she pushes the leather between my lips before buckling it behind my head then sits on my lower back the way a child would when playing horse.
Yanking harder, she forces me to look up at Odette’s terror-stricken face as she says, “Did you fuck her?”
