Fruit salad

An image of several fruits that all togehter make a nice fruit salad.

Slowly, I became aware of my surroundings. I was on my back, on a hard surface, with my arms by my sides, and my legs spread. Whispered sounds around me made me turn my head, but the low light in the room only allowed me to make out the silhouettes of different people.

Women.

Turning my head to the other side, I saw more women.

When I tried to push myself up from the table, I found that my head was really the only part of my body I could move. My movement alerted a woman close to me. She turned, looked at me, and turned back to the woman she just talked to. The two of them alerted others too.

Apparently, my waking up was their cue. They all lined up on either side of me, and a second later, the sound of chairs scraping over the floor filled the room. It was only when they all sat down I realized I was lying on a table — my hands, feet and body secured in some or other way.

The next sound was that of cutlery on plates. Before I could process the sound, something sharp stung my belly, and almost immediately, I felt the same on my thighs and breasts, and other places on my bound body.

As best as I could, I lifted my head to look down at my body. One by one, and sometimes simultaneously, the women helped themselves to the fruit displayed on my body. Their silver forks pricked into pieces of strawberry, melon, kiwi, pineapple, banana and other fruit,

They didn’t gently prick at the fruit. In fact, it almost seemed like they deliberately wanted to hurt me. They ate, talked, and laughed. The more they ate, the sharper the stinging of the forks seemed to be.

Lifting my head again, I noticed one woman, sitting at the head of the table, down by my feet, didn’t eat. I checked several times, but not once did she help herself to a piece of fruit.

A chair scraping over the floor made all other sounds stopped, and so did the pricking in my flesh. Once more, I lifted my head, wanting to know what was about to happen.

The woman at the head of the table had gotten up.

Everyone watched her, including me.

She slowly crawled onto the table between my legs. Looking at me, she licked her lips. Her face lowered between my legs, and on either side she ran her tongue over my thighs, first left, then right. A sound of satisfaction escaped her, tasting the juices of the pieces of fresh fruit that had been on my legs.

Kneeling between my legs, she pushed her knees against my thighs to spread me wider. My head fell back when her tongue traced the line of my outer labia — from bottom to top on the left; from top to bottom on the right.

I lifted my head again and watched as she licked the whipped cream from her lips.

She lowered her head again, and this time she licked my slit, pushing her tongue into my wetness. I wanted her to lick my clitoris, but she broke contact with my body, looked at me and bared her teeth. I braced myself for the bite, which never came.

Her mouth closed around half a piece of plum covering my clitoris. Her teeth gently grazed my erect button, sending shivers down my spine.

I watched as she chew, juice from the plum dripping from her mouth onto my pussy.

When she lowered her face towards my crotch again, my head fell back to the table once more.

I pushed my hips upward. Sighing.

I was ready.


Note: This story was first published in August 2011, for the discontinued meme Wank Wednesday. I always enjoy editing older stories and applying all I have learned about writing in the past years, even when I cringe reading my older stories!

© Rebel’s Notes
Image from Pixabay


14 thoughts on “Fruit salad

    1. I don’t want my stories posted anywhere else than on my own website, which is why I don’t allow reblogs. Thank you for reading 🙂

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