Edit: I mispelled “hors d’oeuvre” because I’m an idiot. Consider me chastised, though I do *like* chastisement if you have extra that needs using up.
—
I am so warm and dark and safe but then there is a feeling like the world has tipped to its side and I’m going to fall. As quickly as it started, the feeling subsides. I am on solid ground. Everything is a blur, so I blink blink blink and the world sharpens into focus. There is someone in front of me. She is flying. I hear the clink of glasses, the chattery scrape of fork on plate and a familiar voice says “I think Jenny is awake. Or maybe she is sleeping. She doesn’t know herself.” I try to lift my head, but I seem to be stuck somehow. This is distressing, and my heart skips a beat, but then I start to take notice of my surroundings, and I forget all about it.
I’m lying on a table, on my back. My knees are drawn up, and my thighs are parted as though for inspection by a doctor. I am the flying girl, looking back down on myself. There are mirrors all around: on the ceiling, on each of the walls of the room, and they’re positioned so that I can see the whole room without moving my head. My hands are flat against the table, palms up, beside my head, exactly as though I were pinned down by some invisible attacker, holding me by the wrists. My family are sitting around the table, in a sumptuously decorated room. Artefacts cover the walls: nutcrackers, helmets, swords, _Shunga_ prints, duelling pistols, a stuffed pair of lovebirds. The walls themselves are a deep red with gold embellishments painted along black cornices. Candles flicker from every corner, reflecting off the mirrors to fill the room with a thousand points of dancing light. I am naked, here on the table, with a bunch of grapes covering my left breast and an apple in my mouth. There are flowers woven into my hair, which spills richly over my shoulders in loose ringlets.
My father is sat at the end of the table, and the thought occurs that he can see my pussy, which is bared to him, labia parted. I feel comfortable with this, even reassured. He says “It’s a pity she is not here, or only here but not dreaming but I can’t see why there should not be”. The table erupts into laughter, high pealing giggles that shut off abruptly a moment later, like canned laughter.
“But she is here”, says my mother. She is sat to my left, wearing a velvet evening gown with her hair held out of her face by a tiara. She reaches a gloved hand out to pluck a grape from my chest. She pops it into her mouth and chews it deliberately, her eyes closing with pleasure. She opens them again and says “She’s delicious, too”. She rests her chin in her hands, smiles at me and says, “I don’t know why we don’t do this more often. It’s so lovely to be together this way.”. I become aware that there is a gentle breeze flowing across my skin, somehow coming from all directions at once. I am warm, and the air is just cool enough to induce a frisson down my spine and down my arms and in the tips of my nipples. As I shiver I warm up again, and the breeze chills me to shiver again, over and over, so that my skin tingles pleasurably in slow waves.
My eldest brother, sat behind me, reaches down the table to my navel and picks a solitary cherry that was resting in my belly button. His arm brushes over my nipple, which is erect in the cool air, and the shiver runs more deeply through me. As he settles back into his chair, my little sister, sat to my right says “You just took her cherry! Again!” and the whole table laughs uproariously for a few seconds, and stops just as suddenly as before.
“I can’t take the credit for that,” he replies, and nods to the other end of the table, “that was Dad.”. All eyes turn to my father. My mother and sister are gazing at him with a look of rapt admiration. My youngest brother starts to clap, and the rest of my family join in. My mother has tears of pride in her eyes.
My father shakes his head and holds up his hands to ward off the applause. “Please,” he says, “please, I can’t take credit. She was such a willing little thing, and her pussy sucked my cock deep inside her, hot and wet. I fucked her from behind. She was on all fours, and my hands gripped her, holding her by her waist. When I first sank into her, she whimpered as though in pain and her little body quivered, but soon she warmed to me, and as I started to thrust into her, harder and harder, she threw back her head and begged me to fuck her as deep as I could. When finally I came, I spurted my hot seed into her womb and she wept with the pleasure of it, crying ‘thank you Daddy, thank you.'”. My mother scoots her chair over to sit beside my father and her hand slips under the table to rest on his leg.
As he talks, I realise that I can feel cum rolling down inside me. This feeling excites me and I want to move my hips, but I can’t because I’m still held fast, paralysed. It occurs to me that there is something unusual going on. I don’t remember my father fucking me, though the idea makes me stir deep inside. This, too, I realise is unusual. Shouldn’t I be appalled by this? My sister takes a grape and rubs it slowly all over my belly and around my exposed nipple before nibbling it daintily, stripping it of its skin and popping it into her mouth. She says “When did you first have her suck your cock?”
My father smiles and says “I had to train her first. She practised on your brother. His cock was smaller, easier to deal with.”
