Cut through the noise.
At no point in human history has it been both easier to publish yet harder to be noticed. Through 99% of the past, literacy has been the barrier separating the elite—including organized religion—and those simply trying to survive day-to-day. Up until Johannes Gutenberg brought the printing press to Europe, the primary means of communication were sermons and plays. It was very easy to control oral information for the authorities. A severed tongue stilled treason.
Between Gutenberg’s Bible and the rapid explosion of the World Wide Web, books became more and more common and difficult to stamp out. Censorship no longer could solely focus on bards and troubadours, but fought a steadily losing battle against underground pamphlets and other scurrilous publications. Contrary to modern thinking, porn—both visual and written—has existed for as long as humans have interacted.
What is new, are the many e-publishers who have taken the erotic story off the dingy back room shelves, boldly cast off the raincoat and openly called upon writers to submit their best smut. I answered that call, and submitted to four different prompts over the course of several months. The first three were rejected. Not a surprise, because I don’t really write what editors are looking for. I prefer to write quirky.
If I had to pick one genre of fiction I gravitate to the most, it would be science fiction. I do realize that there are as many distinctions in sci-fi as there are in romance, but I tend towards hard science if I had a choice. This is a segue into one of the submission calls I entered for an erotic take on gluttony; more specifically in terms of a Deadly Sin. The setting is in a future where humans have settled other planets.
The story is long, at 4,000 words, and is graphic and disturbing for those that like a nice, neat stroke story. This is not one of those. After the story, I will have a brief explanation as to the reasons I wrote as I did.
The Black Feast
The self-styled Baroness Susanna cracked a wide smile of desperate relief upon spying the host holding court among the copulating crowd. Her grimace though, was also filled with hate and loathing for the overseer who had both saved and ruined her life.
“John,” she screamed over the thumping electronic music blaring from dangled speakers. “John! I need a ride home after the feast!”
The huge black man—grotesque in fact—pressed a button on an old-fashioned keyboard. An opaque privacy dome formed over his travel chair hiding them both.
“What’s this about a ride, darling?” he growled through his throat box. “Was there another incident?”
He languorously raised a fat-fingered hand, each digit tightly squeezed by an ornate ring of precious metal studded with priceless Old Earth gems. The wealth on his fingers alone would feed tens of thousands for years: if he’d had the slightest altruistic inclinations.
He nodded and accepted Susanna’s obsequiousness as the tall, skinny bronze-toned woman humbly suckled off the grease from his latest meal.
“Oh, it was horrible, sir! Why can’t anything be done about those wretched street creatures?”
“I had almost given up on you.”
Susanna raised her face with a not entirely faked look of fright. “No, sir! I was delayed!”
“I take it—since you are here—you made it through in one piece?”
She swiftly knelt and wormed her way under his loose silk tunic until she was able to grasp his hidden prick. She heard him grunt as the servos slid the seat forward and spread his thighs so her head could fit.
“No thanks to my sniveling driver!” was the last coherent noise as she applied her fear to sucking his aromatic cock.
Still seething at the recent trauma, Susanna’s fawning mask of arousal slipped. Careless with her teeth at first, she fought the temptation to chomp down. Several hard slaps to her face and hair yanked firmly, refocused her attention on proper technique.
Cheeks hollowed, throat plugged, she concentrated on lavishing the clammy organ between her lips as if it was her last meal.
If she didn’t succeed tonight, it could very well be her last meal. Based upon psychological profiles, every individual present performed a sexual favor calculated to cause the greatest distress. It was simply the price of admission.
The man currently having his cock swallowed, ruled over the Palace of Gluttony with strict discipline. His ebony skin was in sharp contrast to the varied paler shades of his subjects.
On the planet of Afrans, the rulers were all dark hued, the rest of Earth’s genetic legacy, whether Caucasian, Hispanic, Asian or mulatto of any blend, were lumped together as colored slaves of varying castes.
“I’ve been saving my load for you, Baroness, knowing you love my taste so much.”
He gripped her skull and fucked her as she gagged and spit.
Despite the degradation, because of her years of perverse sexual training, Susanna felt her thighs grow wet beneath her translucent sheath. For the first time, she’d drawn the monthly black this week—the centerpiece of debauched entertainment—and was in for a long, painful evening.
