Page 13 of The Last Feast
I nod, mumbling, “Once. Years ago.”
I don’t tell her I was drunk or that I don’t remember anything other than waking up naked in Odette’s bed. I barely allow myself to remember that fact most days, because I’d lose the few people I have in my life who know me if I question how I got there or what happened to my clothes.
She trails the tip of her finger on my back, connecting the fresh dips as they fall like a dot-to-dot game. “What feels better: her blood on your back or my cum on your face?”
“You.”
The muffled screams get louder, more fearful.
“Good.” She tugs on the belt. “Watch her bleed while I clean her off you.”
A grunt parts my lips as she gets comfortable on my lower back then swings her legs up and plants her feet on my shoulders so her legs are spread. I have to strain my eyes to watch her through the mirror as she lifts her dress and uses me like I’m an inanimate object. With her feet digging into my shoulders, the belt like a rein in her hand, she lifts her hips then presses the heel of her palm to her lower stomach. She pushes two fingers down in the shape of a V, stretching her cunt open as she erupts again.
But there’s no stimulation.
So it can’t be cum.
If she’s not squirting…?
The clear, scentless liquid runs down to my shoulders, dripping onto the floor.
When the light catches it, I notice the faint yellow tinge.
She’s pissing on me.
And my dick gets harder—painfully so.
I nearly come on the spot when she wraps the belt around her fist and looks up to shout, “He is mine!”
My eyes roll back in my head, and she rocks on my back as I fuck the fucking air. A loud clap makes me still. I can’t work out what it is until I feel the side of my ass heat.
Shespankedme.
That’s not a thing men are supposed to like. Neither is being tied up by a woman smaller than them, being bound by said woman, and having their choices taken away from them. But I do. I want more, only if it’s administered by the hand of this random woman who doesn’t judge me.
To her, I’m not weird or hiding my sexuality. It’s always the same, like the only reason I, a man, wouldn’t be interested in a woman is because of my sexuality. Then, they analyze my interactions with other men, waiting for some mystery tell that doesn’t exist to reveal why I’m not interested. The reality is, I’ve never felt safe with anyone. Yet to Hana, I’m not a freak to be examined and questioned. With her, it’s not so hard. Maybe the anonymity is what makes it easier. I have no previous information to gauge her likes or dislikes. I feel no need to make sure she likes me. There’s no history or knowledge of who my family is, so the fear I’ve always carried has fallen away. She’s not hiding her capacity to cause pain, so I’m not trying to anticipate it. I can accept it for what it is.
With Hana and a fake name, I can finally be myself.
So, when she spanks me again, harder this time, I don’t attempt to trap my moan. She does it again, more forceful as she snaps, “Does the desperate little whore need to come?”
“Please,” I muffle around the leather.
9
HUNGER
She slides off his back without removing the belt, since she enjoys the feeling of controlling where he can look. This way, when he looks at Odette, Hana won’t feel like she’s competing for his attention with a leash to drag it back to her—especially now that his spit is dripping over the leather, making him a mess for them all to see.
But she wants more information. When hunting, she’s never been capable of asking her prey what makes them tick; it’s something she’s had to determine for herself. Now is her only opportunity to eat up all that knowledge, so she removes her dress to lay it on the wet floor beneath Auguste.
Once it’s to her liking, she rests the tail of the belt on his back then crawls between his legs. His dick hangs heavy, leaving a trail of pre-cum on her spine as he whimpers at finally being touched by her. She lays beneath him with the perfect view—a man turned whore gagged for her and the woman being crucified for his sins.
“It's poetic,”she thinks.“A symmetry to life because everyone feels sorry for the woman, like she had less control.”Hana knows firsthand that’s not the case, not when the Sistersof the orphanage would nip her when she tried to run away from the priest. Or they’d take her to the bad room, which wasn’t a room at all. It was a closet they’d named the bad room as a deterrent, as if locking a child in a dark box with no food, water, or light for a week would do anything other than turn them feral.
“Tell me something about you,” Auguste mumbles.
Hana lifts her hand to caress his cheek with the back of her fingers as she pulls the belt down to hang around his neck like a noose. “You’re my last feast. A beautiful one that will keep me full forever.”
