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‘Listen, there might be some mistake here,’ I said, as I felt my sex begin to contract and tighten.
‘Ah, ready,’ she pronounced.
Thank God. My skin was flushed. I could see how hard my nipples were and I could feel juices pouring out of me. She reached back into the drawer and took out a brush.
Yeah, that’s right. She dipped the soft bristle brush into me and painted my slickness onto my body. She used that as the glue to stick a fruit slice on me. It was strangely hypnotic and
addictive. The smell of the fruit as she carried it from the side of my head to its destination on my body. The extraordinarily erotic sensation of being painted on with my own juices. I
began to wait for the soft brush to enter me.
When she painted my nipples I could feel my body wanting to arch and beg for more. I was so turned on.
She worked fast but meticulously. She did the sides of my body and the soles of my feet last. Finally, she put the brush down and covered the entrance into me with strips of fruit.
She straightened and rang a bell. Then she pushed the trolley with me on it through a door opposite the one we came in from. To my surprise it was the most sumptuous bedroom I had ever
seen. It was decorated entirely in shades of red. Another woman was already waiting in there. They pushed the trolley to the bed and lowered it using some kind of cranking mechanism
until it was flush with the bed.
It was only then I realized that under the red silk I was lying on was a thin sheet of metal. They slid it on the surface of the bed until I was positioned in the middle. Then they
pulled it out from under me, sliding it out under the red silk effortlessly.
Quickly and efficiently they made the bed with the red sheet I was lying on. Then they began to attach thin silk ropes to my wrists and ankles. They tied me spread eagled to the bed’s
posts.
‘Open your mouth,’ the woman who had painted me said.
I immediately obeyed and before I realized what she was doing she had put an egg into it.
‘Aggg,’ I uttered with a frown.
‘It is raw. Better not to break, cio cio san,’ she advised emotionlessly.
Both women then bowed respectfully before leaving, their shoes making no sounds on the floor. There was a mirror above the bed, and I gasped to see what a work of art my body had become.
All the different fruits, all the different colors, blending into each other.
Then I heard footfalls.
A man’s.
CHAPTER 29
Lord Greystoke
I walked into the room and stood over her.
She was the beauty that was missing from my world. For so long I had been running from myself. But no more. This was it. I was running no more. Maybe, just maybe I could have it all.
She whimpered and looked at me with dazed, desperate eyes. I knew she wanted me to take the egg out of her mouth, but I put my finger across my lips.
Her eyes flashed with anger. She was a strong independent girl, and she didn’t like giving up so much power and control over to me. I smiled. Oh Tawny, always the adorable pain in the
ass. Couldn’t she tell that it was all for her benefit? I shed my clothes without haste.
Anticipation was a good thing.
Naked, I climbed on the red silk to begin my meal. Tonight I was dining on my wife. I began with her toes. I sucked in pale, greenish-orange papaya. Not too ripe and drenched in vinegar.
At first thought it may have seemed stupid to use vinegar since one couldn’t taste the girl’s own secret juices, which was the whole point of the exercise, but on second reflection:
Brilliant. It whetted my appetite.
I worked my way up her leg, eating with abandon, using my lips, tongue and teeth. Licking, sucking, nibbling. She writhed and bucked under my mouth. Sometimes I deliberately halted and
enjoyed the sensation of her straining against her bindings, trying to push herself back against my lips, her hoarse cries muffled by the egg in her mouth.
Her almost hysterical need was immensely pleasing.
Gloating lust rumbling in my throat I did all, her fingers, her hands, her shoulders, her chest, her breasts, her stomach. While she made muffled, feral sounds, I calmly sucked away the
thin slices of apricot that had been arranged around her little pink hole to look like a flower.
Then I parted her with my fingers and drew my tongue along, lapping at the copious juices pouring out of her. She angled her hips to give me more access. I plunged two fingers inside her
and, curving them, stroked her inner walls. Her panting became shallow. She was being massaged into an uncontrollable frenzy.
