I used to hang around on this forum a lot, lurking mostly, but wandered away again for reasons I can no longer recall. I only recently became aware that it's still active. Some 7 years ago I tried to write some stories, and I was never happy with the results and gave up posting after the second attempt. A few weeks ago a friend of mine convinced me to try again after all this time, and I'm tentatively happier with what came out of it. I've posted it already on a few other places, but I'm only too happy to place it here as well, back where I first developed much of my early fantasies with the aid of the incredible archive of stories stored here. Any and all feedback and honest criticism would be gratefully received, as I'm under no illusions that I can still improve.
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STORY DISCLAIMER
The following story is pure fiction. So I won’t bother to prevaricate on the age of the characters, as none of them really exist, and all are only as old as you want to imagine. If you’re a pedant, then they are all as old as this story is. Either way; so what, and who cares.
Your approval of the subject is of no great importance to me personally, for one thing, I probably don’t know you. And if you’re reading this it means you’re very specifically looking at a part of the internet where these fantasies are not hidden from view and are in fact lauded and revelled in. It may never be said that I imposed this on people who weren’t receptive by choice. So it’s your own bloody fault for being here in the first place. If you don’t want to be reading this, bugger off, and let those of us who do find merit in such hypothetical musings alone.
If you do want to be reading this, enjoy. Or perhaps I should say; bon appétit!
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Servants of Desire - A Tale of a Slave and Her Lover
A story of cannibal love by SLR
For Agatha and PK, without either of whom giving me inspiration, direct and unknowingly respectively, I would not have written this.
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“Lie still beside me.” He rumbled sonorously into his pillow, back turned to his partner as she shifted again, the edge in the command mellowed just short of being harsh by the muffling effects of thick stuffed cotton and latent affection. Timidity telling through the duvet that covered both of their bodies, a shared vibration running through the warmth, she gently crept closer and whispered with a slight tremble into his ear so only he could hear, not trusting in the absolute solitude imparted by the pitch black and deep ambient silence of their bedroom. He grunted, and remained still for a moment. Finally he grunted again as he heaved around, enveloping her invisible softness with both arms, tracing the curved lines along the supple length of her back slowly with the tips of his fingers and nuzzling instinctively in to kiss her forehead. The scent of fresh sweat and recently washed hair filled his nostrils and he breathed it in deeply and hungrily, exhaling lightly as he squeezed, feeling her nervousness melting away. “Yes, I’ll hold you now. I’ll hold you forever.”
They stayed in this position until dawn began to steal into the dark sanctuary bestowed by night, piercing its peace with increasingly ardent shafts of light around the edges of the curtained window. As each blade of illumination lost focus and diffused into the greater whole of the newly arrived morning, the energy of nerves and anticipation began to move her body again, transferring more immediately into his because of her breasts pressing into his chest and the slight twitching of her sinuous legs wrapped up between his own. He too felt a measure of her excitement and dread at the coming day; had felt it the night before, but had not allowed it to show or enter into conscious thought. In truth, he was in denial. Their relationship was fast approaching a climax that both of them had sought from the very beginning, but now that it was almost here, neither of them wanted it to be yet.
In an attempt to continue dispelling the creeping knowledge of what would come later as the morning proceeded, he buried his face in the long full-bodied mass of chocolate hued hair that lay upon her neck, sighing weightily and pushing the strands aside enough to expose the firm flesh beneath, lightly biting and licking at it to prolong this moment in time a little longer. His hands gradually moved down her back, coming to a rest on top of her buttocks. He started to knead and massage the taut muscles within, slowly encircling each rounded cheek with a motion that gently parted and closed the gap between them both. Several moments of this, and a finger descended into the divide, tracing lazily over the hint of a pucker that marked the end of her presently empty digestive tract; then lower still to embed itself in the outermost folds of another more tightly silken parting, finding that it was evidently moist to the touch. This exploratory probe finding satisfaction and provoking a mild chuckle of pleasure from within his chest, he withdrew the hand again and pushed against her with sudden roughness, forcing her to turn 270 degrees so that she was no longer facing sideways into him but now down into the sheets covering their mattress. She made a slight sound at the suddenness of the manoeuvre but didn’t fight against her being repositioned, or when he moved again to mount her. Once again his questing fingers descended into her most intimate area, this time making way for the rigid staff projecting from the corresponding region of his own body. She pushed back as he penetrated, groaning with a mixture of lust and slight discomfort, clinging with her inner passion, gripping and grasping from within at his engorged shaft as he pushed against the friction and built up momentum, forcing himself deeper into and then almost back out of her, though always leaving just enough inside to maintain their lover’s connection. As they strained against each other the duvet slipped further down his rising back, and tumbled to the floor. Their steady copulation now revealed to the full light of day, he could see clearly her fingers clawing at the fabric underhand, and the clear rivulets of perspiration that were beginning to meander down her well-defined flanks.
