Friday Fiction: The Feast

Given my current workload, it’s hard to find time right now to write longer posts and stories. I’m finding it a little frustrating – especially as for once I have plenty of ideas floating around my head – so in an attempt to force myself to JFDI, I’m going to commit for the next few weeks to posting some fiction every Friday. Some weeks it’ll be full stories, and some weeks – like this one – it’ll be a chapter of a work in progress.

This story is called The Feast, and will be continued (and possibly concluded) next Friday. It features the same characters as a piece I wrote back in the Spring, and is based on a fantasy someone shared with me a little while ago…

The Feast (part one)

As the cleaner’s cart rolled past our door for the third time, Dan rocked back on his chair and let out an exasperated sigh.

“Ok, it’s 8.30, everyone else has left, and I’ve got dinner plans with Sarah – can we please get the fuck out of here?”

I wavered for just a second. The small meeting room – really more of a cupboard – in which the client had squirreled us away was stuffy and stale. The only sign of life in the open-plan office outside our door was the low hum of the server stack. We’d been on the job for five weeks, and for the most part it had been a gruelling, miserable slog through early mornings and late nights, for what we all knew would be scant praise or thanks at the end of it all.

My eyes flicked back to the screen in front of me. The bastard screen, with its bastard list of unfinished tasks.

“Sorry guys, I know this sucks, but we’re not going anywhere for a while. Dan, why don’t you give your lovely sister a call and tell her that you’ll take her out for a birthday dinner another time – at the company’s expense.”

“Yeah, and make sure you say hi from me”, said Sergey, an exaggerated leer on his face, which turned into a look of alarm as he ducked to avoid the empty coffee cup hurled with vicious accuracy by Dan at his shaved head.

They were good boys, the three of them: Dan, Sergey, and Matt, who stared intently at his laptop as the insults and projectiles flew back and forth in front of him. Young, fiercely intelligent, and willing to roll up their sleeves when there was work to be done. They’d put in long hours whenever I’d asked them to, with little in the way of genuine complaint, and I knew the project would be in serious trouble without them.

Not that my own contribution was likely to go unnoticed by the partners – not if I had anything to do with it, anyway. I thought about the text I’d received from Kathryn just after 6, when we should all have been heading back into town. ‘Please come over. I need to you to fuck me – I need you to ruin me.’ Yeah, we were all making sacrifices for the good of the firm. Some were definitely harder than others.

Matt tore his attention away from the screen in front of him and reached for his mobile. “Shall I call for pizza?”

“Not again”, Sergey groaned. “Can we please eat something other than fucking pizza? Chinese, sushi, curry…I don’t care. I never thought I’d say this, but I’m not sure I can face more melted cheese right now.”

As Matt picked up his phone to scroll through takeaway options, I felt mine buzz against my thigh. Kathryn again. ‘You’re always working! Can’t I come and suck you off under your desk? I’m sure your colleagues won’t mind. I’ll be good and quiet, I promise.’

My fingers hovered over the keyboard, before tapping out a quick reply. ‘I’m sure you can wait another couple of hours…’ I paused, and re-read Kathryn’s message. She sounded desperate, and I remembered a conversation we’d had in the pub one night, after I’d ordered her to take the new barman out into the alley and give him his well-earned tip with her mouth. She’d returned 10 minutes later with muddy knees, smudged lipstick, and a triumphant smile on her face. When Kathryn was given a task to complete, she rarely disappointed.

“Mm, that was easy. He’s only a kid – he almost came when I unzipped his jeans!”

“Oh yeah? Don’t get cocky now, or I’ll make sure you regret it.”

“Promises, promises. Aren’t you proud of me?”

“Hey, like you said, blowing a 19-year-old bar boy is a piece of piss. I just don’t think you’re up to a serious challenge.”

“Fuck you! Just try me. When have I ever let you down?”

It was a question to which I’d had no answer. Kathryn was an accomplished and adventurous sub, if occasionally too wilful and disobedient for the sort of formal arrangement I’d initially envisaged. Better this way though: she enjoyed being punished for her bad behaviour almost as much as I loved picking her up on it.

I erased the reply I’d written, and thought about her sitting at home, frustrated and horny. I had little doubt that she’d already masturbated at least once, ignoring my strict instructions to keep her fingers off her clit. Not to mention the fact that she’d asked in such a bold manner for something that she knew was to be given – or not – at my convenience.

Where Kathryn was wild, unruly and defiant, Dan, Sergey and Matt had been industrious, efficient and disciplined. They really were good boys, and I’d promised them a reward… I studied them again, more closely than I had done for weeks. Dan was tall and fair; his clean, boyish features offset by the broad shoulders and strong thighs that had seen him make it all the way to the fringes of his University rugby team, and which now filled out his tailored suit.

In contrast, Sergey was wiry and lean, with sharp, hawkish features and piercing blue eyes; there was an eager, forceful hunger in the way his long fingers danced over his laptop keyboard, which I knew was a product of both his intelligence and his ambition.

At 23, Matt was the youngest member of the group, but he’d already shown himself to be the steadiest and the most dependable. He was plain-looking, his dark features frequently impassive, and he was happy to let his more boisterous colleagues take the limelight; when he did speak though, it was always to add something new or insightful to whichever conversation he’d joined.

They worked very effectively together, and I wondered what else they might do well as a team. I picked up my mobile again and wrote a new message to Kathryn. ‘What if I don’t want you to be good and quiet under my desk? What if I want you to be bad and loud on top of it?’

The reply came quickly. ‘You know I’ll do as I’m told.’

I flicked to my phone camera and took a quick snap of the room. ‘What…or who…?’

An hour later, right on time, the meeting room phone rang. The night porter sounded a little flustered as he explained that the takeaway we’d ordered was waiting downstairs: I could well imagine why. I jumped up and opened the door, then turned to face the others.

“I’ll be back in a minute. Remember what I told you.”

Briefing Dan, Sergey and Matt had taken a while. I had very specific instructions for each of them, but first – as with any task or project – it was necessary to explain the context and objectives. I told them how much I appreciated their hard work and dedication, and that while I couldn’t guarantee a financial bonus, I did have something to offer that they might enjoy. Kathryn was such a good sub, and I felt a renewed sense of pride as I described how hungry she was for cock; how happy it would make her to be used by the three of them.

I revealed our safe word, and knew instinctively as I did so that it was the last time anyone would speak it that evening. Kathryn had been waiting a long time for this, and her excitement at having her fantasy fulfilled came through in the messages she sent me as she got ready to leave her flat. It was anticipation mixed with fear; desire sharpened by the knowledge that she’d be pushed harder and further than she ever had been before. It was everything I craved in her, and as I walked down the stairs to Reception, I knew that she would rise to the challenge. She always did.

To be continued…

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3 Responses to Friday Fiction: The Feast

  1. mariasibylla says:

    What a particularly hot cliffhanger!

  2. becomingHIS says:

    I’m definitely looking forward to the continuation… very hot!!

  3. hurricaneros says:

    Argh, don’t end it there!

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