dinner is served

Upon the dining room table that has been moved to the centre of the room, Allison lies naked on her back. Eyes straight up, she bears many small dishes upon her person, each prepared for you. On her stomach lies a narrow slate, on which are slices of what looks like marinated beef dressed with a glossy, dark sauce. Her shoulders carry circular plates of fried gyoza, the source of the ginger scent. Folded cloths protect her from the preheated plates and help them sit flat on her physiology.

It’s not just that. Between her breasts: glazed spare ribs, begging to crack and yield to your teeth. On one hip, a sliced chicken katsu cutlet; on the other, teriyaki beef, also sliced. More dumplings grace her thighs, glistening in the candlelight. You long to bite into one, and the same is true of her thighs.

Between her parted legs, a large bowl of steaming rice sits a respectful distance from her pussy. Between her teeth, chopsticks for your use. To her right, an empty bowl you may use, should you wish. And to her left, as you watch and as I look into your eyes, I set down a long, very sharp-looking knife. Everything cooked is pre-sliced. The only food that could possibly require the knife is Allison herself.

“Should you require it,” I explain, and return to a little coffee table on which more gyoza is frying on a camp stove.

Allison lies still. I gesture welcome.

“Dinner is served.”

The last few steps are taken in a dream. It’s almost hypnotic, having such a beautiful, living presentation of food. The only gap between the food she has helped cook and the very flesh of her body is thin serving plates, preheated to keep the food warm.

As you walk around her, your shadow sweeps across the wall. There is something of an altar about this set-up, and you are the arch-priestess. Her eyes swivel up to stare at you when you stop at the head of the table.

Against the self-conscious refinement, your stomach lets out a grunting growl, three distinct groans tripping over themselves to express your hunger. Allison, bless her, goes pale. It must be like the great, rolling belly that fills most of her vision in fact spoke to her directly in the language of biology.

Despite the crass interjection you fold gracefully over her: to pluck those chopsticks from her mouth, and also to murmur into her ear.

“You are very beautiful and I would like to keep you a while, so I will give you some advice,” you begin, the softness of your voice making it seem the majority of you wants her to ignore that advice. “Hold very still. Never whimper or make a sound. Do not under any circumstances drop food. I will try. Try. Not to eat you.”

The effect of your warning ripples down her body. A shiver causes the plate of beef on her belly to shift. Her hips rock very slightly before she catches them: probably related to the furious blush that creeps down her cheeks and neck. Your words alone nearly melted her.

Her nipples stiffen with arousal. You could snap them up with a snip of your teeth and swallow them one after the other. …

… The desire to do just that is almost irresistible. You have to bargain with yourself not to give in. Look at the beef. Start with that and the plates. She will wait and wait until you devour her.

You lurch almost clumsily towards the side of the table and take up a slice of the beef in glossy black sauce. Something very reminiscent of hoisin fills your mouth with sweet and savoury flavours, while the tender beef is so like flesh to chew that it only increases your ardour. Your chopsticks take a second slice and guide it into your mouth before you even finish chewing, nevermind swallowing.

The first swallow is heaven. You take two more morsels before it even reaches your stomach. You’re starving hungry.

The platter is emptied in under a minute. Allison’s eyes are wide open, with shock and other emotions. I swoop in to switch out the emptied plate with a fresh selection of the gyoza I have been frying. I know my Raven’s hunger and will not be caught napping.

It’s funny you went for her belly first, like a lioness would go for the liver.

It’s dangerous, but you stray closer to her immense breasts. When you reach for a spare rib with your fingers you imagine plucking out one of hers. You brush her breast while guiding the morsel to your teeth and know instinctively its composition, its flavour, what it would feel like being pared between your sharp teeth.

The pork feels like a poor substitute, even if its costing is flavorful and lively and the skin cracks with an elegantly accomplished char.

Five ribs go down swiftly. You pause to give a clear route for a belch, then start on the last five ribs. You perfect the method of inserting them whole and retrieving the bone scraped clean. It’s still not fast enough.