When the pace of his thrusting and her counter-thrust had reached and held for several long moments at its peak he quickly pulled out completely, receiving a gurgling half-rebuke from her as he again pushed her about with his hands, so that now she faced him again, looking up in cautious supplication, obviously unsure of what he intended and with her orgasm cut off just at the tipping point before ecstasy. Reaching down under her thighs he pulled her legs up and apart to lay alongside the trunk of her body, with her feet hanging enticingly in front of his face. Slowly he started moving the head of his sex up and down the outside of her own, before plunging deep again. This time he gripped her breasts with both hands, simultaneously sinking his teeth into the wrinkled instep of her dangling foot. She yelped out, quivering with her entire being, almost kicking his mouth away from where it bit into her flesh. A thin line of blood showed where his lips were locked onto her sole. The sound of her cry seamlessly fed into a longer, gasping wail of abandonment. It was joined at the end by another that escaped from somewhere deep in his throat, as both of their bodies arched upwards in the moment of shared ecstasy and agony, in perfect symbiosis, for one infinitesimal moment in time a single entity. As it passed her foot slipped slowly from his mouth, her legs descended, and then too so did his body. He lowered completely onto her, bringing them face to face. As they slowly relaxed into a post-orgasmic haze, they both smiled at each other; she with absolute satisfaction, and he with a mixture of possession, indulgence, and benign affection. He kissed her, deeply, their tongues simulating the coupling that they had just performed moments ago with the whole of their bodies. When he withdrew again she could just taste the slightest trace of her own blood on his lips.
“Happy birthday” he said simply, as he rolled off of her, and took her back up in his sideways embrace.
“Thank you, master” she simply replied, but her pleasurable expression shifting slightly, giving away her inner conflict at the sudden unwanted reminder of what day it was. The change didn’t escape him, and he let her know with his eyes that he had caught it, causing her to glance guiltily away. “You’ve given me the greatest sending away present, I know, and I’m grateful. I’ve never come so hard. And I still want today to happen! But not just yet… does that make any sense?”
It did make perfect sense to him. But he also knew that if he showed it she might lose her resolve, and back out. Part of him wished she would. But if that happened it would devalue their entire relationship, and he knew that she would either never go through with it or that she would do so having lost her zeal to do it, disfiguring the act and all it stood for. He blinked once, consciously put an edge into his voice and spoke abruptly, in jerky harsh sentences before it cracked and gave way to the gentle acquiescence that at least a part of him was urging. “Get up. Get washed. Today is the day. You know that. And we have a lot to do.”
Releasing her from his embrace, he withdrew his legs into a ball, and then kicked her hard with both feet, pushing her off of the bed and onto the duvet pooled besides it. Tears in her eyes, she rose and moved to come back to his side, earning a choked snarl and the back of his hand across her chin. The message was made clear with this reinforcement, and she sobbed once, before picking herself back up and nodding bravely to him, then walking away into the bathroom to get showered.
He watched her go, a bittersweet brew of greed and lust tempered by guilt and genuine affection churning in his gut, before getting up himself and wrapping a long maroon dressing gown around his body. He tied the belt loosely closed and left the bedroom, walking slowly along the hall and downstairs, alone and lost in thought. A small recessed window in the stairwell looked out over the large secluded garden, and as he passed it he paused. From there he could see the several large wooden picnic tables that had been bought in anticipation for this day, and the long pine benches on either side of each. And, of course, the large stone-ringed pit. An upright steel pole at each end. One of these was topped with a solid ring; the other a truncated Y shaped attachment. At the moment the scene was peaceful, seemingly harmless. That would later change, a thought that brought the confused roiling of emotion inside him starkly back into focus. He looked away, and heavily continued his previous course downstairs; once there he opened the refrigerator, retrieving a container from inside the door and pouring a long stream of fruit juice directly into his mouth. As he drank he heard the sound of running water coming from the shower. Normally it was accompanied by her singing, but not today. Then again, normally he would be up there with her, standing under the jet of steaming liquid, soaping her, and being soaped, rubbing urgently against her… he didn’t have time. The guests for her birthday celebration, her thirtieth birthday celebration, would soon begin to arrive, and he had to get moving. He finished his drink, wiping a trickle of errant fluid from both corners of his mouth with the sleeve of his gown with a casualness he didn’t feel, and went outside to set alight the coals in their pit. To unwrap and oil the eight-foot length of polished steel that would steal his place as her most intimate lover. That would steal her from her place in his bed, and in his life.