She felt her gorge rise, but forced it down with ruthless control and iron will that had driven her ascension from immigrant gutter rat, to slave-dictator of ten square miles of city center.
To hasten his ejaculation, she made loud ‘gurk-gurk’ and ‘glub-glub’ noises and allowed tears to smear her cosmetics. A docile doll on the surface, she held her aching jaw open and let the cock hammer away until a large quantity of tacky, rank sperm filled her sore mouth to the brim.
Susanna dutifully opened wide and displayed. He patted her head. She gulped then stuck out her clean tongue with eyes downcast.
Some day, fat man, I will laugh as feral pigs consume your corpse.
“So, why do you need a ride, pet?” John asked, returning to the original conversation.
Her voice was hoarse. “My driver refused to keep moving when a pack of scum blocked my passage. I ordered him to accelerate and he dared show compassion! I engaged the override and went right through the mob.”
“Interesting,” John mused. “I didn’t think you had the balls. Were there any killed?”
She waved impatiently. “I don’t know, nor do I care. The point is, those creatures damaged my vehicle! Worse, the enforcers impounded it once I arrived! I dismissed my driver on the spot and informed my broker to sell his family to the mines.”
Susanna got to her feet. “It doesn’t matter anyway. After being the black tonight, I doubt I’ll be in any shape to drive.”
“Very well, darling, I will grant you safe transportation in the morning.”
“Thank you, Sir. I will repay my debt in the manner of your choosing.”
“Yes, you will.”
John watched thoughtfully as the Baroness moved off towards the presentation arena. She had surprised him tonight: he was sure his diversion of the mob combined with the subordination of the driver would have forced her late arrival and subsequent forfeiture.
The enforcers were not at the Palace by accident. Their absence at the scene, however, would be noted at court. If the Emperor demanded an explanation…
He shrugged his massive shoulders.
As tempting as it was to arrange her death by fucking tonight, there would be other opportunities to thwart Susanna’s planned attack. The fearful slave girl disguise had worn thin of late.
He laughed, overtaken by a sudden thrill, realizing it had been too long since he had been challenged. The irony of his secret protégé now threatening a lifetime of work: it was such sweet pleasure.
John’s amplified voice boomed. The music cut off in mid crescendo, semi-clothed bodies abruptly ceased whatever activity was happening.
Wet cocks pulled out of orifices, whips froze in backswings, mouths hastily finished swallowing and groups suddenly became individuals once more.
“Welcome, my friends, to the Palace of Gluttony. I trust all admission fees have been paid?”
John studied the heads-up display for compliance. All present, indeed all inhabitants of the Emperor’s domain wore chips. Easily hacked with enough credits, they served little purpose as the criminally inclined circumvented the parameters. Since only the top 1% had sufficient credits, ipso facto, everyone present was a criminal.
He, however, possessed a backdoor code.
Speaking of backdoor.
“Simon Says! You have not paid your fee! You were warned last time!”
Two massive nude Nubians—or at least that’s what legends called them—seized the unresisting mocha skinned man and dragged him to the nearest platform.
Their large breasts bobbed freely as Simon was strapped face down, bent over with feet lifted above the padded floor. One moved to his head pressing an erection to his mouth; the other hermaphrodite took aim at the prisoner’s anus with her cock.
As he watched his guards fuck Simon in both ends, rotating cunt licking every so often, a niggling suspicion arose that he was being played. Certainly the short male, half the size of those who plugged him, seemed in little distress.
He changed Simon’s standing invitation from anal intercourse by a male, to oral service of a female. He wrinkled his brows; it was getting more and more difficult to match up psychoses.
Perhaps it was time to change the format to celibacy.
John’s explosive mirth at the thought was spontaneous and, given his reputation for creative cruelty, the crowd moved back slightly.
“Guards! Cease fucking and bring the prisoner to the arena!”
The crowd roared its approval. John was gratified to note Simon was no longer passive but displayed a look of fear. This was going to be a night to remember: the credits for the live stream were already nearing a record.
Waiting beneath the sand floor of the arena, Susanna heard the muted savagery of the mob. For three years she had escaped the black, the person selected at random to represent the monthly culmination of gluttonous weekly feasts.
She had always enjoyed the carefully choreographed pleasures, punishments and pornographic displays the overseer demanded. She also grudgingly admitted it was a clever way of controlling the designated rulers of John’s territories within the rotting Empire.
