Page 11 of The Last Feast
It’s the line she refused to repeat, yet he says it so easily. She rewards him for it as she holds the back of his head, reducing the strain on his neck, then slowly moves closer to his hungry mouth.
He groans as he licks her lips, sucking and biting to taste the mix of her sweetness and blood. But he doesn’t look away from her for a moment, not when he teases her clit with the tip of his tongue or when he grows more confident and sucks it between his teeth.
The light bite forces a deep moan out of Hana’s throat, and her head falls back at the panicked mumbling floating above them. She smiles up at Odette, who tries to scream around the gag drying her tongue. One word is on Hana’s lips that enrages the audience while powering the man between her thighs. “Mine!”
“Fuck!” Auguste groans before thrusting his tongue inside her. He fucks her in rough strokes, only leaving to beg, “Say it again, baby. Tell me who I belong to.”
Roughly fisting his hair, she drags him back then spits into his open mouth. “You are my worthless whore.”
He nods, wincing at the sting on his scalp as she tightens her thin fingers in the strands. She spits in his mouth again, adding another horrifying realization to his night—he isn’t disgusted by anything she’s done. Instead, he’s disgusted at himself for wanting her to do more.
“I should mark this soul as mine,” Hana says as she pulls his head back between her thighs.
He nods, again. Still eager, still only disgusted by his reactions to her depravity, still craving more as he disregards the mumbled shouting above them, incorrectly cataloguing them as Hana’s moans.
Hana’s hand is unyielding as she holds the back of his head and grinds her cunt on his tongue, moaning and smiling with every nerve stimulated. The urge to mark him as hers grows stronger. Blood can be washed off, cuts heal, but she wants to dirty the rich boy so she will always be above him.
But he builds her release, distracting her from finding something to enter his psyche as he bites her clit. The electrical wires she used to bind him stretch with his quickening movements, but while he fights for her climax, he’s unable to care about the restraints.
8
SQUIRT. . .?
AUGUSTE
She tastes like perfection, like that elusive thing I’ve spent my entire life searching for, knowing I was missing a part of myself.
I suck her clit, soothing the sting of my teeth. Then, I bite again so she pulls my hair harder, adding that beautiful pain to my scalp as she grinds against my face. Twisting my head, I push my tongue into her tight fucking cunt. She clenches, trying to keep me inside as I tease her. I manage to gain enough space to beg, “Turn around, baby. Let me eat this blessed cunt properly.” She doesn’t move, so I softly add, “Please, baby. There’s still blood I can’t reach like this.”
Hana hesitantly turns and places her hands flat against the mirror as she widens her thighs.
“Your cunt is perfect,” I moan at the sight of her opened up for me.
She looks to the side, staring at me through the mirror. So, I do the same as I clean the blood from her skin. I turn my headto make sure she can see as I circle her clit with the tip of my tongue.
“Blessed be Hana.” Starting from her soaked cunt, I mark a line to her clit. “In the sacrament of her body.” Then, I move back to the middle of the two points before marking a parallel line between each of her lips, forming the symbol man has forced me to hate. I suck the last smear of blood off her inner thigh before I say, “And blood.”
The very thing I have always been afraid of has come true. My faith was tested as a child?—
that’s what the diocese called it anyway. Now, it’s being tested as I’ve revolted from the way men teach their hypocritical beliefs. Despite the satisfaction of sullying the words—the symbols, everything I was taught to believe—there’s still this deep shame attached to it.
But Hana isn’t patient or selfless. She’s not an all-loving God who accepts people’s wrongs as long as they keep the beads on their rosaries moving with their lying lips. No, she’s just. She punishes for misdeeds as she pushes her hips back. “This is what you begged for.”
“I’m sorry,” I say with conviction, more meaning than I’ve ever heard uttered. My tongue continues passing the apology into her skin as I kiss the back of her thighs, sucking the skin between my teeth until there are small pink marks left behind. She moans at the feeling, rocking back as her cunt drips for me.
My bites are more forceful, needing bigger marks, darker than pink, darker than red. I don’t stop until a deep purple mark blooms, glistening in my spit. I move to her other thigh to do the same, but she pushes her bloody hand between her thighs to call me forward.
I reverently lap at her crimson fingers as my dick twitches, weeping pre-cum, angry at being denied the heaven in front of me. Yet, I can’t beg for that—it’s too momentous a hurdle for meto overcome without associating the feelings of the past with the hellish woman bent over for me.
I can focus on her, however. I can feel her blood clinging to my lips as I reach her palm. I can hear her soft moans fogging the mirror as my nose brushes her clit. She’s so needy, like she’s been edged for years and no amount of touch will be enough. But I tell myself it’s me. It’s not a need for any faceless person to be between her thighs. No. She soughtmeout, chasedme,because it’s onlymewho can make her feel this way.
That way, there’s nothing broken inside me if I can have such a visceral impact on another person who is most likely more broken than I am.
I tease her cunt, alternating between sucking at the wound on her hand, painting her lips in blood, to dipping my tongue inside her like I can gorge myself on as much of her DNA as possible to reduce the emptiness I’ve always felt. Each act garners a moan. Softly at first, then slowly increasing her need as my hands turn numb, my knees aching from biting into the hard ground, but I can’t stop.
More drops hit my back. The warmed liquid slowly runs down as I fervently eat Hana’s sweet cunt. I’m not starved, wildly fucking her with my tongue. No, I take my time, savoring each flavor that makes her between the salty iron of her blood to the sweet taste of her arousal.
She tenses when I move further up, but she doesn’t push me away or scold me when I slowly trace a circle around her puckered hole. She’s too still, as though she’s trying to determine if she likes it, so I don’t push my tongue inside her like I want to.
