From: na672740@anon.penet.fi (na672740@anon.penet.fi) Newsgroups: alt.sex.stories Subject: Feeding Frenzy Date: Wed, 24 Jul 1996 08:02:22 GMT Feeding Frenzy I fuck with my face, my nose and mouth being my dominant conduits of arousal, my cock an exhaust valve, a pipe that spews satiation's detritus. So when she - she, whom I would have made Faustian bargains to eat, braving like a pudendal mailman sleet or snow and certainly dark of night, yeast infections, chlamydia, dysmenorrhea, eating her in any number of circumstances and conditions (after a three-day hike, a step class, a long, wide piss, a D & C, even after sex with her lover) - when she said, during one of our casual, friendly titillating after-dinner discussions about sex, over grappa, that she loved to be eaten and that her lover Patrick found pussy-licking demeaning, not fitting work for a man, I was stopped, stunned. (I picture Patrick, her big goyishe lover - who of course would have a name like Patrick; find me a full Jew named Patrick - as a rabbit-toothed, eager-beaver blond boy full of beer lust and tips on cross-country skiing, Mr. Slalom, thick-cocked and ready to spurt, nothing special in the sack but genetically well-muscled and athletic and, once you get past the smug playing field cum locker-room mode of behavior - the constant optimism, the thrusting energy of the speech, the high testosterone Ra! Ra!ness of the whole demeanor - lifeless. And there is the difference between the average WASP and the average Jew, if we can still talk about averages, if we can still make ethnic generalizations without violating every precept of political politesse, without unwittingly alluding to master races and final solutions: The WASP's identity is based on sports, on not making it to the major leagues - literally - and so everything is a declension, an allusion to the ability that was present, insufficient, but respectable: the erect stance, the bouncing on the balls of the feet, the relishing of any chance to throw something, anything - to someone or at a trashcan; the pushed, unwavering optimism, the chronic, bright-eyed aggressivity. The average Jew relates like a man who's failed at the mysteries of books and is consigned now to the marketplace, merchants' row; slow or quick of speech, there is always the struggle to overcome the doubt, the sense of inadequacy at not being able to crack the Mishnah, to make use of the Cabbala, the persona an allusion not to the playing field but to the bazaar or the library. As lifeless, as bourgeois, as sexually obsessed as the WASP but less equipped for seduction, usually, and therefore more prone to the perverse.) "Did you ever think what it would be like to have a lover you could do anything with? I mean absolutely anything?" she asked. "I can't imagine - I mean, it would be - can you imagine how great that would be, if you did have a lover you could do anything at all with - I mean anything. No rules, no balking, no looks of disgust or weird judgments, just a pact, an agreement to say no to nothing? I mean, you could confect a Magic Kingdom of unnatural acts and playlets. You could create your own attractions like at Disney World. You could have Fellatio Land, Ass Lickers of the Caribbean, the Haunted Condom... " "You aren't thinking about it seriously," she said. "I am thinking about it seriously," I said. "I am so serious I am making you the offer to form that partnership. Now. Let's be sex partners. No emotional stuff, no commitments except to the agreement - to the premise. Anything goes." "But we're not lovers," she said. "Perfect! No baggage," I said. "No bullshit. A clean slate. We could meet once a month or so in a hotel room or wherever and just go. I'm seriously making the offer. Think about it. Like in Last Tango only mutual, like a fucking Disney World - like a fucking Disney World. She liked that idea. Of course she liked that idea. She's from Orlando. * * * Six months later we finished our second, conclusive set of HIV tests - Rebecca, Hart (our third, indispensable for her first fantasy - she got to go first, having called "heads" - no pun intended but clearly unavoidable - and he had been patient and receptive, quite handsome, quite German, cheerfully bisexual) and myself, sitting in the clinic studying the result slips certifying us as non-carriers. A proud moment for me; I have never before kept a project afloat for six consecutive months. * * * The suites at the Four Seasons are smallish - at least ours was - with white walls, a small bedroom and small sitting room, deliberately stark, in contrast with the sumptuous, old-fashioned, inside-of-a-wedding-cake look of houses like The Plaza. Rebecca ordered two bottles of Pellegrino and a Riesling from room service while Hart and I installed a portable chinning bar in the sitting room doorway, hung a trapeze bar from it, adjusted the seat to be the right height, and Rebecca, in accordance with Step One, Fantasy One, sat nude on the bar while Hart and I kneeled in front of and behind her. As she swung toward me I got a quick lick at her cunt and then Hart got a quick lick at her ass, bracing ourselves for impact, trying not to get whiplash or be knocked back on our heels, and after a dozen or so licks I started feeling like a dog being teased with cold cuts. The three of us were laughing but none were hard or wet so we stopped and got onto the bed, Hart climbing immediately on top of her. I burrowed under their legs, working my hands under her ass, his sac on my head, and started eating her pussy. She had her period, which seasoned the taste of her cunt, giving me feeding frenzy and making me realize that sharks and other predators aren't frenetic during the kill because of an intrinsic roughness or hunger - it's the blood. Once you get past the squeamishness, taking it in, that life right there on your lips and down your throat flushes you full of power and mania; that's why you see sharks and wild dogs ripping and tearing, wriggling and capering, jerking their heads to and fro - they're inflamed, wired from blood-rush as much as in a hurry to eat before others take their share. With a truly strong (really