The rest of the day went much as they had planned things. And it had been long planned, right from the first time they had met, when she had agreed to serve him. Initially it was a simple arrangement. She would be his indentured servant, his slave in every respect, and fulfil his every whim. In return she would be protected, regularly fucked, and worshipped in a way. They both knew that the relationship would end when she turned thirty, and that she would be replaced in his life by another, younger and ostensibly therefore more attractive girl, under a similar agreement. Her own life would end, and she would meet her ultimate fate, in so doing offering her master a final act of submission, and forever proving his complete dominion over her; she would be roasted alive on a spit for him to feast on, knowing that her death would bring her closer to him than she had ever been and that she would never grow too old and hideous, of no use and no further appeal. It had seemed a good trade off then. She had not counted on falling in love with him over the eight years that would bridge the gap between their contract starting and now reaching its destination. He certainly had not counted on falling so utterly in love with her, either. It had blossomed slowly, finding an expression and outlet in small acts of kindness, forcing itself unbidden through the professional detached veneer of the contract between them, until suddenly he had realised that he was no longer forcing her from his bed at night after their fornication, to be locked into her cage in the corner of the room. Now she belonged with him all through the night, restrained only by his arms, the duvet, and mutual emotional shackles that bound him to her as much as she to him. Now she only went into the cage occasionally, of her own volition, spurred on by that part of her mind that still craved such treatment, and that had started the long path to this moment. The part of her mind that had stopped her ever trying to renegotiate the terms of her being with him, that wanted him to finally consume her, in spite of every rational fibre in her being slowly waking up to cry out against it the nearer the time became. But theirs was not only an unexpected love, but one that would no longer be understood in this world where control had come to be synonymous with survival. Where doing what was expected of you was everything. They had both secretly told themselves that seeing this through, and fulfilling the duty, would be the final way they could express their love. And neither of them really believed it.
As time marched on, guests to the feast arrived, a relatively small gathering of close friends and family. She had walked downstairs, newly scrubbed. She had not eaten for the better part of a week, and she hadn’t drunk anything for a full day. The cleaning process had consequently been a simple one, and one that she had been able to do singlehanded. She wore nothing, but still dripped slightly, having not bothered to towel herself dry. The moisture left in her wake diminishing damp imprints of her feet on the carpet throughout his house, fading slightly at each repetition. Looking around the crowd, she saw her youngest sister standing there, similarly nude. With a slight start she had recognised her collar around her sister’s neck. She had not had to wear it for a long time, and it took her by surprise to see it now, a symbol of belonging passed to someone else. He had told her that he had chosen her sister to take her place, of course. They had been bred to look alike, naturally, so she took it as a very great compliment in him that he had wanted to try and keep her, or at least someone who looked very like her, as his slave. Her sister would have been just delivered shortly before, whilst she was taking her time in the shower, arriving though she was not yet departed in order to assist in cooking and serving her. She had been unable to stop a feeling of hatred rising in her towards her sister, though she didn’t allow it to show, repressing it and forcing it under to thrash alongside her barely submerged fear and anticipation.
Filled with this curious mixture of longing and fear she made her way through the admiring crowd, smiling shyly despite her habitual nudity, to lay back on one of the picnic tables on top of a sheet saturated with the herb-infused vegetable oil that he and her sister now began to rub into her body. Her sister started at her neck, moving down, and he started at the other extreme, at her feet, and worked his way up. As he lifted a leg to rub the oil into her thighs, he slowly started to kiss at the foot, licking at her toes, and sucking the oil he had applied to it back off. His tongue flicked at the pale white marks his teeth had made during their lovemaking. She giggled, not because he was tickling her, but because he was making more work for himself and because he couldn’t keep his mouth off her even now, just before the end and surrounded by other people. He lingered in this, and was still engaged in massaging her leg and nibbling at her foot by the time her sister had finished oiling as far down as her smooth stomach. Since he showed no sign of moving yet, and since the area directly below her stomach was emphatically to be left to his administrations, her sister moved around to start on the other leg, surprising her by mimicking their master and sucking gently on her other foot. Finally he forced himself to move on, pulling her big toe from his lips with a soft popping sound, gently lowering her thoroughly basted leg to the table. As her sister followed suite with the other leg and moved to re-oil her feet, he rubbed his greasy hands up and down her perfectly smooth groin, with its complete lack of hair, mixing the oil with her own juices that were beginning to cream up under his skilful touch. His own genitals were once again standing up underneath his robe, and she caught a glimpse looking down her own body of the tip pushing aside the folds of the dressing gown, twitching with excitement.
