Page 4 of The Last Feast

PRAY TO ME

AUGUSTE

Why the fuck did I run?

I’m not some pathetic little bitch a stranger can control. I don’t even like people. But I want to feel her tongue on more parts of my body. There wasn’t the discomfort there usually is, despite the literal knife pressed to my back.

But now? Now, I’m stuck in a pitch-black maze I can’t find my way out of. Outside the hedged walls, I could at least make sense of the shapes around me.

My senses go haywire at the sound of my breathing, the twigs snapping beneath my feet, the moss crunching, and the small leaves rustling in the manufactured breeze. Yet, I can’t keep my disappointment at bay, because she didn’t run after me.

And then, I hear it…

“One, two…”

Footsteps follow her eerie singsong.

“A devil’s coming for you.”

They get closer as my heart rate speeds up.

“Three, four…”

I slowly inch backwards, wincing as the branches scrape the side of my bicep.

“You’re going to beg once more.”

Fuck, my excitement isn’t normal.

But she’s interesting, and I can’t help it as I stick to the hedges to find a gap to evade her, to prolong this game she’s pulled me into.

“Five, six…”

Her steps get further away as her voice hardens.

“Grab the false crucifix.”

The hedge fully accepts me as I push myself deeper against the rough tree layer, destroying the natural weaving of the woody interior.

But as I’m about to push further back to cut her off, the hedge parts at my side.

She cuts through the branches and greenery, catching the emergency sign, allowing the soft green light inside the box to illuminate a portion of her face.

“Seven,” she says from beside me as she pulls the destroyed pieces of hedging out of the way. “Eight. It’s time for the banquet.”

The low green light precariously dangles above her head now that she’s dislodged the thin branches, making the white of her skull face paint glow as the deep black appears even darker.

I run forward with a smile on my face. All my life, I’ve been haunted with memories I attempt to escape, but now I run with a newfound freedom as her steps follow me.

There’s no little voice in the back of my head telling me to remain still, to let them do whatever they want because it’s the easier option. No, I just run.

She laughs, and I nearly fall head over ass at the carefree quality.

I look over my shoulder, imagining what her features are like when they’re not covered in paint, but she propels forward with the ax in her hand, pushing her entire body weight into my spine with the handle lodged against my ribs.

I stumble to the floor, turning to protect my head, but she follows.

My body has never been an issue for me. It has desires, reactions, but my mind never linked up with them.

That all changes when this woman digs her knees into my hips, pushing the ax against my neck as she leans over me with a wide smile, my hair in her hands.

There’s a current of fear working through me, yet the most horrifying realization is that lust co-exists with it.

For the first time in my life, there’s genuine lust, and it’s directed at a woman whose name I don’t know as she presses the long handle of an ax to my windpipe.

Her hands bracket the sides of my neck, fingers delicately wrapping around the metal handle, and the green glow of the emergency light turns the white parts of the skull painted on her face a pale green.

Ethereal. Morbidly ethereal is what she is.

“Caught me,” I croak. It turns into a grunt as she abruptly pushes the ax up, forcing my head back. And that grunt becomes a pathetic fucking whimper when she slowly runs the flat of her tongue up the column of my throat.

Pausing on my Adam’s apple, she hums. “Talk.”

“What do you want me to say?”

She laves my throat with her tongue, moaning with each syllable that vibrates through my extended neck.

“What’s your name?” I ask, obeying her.

She nips my Adam’s apple, lightly at first, then more forcefully when I moan at the feeling of her teeth scraping against my skin.

This is fucked up.

I am fucked up.

My dick is the hardest it’s ever been; even when I’ve forced my way through the acts with others, it’s never felt like this. This…potent and wild, like my bodily needs are altering everything I thought I knew.

I have to close my eyes when she begins grinding against me, rubbing her cunt on my covered length as I remain beneath her.

There’s no expectation for me to touch her, fuck her, or do anything.

She takes in a way that’s freeing of the mental shackles.

She takes when I’m bigger than her. I could overpower her, throw her to the ground and reverse our positions.

But I don’t, because the loss of power manages to restore some of the control I’ve lost in an oxymoronic event.

“Please,” I beg. For her to stop torturing me without giving more or to give me more, I don’t fucking know, but I beg her.

Her smile is pressed to the front of my throat as she decides for me. Her hips move up and down first; then, she applies more pressure as she grinds in a circle. Each movement is mimicked by the tip of her tongue on my neck while she forces me to remain flat on my back, the ax pressed to my neck.

“Beg again,” she says huskily. “Beg for your life.”

The terror ramps up at those four words. I don’t want to die despite the apathetic feeling towards life. So, I beg like she wants as I plant my feet, pushing my hips up.

“Please let me live. I’m young, twenty-five. There’s so many things I want to do.”

I slowly lift my hands to grab her hips, but she slams her knees down on my biceps. Her bones are sharp, painfully digging into the muscle as she grits, “Do not trick me.” She increases the pressure on my neck, making me splutter and choke while her knees keep my arms pinned.

“Earn your wants, sweet thief,” she says, lifting her hips to hover above my face.

“Sit.” I can’t get anything more out as she shuffles forward so her knees rest against the ax handle. Her shins keep my arms restrained, but it’s the satisfaction on her face as she gently runs her fingers through my hair that makes me still.

“I am your God. Pray for me to grant your desires.”

I hesitate before laying my tongue flat like I was forced to for communion.

She continues gently stroking my hair back as she moves closer, pushing the ax further down to rest across my stomach.

I expect to meet a barrier, but her bare cunt is within reach, making me whimper as I get the smallest taste from her lips.

There’s an urge in my limbs when my mind begins its usual taunts, one that forces me to buck my hips to shake her off since I don’t have the use of my arms and she’s pinning my upper body down. It only increases the pressure on the ax as she falls forward to sit on my face.

Fuck!

I moan at the full taste of her.

But I’ve angered her, and she pulls my hair as I tease her, sucking and fluttering my tongue on the smooth flesh around her entrance. Her clit is pressed to the tip of my nose, and I battle the metal ax handle bruising my sternum as I nod to convince her to let me continue.

“My good little whore,” she moans, grinding down. “Bless this cunt and bless us.”

I push my tongue inside her, wanting—needing—her blessings as she bastardizes the very words that haunt me.

There’s no rough, deep voice vibrating through the walls this time, only her delicate moans as I feel the warmth of her cunt wrap around my tongue.

She tenses, forces her hips down, then slowly fucks my tongue.

Being used by her distracts me, so much so that I don’t notice the ax trailing up my body until she pushes it back against my throat.

I am her vessel, a thing for her to use until I’ve satisfied her needs, but the decay painted on her face as she moans brings me to life.

I don’t move my tongue as she takes what she needs.

I am her object, patiently waiting for the blessing she promised as I flex my tongue, making it easier for her to ride my face.

“Beg,” she demands.

I mumble something, sending the vibrations through her body as she speeds up. My vision begins to blur, dark spots invading the edges that tear away pieces of this woman of death.

I scream into her cunt, attempting to get the ax handle off my throat as I battle my numb arms, but she applies more pressure as she moans, “So close.”

There’s no need to get her off my face. My only requirement is to see it, to see her come and watch her face light up. With the only illumination from the dulled emergency lights and my vision blurring, I can’t.

She slams back down, grinding her clit on my nose and burying my tongue deeper, robbing me of more air. Worse, she takes my senses and the satisfaction of seeing her climax.