Free Carrion: A Story of Passion by Eden Night Page A

I press my thighs together and gasp at the little ripple of pleasure that emits from my bud. Alexander has been watching me and a darkling smile plays on his lips. I am slick and full of pulsing blood. How I wish that Alexander were sat next to me so that he could slide his fingers in and fuck me through my mounting agitation. Now, I understand Arabella’s exquisite seating plan and mentally bow down to her genius. I fill my mouth with meat, close my eyes and imagine my mouth replaced with that of the serving girl. I can barely swallow it down. I abandon the task. Putting the knife and fork down. Taking my wine glass in one hand, I slip the other into my lap and under the folds of my delicate lace dress. I fix my eyes on Alexander who is watching with an amused smile as he gorges himself on rich meat and silken mashed vegetables. As he eats, I know he is mentally fucking every mouthful.
    Arabella leans in and whispers sharply in my ear, “Don’t touch yourself at the table, sweetie.”
    My hand shoots back onto the table and I blush with shame. I look down the table to see if my indiscretion has been witnessed, but all I see is a row of nymphs kissing and pawing at each other – all similarly driven by the sights of the slaves around the room. Alexander is quietly laughing at my admonishment, and Arabella turns to him and says, “I take it that you will suitably punish Charlotte for her heathen manners.”
    He flicks her a charming smile and replies, “Of course. It will be my pleasure to ensure she is appropriately disciplined.”
    I squeeze my thighs together and wiggle them, desperate for the pressure. Arabella bends down and unclasps her slave, untethering various bindings and offering him a set of whispered instructions that are just out of my hearing but which Alexander has full knowledge of. He puts his cutlery down and sits back in his chair, raising his glass in salute.
    “Spread your legs, Charlotte,” Arabella instructs, and I feel a blush creep up over my cheeks. The introduction of a third party into Alexander’s world and mine is alien, but thrilling. After a momentary hesitation, I pull my thighs apart and wrap my ankles around the chair. I fix my eyes on Alexander and we lock looks, a silent potent energy runs between us. I feel hot breath on my ankles, the feel of a small darting tongue, kissing my calves and up to my thighs, where the licks become longer and more pressured. The feeling of his tongue is slightly rough against the delicate flesh of my thighs. His teeth graze the flesh teasingly. His nose nuzzles into my oiled down, and he uses it to seek out my sex, nudging my bud deliciously with his nose. I grip onto the sides of the table and try to control my upper body so that it doesn’t betray the riot of sensations that are happening below. I thrust my hips forwards, demanding more. The wine slaves have been freed of their wine ewers and are now using their free hands to bend the serving girls over and fuck them from behind. Some of them have been summoned to cater to the needs of those at the table, and the whole scene is slipping into a sumptuous movement of flesh.
    Only Alexander and Arabella sit gazing at the scenes with an iron discipline. The slave slaps my bud with his tongue, eliciting small muffled squeaks from my mouth. Alexander is daring me to surrender. It is a complex game of stare down. The slave pushes his tongue deep into my cleft and I sigh, unable to keep Alexander’s gaze any longer. I throw my head back and give myself over to the rhythm the muscle stabbing me, of the sensation of firm cartilage hitting my bud hitting me over, and over, and over until I can hold on no longer and I come with a moan that is raw enough to disturb the nymphs next to me. My body jerks, sending the red glass of red wine spilling across the white table linen like arterial spray. Sensing my crisis, one of them extends her arm behind her and holds my face still in the palm of her hand, stilling me