impressive, if I say so myself) curling movement, I hoisted both their hips, both sets of pelvises up, Rebecca's cheeks in my palms, Hart on top of her until he lost his balance and fell. I was at her pussy when I felt my ass cheeks being spread and my asshole getting licked. As I eased back I wondered whether there was some blackness being perpetrated, some moral horror that would make me suffer later like a string of unleashed bad luck. Rebecca's murmuring brought me back home, to her lovely black-brown fur and pinkish island of slit. I kept lapping at the brassy-bloody taste, the hours later, morning after, V-8 from-a-can aftertaste, supping until she bucked, screamed, beat her pillow with the back of her head, screamed and tried to climb up the bed away from my tongue. My tongue and jaw were afire, my face painted with her smell, lips outlined in splotchy blotches of maroon, like a clown who'd napped in his makeup. Hart was masturbating next to us and Rebecca started sucking him, sucking his uncut cock like it had layers you could dissolve to find a prize, and he started thrusting his nineteen-year old hips, throwing his head back, flinging his long Stuttgart hair around his shoulders. Rebecca rolled off the clammy patch of bedding, the striped mattress ticking showing through the translucent patch of linen, rolled to the center of the bed, pulled Hart down by his erection and eased him inside her. I walked to the edge of the bed and started shrimping, sucking her toes, licking and sucking her soles too, and gnawing at a thin shell of callous near the ball of one foot, watching Hart's narrow, lightly furred ass bob as he fucked her. He turned from a sweet, long-haired German boy into a rude, snarling assailant, smacking the sides of her ass, slamming his pelvis forward, throwing his head up, arching his back like he was doing some kind of power Yoga. She seemed fine, though, and said she wanted him to come on her, on her tits and belly and pussy, and she started flicking her tongue against his lips, licking his lips and saying, "Come all over my tits, I want to see you shoot, all over me, I want to see it spurt, come on me... " And he did, heaving himself back and out of her, the muscles of his thighs striating, the thin skin of his legs straining in support of his weight as he crouched, balancing on the balls of his feet in a low squat, grabbing himself and pulling. The three of us watched his cock, full of suspense, wondering exactly how his ejaculate would look, how far it would shoot - would it shoot? - or dribble; what degree of whiteness and consistency? His cock answered with a short-range, birdshot formation of come that formed a diamond-shaped pattern of drops on her ribs and tits followed by another burst, a stream long and white as waxed twine firing from his cock, arcing at an angle over the top of her head, soiling the pillowcase and headboard. The rest of the spurts he aimed, sort of, flinging his come across her tits like a drunken pastry chef, impearling her, making discs, sickle cells, Dali clocks and broken lines on her chest and throat, her tits, her ribs and belly, her chin too, wiping the late-coming dregs onto her lips and the tip of her gingerly offered tongue. She lay back and looked proud, arms out to the sides, a performance art piece, Woman With Come, some Karen Finley-esque human sculpture. She said, "Lick it." She was looking at me so I said, "What?" "Lick his come up." I said, "Wait, I... " "You said anything," she said. "That was our deal. Anything. You're breaking our agreement if you don't lick it up." So I did, starting with the splatters on her bush, up the line of fuzz from the top of her mound to her navel, lapping up the little pool there, the smell of weeping willows, of pollen, in my nose, the stickiness getting onto my cheeks, my chin, the salt and baking powder taste on my tongue, and I started wondering at the number of - millions, probably - sperm, German sperm, I thought, amusing myself with the rhyme - swimming in my saliva, wriggling on my tongue, feeling tricked as they swam down my throat to discover no eggs, just a huge pool of acid to die in. I felt hardness against my ass and tensed. "This won't really hurt," he said. "Wet it," Rebecca said. "Here." She rubbed her fingers on her pussy, putting a coating of her fluids on the head and shaft and then lay back, pulled me close, kissed my neck, my ear, sucked my tongue, and bit my lower lip hard - bit into it and drew blood. Hart thrust in at the moment I howled from the pain in my lip, like it was prearranged, a doctor and nurse team using misdirection to give a difficult injection, my belly feeling flame swirling up to it, and feeling his hands on my ribs, noticing I was shoved forward and back in someone else's rhythm. I thought of how at nineteen you can get hard so fast so often, how at thirty I have to wait, of the pain in my balls from not having come, of thirst, of wanting water, of the Pellegrino bottle on the nightstand. My cock slid into Rebecca, her cunt like a sea thing, like a toothless, warm sponge, a tight toothless guppy around me, gripping me, coaxing the come out of me, and the pain of Hart's cock in my ass, shoving at my prostate, pushing fluids up my cock and into Rebecca's pussy, various vas deferential fluids from the prostate blitz. The pain combined with the sucking glove of her cunt, the smell of her armpits, their wetness and smell as I rolled my face around in them, rubbing my nose and chin and mouth and hair against the dale of smell and sweat like a dog at carrion. Hart was grunting and dancing behind me, pulsing little shivers, tremors of muscle and quiver and I knew he was making me his cunt, and felt the rumble and gather in the space under my balls, felt the roar up my cock and into Rebecca, buttering her pussy, greasing her, making her loose and slippery. And then there was stillness, the three of us an exhausted Twister team stacked on one another, thoughtless, breathing, rolling onto our sides, still attached, blank and sated, breathing, catching our breath, heaving in air, murmuring sighs, wordless, wondering what happens next.