As his hands withdrew from her crotch she had drifted in lazy relaxation and a wave of massage-induced endorphins, wondering whether he would make love to her again. She felt something hard rub up against her clitoris, but it was too cold and the sudden sensation made her jump slightly, barely keeping panic in check. A quick look confirmed to her that it was the spit, and not his prick, that was being lined up to enter her. Members of the crowd joined them, restraining her arms and legs. Her sister came back around to the other end of the table to hold her face between oily hands. She smiled up at this soothing touch, shaking slightly, just as he pushed the spit home. She screamed at first, as it worked its interminably slow way into her, tearing through her insides in its constant progress through her body. By the time the point was in her chest the scream had died to a gurgle, her vision was hazy with pain and the tears that now streamed from her eyes; welling against the oil surrounding them, mixing into it, then breaking free to create patterns in the herbs and oil. She could vaguely see him, still shoving bodily on the spit. He seemed to be weeping too, though she put that down to delirium, to wishful thinking, as she spasmed and flailed limply about as much as those holding her down would allow. A hard lump in her throat told her on some unconscious level when to thrust her head back and open her mouth wide to allow the spit to exit cleanly; rational thought was all but gone, consumed by the violent sensations wracking her body. What little remained was entirely taken up with the knowledge that she had wanted, no, needed this, and that it was all for him. That voice too weakened as her hands and feet were secured to the pole. It was then silenced altogether, to be replaced by total insensible sensation as he hesitated before plunging a knife into her perfect abdomen, gutting her, in the final step before she would be put over the glowing coals.
He knew she was gone, as he watched her spit being locked into place over the cherry bright coals. Slowly her empty remains rotated over the pit, turned by her sister. She still twitched and moved slightly, but she was already gone, even if she might not be quite dead yet. He sat silently nearby, ignoring everyone else. His forearms coated in oil and her blood, his eyes stinging, he never allowed them to leave the vision of her as she cooked, slowly transformed into a golden chunk of meat over hours that passed without any meaning. His face was completely soaked in spite of the parching heat; his tears flowing from his eyes, and at the same time his mouth salivating heavily at the cloying aroma of her that permeated the atmosphere as she roasted. She was beautiful, perhaps more beautiful now than he had ever known her; his erection never subsided, and his hunger only grew… and yet, he also felt a sort of infinite loss, and strangely alone.
He sat and watched still when they began to carve her, demurring when initially presented with the two-pronged fork and the serrated knife. He watched them cutting free her legs and reducing them to steaks. And he watched when they delicately and laboriously removed her glistening sex, a great plume of hissing steam emerging out of it where the spit had been firmly embedded before. He nodded vaguely at her sister as the new slave handed him his plate, on which rested her roasted cunt, a thick round thigh steak, and a perfect disembodied foot. He was silent as he ate. Vaguely some part of his mind registered the hum of conversation as though from at a remove. A slight smile tugged at the edge of his mouth, releasing a fat strand of pent up saliva, at the exclamations of approval. Someone had put on a record, and so it was accompanied by the ethereal melody of The Red Flower of Tachai Blooms Everywhere that he finally began his meal. Each bite into the succulent flesh heralded an explosion of tastes and aromas in his mouth. Each slow masticating chew a series of smaller bursts of the same. Still he sat, and his mind continuously turned over, revelling in this all-consuming act, whilst appalled at the price and his acceptance of that cost. By the time he had finished, he had reached a sort of hazy conclusion. He knew what had to be done to restore the equilibrium in their relationship.
Speaking briefly with his lover’s sister, then to several of his friends, cutting off their protests, he disrobed then sat on the table where she had laid back to be basted. He wondered what had gone through her mind. His own was filled with the image of her face and the tang of her flavour, and with a need to be with her. He would be soon, he thought, intermingling in the bellies of the others present. As they slowly oiled him too, and positioned the spit that had been recovered from what few remains were left of her body, he felt more relaxed than he had in ages. He knew instinctively that he should be afraid, but fear could find no purchase on his heart. And then the impact came, and took away all thought.
The party continued until
the following morning. Both of their heads sat next to each other on a
table, vacantly watching over the people celebrating, and everyone there
was struck by how right they seemed together that way.