My family nod approvingly at this. My brother glows with pride and my little sister looks at him from coquettishly from under her eye-lashes. It is his turn to speak: “At first she had no idea!”. They laugh in unison for a moment and stop. “She would suck on the head like she was trying to draw the poison from a wound. I had to teach her to slow down. I taught her to take her time kissing my shaft while her hand cupped my testicles, to kiss and suck gently all the way down my engorged length. I taught her to suck gently on my balls, and then to lick and kiss back up to the glans of my penis where her tongue would gently – oh so gently – bathe me with her saliva. She would open her warm, wet mouth to envelop me then, and she knew to suck wetly, sloppily so that my whole member would be wet with her spit. She would turn her head from side to side and groan deeply at the first taste of my precum. My thick, salty drool would encourage her and she would start to suck hungrily at the head, licking my sensitive spot, as her fingers interlinked and her hands began to stroke up and down, up and down so slowly, squeezing me at the base of my cock. Her hands would grip and twist, milking me, while her head bobbed gently. When she felt me tense up she would moan quietly around my cock, knowing that I was about to feed her. My hands would grasp at her hair, and I would force myself deep inside her mouth as my orgasm came, and I exploded into her. She always looked up at me with such a sense of accomplishment, gazing deep into my eyes, licking her lips of my stray cum, swallowing my load.”
I suddenly know what it is that I can taste in my mouth, I swallow hungrily, though it is very difficult with the apple wedged between my teeth, and my nipples pulse at the taste of the semen that coats my tongue. Another polite ripple of applause spreads amongst the diners and my father clears his throat. “I wasn’t so gentle with her, of course. Once she was accustomed to sucking cock, I took great pleasure in pushing her further and further. She came to love having her jaw stretched wide open as I slid deep into her throat. She would gag and shudder, desperate not to offend me, tears rolling down her face. I would stroke her cheek and smile down at her as I fucked in and out, using her mouth as I would her pussy, rough and hard. When I came, I liked to slip my cock from her mouth and shoot thick ropes of jism all over her face and across her tits. She looked so beautiful frosted in my cum.”
My little sister speaks up, “Did Mom know at this point?”
“No,” replies my father, “that wasn’t until -” a fresh round of start-stop laughter cuts him off.
“I knew alright”, says my mother. She has moved her chair right next to his and her hand is stroking up and down his thigh. “I knew from the beginning. I’d come home to find my house reeking of sex and my daughter snuggled up with her father. I never saw them, though, not until later. I would peek through the keyhole to watch her sucking you off and I would be made so horny that I had to touch myself, right there on the hallway, my fingers rubbing furiously at my hardened button, plunging into my wet snatch.”
They applaud again, and my sister speaks once more. “Once I knew what Jenny was, I couldn’t stop thinking about her; how much I would like to use her as you did. When I gave into the temptation, it completely changed me and BOYFRIEND’s relationship.” She beams happily, and simpers – looking up into the face of BOYFRIEND who is sat beside her. I hadn’t noticed him before, mistaking his face for a decoration on the wall. He is wearing a mask so that he has the face of a fox and I’m troubled that I’ve only just become aware of him. Was he laughing before? Did he applaud? “She would warm him up for me. I would have her lick his cock and stroke his balls so that he would get hard, and then he would fuck me while she watched. She was so good at it!”.
I feel a strange sense of pride at this, and between the cooling breeze, and the feeling of cum in my mouth and pussy, I realise that I’m growing very wet. My nipples are tingling, and I ache to be touched as she continues, “Soon I had her sucking on my pussy, too. She was great at that. Her tongue would probe deep inside me, stroking all my most sensitive spots and she would gulp down my juices. I think she loved the taste, because she would moan and whine under her breath as I rubbed myself all over her face. We would fuck, BOYFRIEND and I, and she would lie beneath our entwined bodies, her tongue lapping at our most intimate parts – my stretched out cunt, my sensitive little ass, his distended cock – teasing and thrilling us. When we orgasmed together, he filled me up with his cum and she would tenderly lap us clean, like a puppy drinking from a bowl while we stroked her hair and told her she was a good little whore.”. There is another smattering of applause before my father taps the side of his glass with a spoon. Everybody hushes expectantly, looking at the head of the table.
My father claps his hands thrice, proclaiming “I think it’s time for dessert”, and they all stand and I realise that my mother’s dress has slipped from her shoulders to expose her bare breasts, and my father is undoing his trousers, and my little sister lowers her mouth to clamp onto my nipple, and the feeling of it makes me cry out in pleasure and suddenly I’m falling again, on my side through the table and out of the world and it’s dark and I’m warm and my eyes fly open. Panting slightly under my breath, I stare up at the ceiling while my mind replays the images. After a minute or two, my breathing and my pulse return to normal. I settle back into my pillows, safe and familiar.
Gingerly I reach down below the covers to my mound and can immediately feel that my underwear is damp at the crotch. I rub there gently for a second, and the feeling is electric. I’m so over-sensitised. Slipping two fingers under the cover of my panties, I press gently against my lips and I can feel the sticky wetness coating the entrance to my vagina. Curling my fingers, I stroke upwards, painting myself with my juices, barely stroking over my clitoris and then – biting my lip – I start to rub around and around and around, my breath coming faster and faster.
—-
I’m Robin Goodfellow, I like words and I like filth. My hobby is writing stories for people. If this titillated or troubled, appalled, amused, or aroused you then drop me a line. Orange envelopes are to me as manna from heaven.
Source: reddit.com/r/sexystories/comments/7hozka/mff_inc_fantasy_hors_douevre