The gyoza dumplings on her shoulders are yielding and soft, only one side having a fried bite. Each is an explosion of bright flavours: ginger, minced pork, mushroom, spring onion. You chew ceaselessly, hours of loving work destroyed and gulped down in an animal frenzy: exactly as the two cooks had hoped.

I replace the platter between her breasts, then the next thing—a fried noodle dish—must cook for a while, so I come help. Allison does her best to avoid squirming as you plunder her body’s offerings. I lean over her to retrieve the bowl then spoon rice into it. In between your stuffing shrimp gyoza into your mouth I present you with mouthfuls of rice and crispy breaded chicken katsu, hearty in its curry sauce. You feed like a pig in its trough. It’s beautiful to witness your excess.

Allison cranes her head to inspect how low the food is getting. You finish the last of her belly and I’m working through one hip, without any sign of you slowing. Her motion makes an empty shoulder plate wobble and she gasps. Your eyes snap to hers immediately.

Then to the knife.

A test. While your stomach emits a sound like thunder, settling in around its rapid feast, you reach for the long knife. Allison’s eyebrows twitch up in mute supplication. She begs you with her expression alone not to hurt her.

It has been noted that she has magnificent breasts. You set the razor edge in the crease below one of them.

The corners of your prey’s mouth pull grotesquely down in fear and her eyes fill with tears, but she never makes a sound. Just watches as you prepare to cut away an immense slice of fat-rich flesh. Even when the belly of the knife bites into her skin and brings forth blood.

You lick the knife, and then you see it. In her eyes, the fear turns to wonder. Her body relaxes. When the knife returns she doesn’t tense. She had resigned herself to be yours.

The knife skitters into the corner of the room. You prefer your own tools of butchery. But right now, with a cosy kilo of first course sitting beneath your ribs and two willing sacrifices seeking to satisfy your every desire like it were holy writ, you find a different hunger coming to the fore.

Katsu comes towards you even as you mount the table and throw your leg across her. I continue to feed you even though the living-platter portion of the meal is apparently over. Emptied plates clatter onto the tabletop and are pushed away.

What must she have seen, your novice prey? Your thighs are enormous and your knees layered with hardworking muscle and softened with fat. Did she know what was about to happen when you first placed your knee on the tabletop?

Then, to see you haul your body up as if you weighed nothing? Your more-than 200 kilos hanging in heavy curves from tits and belly and arse, all practically pirouetting about that first knee, until your arse filled her vision.

It won’t have been your arse holding her attention, though. Your hungry cunt hung above her like judgement. The distant sound of your hurried chewing must have been eclipsed when you sat and your body enveloped her.

Your pussy embraces her like another mouth and she kisses you with every scrap of passion in her body. You moan, mouth still full. There is more to eat, though, and you will have it all.

You grind down on your lover and accept mouthful after mouthful of spiced chicken and rice. Once it is all safely committed to the tender mercy of your gut you protest against the delay of more food by crushing her, keeping her completely airless until I’ve run to dish up the noodles and brought them back. You slurp up thick udon noodles and Allison gasps for breath somewhere under your bottom.

The dumplings formerly on her thighs are gone. They barely touched the sides, landing almost unharmed in your stomach. In fact the table is running low on food. You see me registering this fact. Even while she desperately rocks her chin and laps at your clit, even as your face wears the slight vagueness of approaching orgasm, you say to me, “I want her.”

“Blood,” I say, stroking her thigh to encourage it to turn out and show you the soft inside where the artery runs. Her pussy nearby is achingly exposed and ready. “More courses to come. Bite. Drink. Keep her around. I have plans.”

You stare at me, undecided, and then all of a sudden, orgasm hits you like a thunderclap. A belch forces its way out. You rock your hips on the poor woman’s face like you’re trying to stub her out. I don’t know if it’s an answer or instinct, but your face drops immediately to her soft inner thigh and your fangs almost casually tear open the artery. Her screams are muffled against your padded mons as her blood gurgles down to join the food she modelled for you.