As bad as it would be—Susanna had been equally savage every month—a good thing about being chosen was the six-month exemption from the Emperor’s lottery. Those picked entered the imperial compound and disappeared. Any price was worth lifting the terror caused by middle of the night knocking.
She gave a pugnacious tilt of her chin to the watching guards. At least she had a choice now; not much of one—the wild-fringe clans didn’t even pretend to be civilized—but she had enough power to run if her nerve failed.
“Black! Black! Black!” The chant rang out overhead and Susanna’s knuckles whitened on the platform stanchions.
Her blood thrummed with indoctrinated excitement. Being forced to sexually perform in public dredged up horrifying memories, but Susanna vowed to play her role to perfection.
You can’t break me, fat man.
She schooled her features into a blasé pout. The elevator rose silently as John’s voice rang out, “Tonight’s mystery black, for your exclusive use, is the one and only, Baroness Susanna!”
The frenzied cheering from the auditorium bowl that enclosed the stage felt like a punch to her chest. The hundreds of men, women, hermaphrodites and those with no gender at all, were all standing and yelling down at her.
From an elevated dais that jutted out above the audience, John gave her a salute. She bowed deeply and correctly to him and then raised both hands, middle fingers extended to her jeering peers. That gesture had survived the millenniums intact.
The noise rose and then petered off as she showed her rage.
“You think you fuckers are tough? You got nothing!”
She spat on the sand and crossed her arms with a scowl.
Shocked eyes turned to John at this unprecedented display of bravado.
In the anticipatory silence, John let the tension stretch. Mixed with his anger was pride, and although he could not allow her to continue her defiance, he was now glad his earlier plot had failed. Perhaps she could be more useful as an ally than an enemy.
He gave a sub-vocal command. Another platform rose next to Susanna. The crowd buzzed seeing the man; two surprises and the night had barely begun.
Simon was restrained, ready for service in a queening apparatus.
John stared at Susanna as he spoke. “As you can see, Simon has been a bad boy in not paying his dues. During the first part of the ceremony, he will be orally used, or ELSE!”
The shouted word lashed the arena like a whip.
His voice was a growl of deep menace. “And if you value your life, Baroness, you will surrender your petulance and willingly serve tonight as MY black!”
He could see her jaw clench, but she fell to her knees and bowed her forehead to the sand.
“You will mount the prisoner, and ride his face, until I am satisfied both of you understand the true meaning of submission!”
Susanna swung onto the chair, her bottom settled into the open seat, as the crowd muttered in anticipation. She faced Simon’s head so that his mouth was firmly embedded into her pussy.
“Get to work, Simon. Lick the Baroness’ wet cunt nice and deep. You see,” he turned his attention back to the audience. “If he doesn’t give her an orgasm within a specified—but unknown—time limit, he’ll be shocked by the electrified probe in his rectum. She, on the other hand, is not allowed to climax, and if she does, they will change places and repeat the exercise.”
Cruel laughter and applause rained down on the linked pair.
“While they amuse us, I now have the pleasure of revealing the theme to this month’s event.”
A roll of drums and flourish of trumpets: John believed in tradition.
“Thanks to the beautiful weather, and our beloved Emperor’s creative means of persuasion, the recent harvest has been the best in recorded history. Rather than let the excess go to waste, or worse yet, increase the slaves’ rations, he has generously donated the crops to the overseers, to dispose of as they see fit.”
John rested his hands across his distended belly.
“As you may note, I have eaten my fill already.”
There were nervous titters here and there, but most gossiped quietly as they saw Simon’s body arch in his bondage.
“Ah, the Baroness is still holding out. Poor Simon got shocked.” He manipulated some controls on his view screen. The whispered conversations abruptly turned to screams and exclamations.
His hands gleefully slapped his fleshly thighs with a thud as they ducked and cowered under hail from above. It was so much fun to torment his slaves.
The last of the objects bounced off someone’s head onto the sand floor. “As you can see, the Emperor’s manna of fruits and vegetables has truly blessed us this evening. And, you may ask, what shall we do with his munificence? Why use it of course.”
Spotlights shone brightly. “There are two tempting targets right down there. A little preoccupied perhaps. The Baroness herself successfully reduced the population by a dozen useless mouths while driving here tonight.”
All around the arena, people were brushing off the rotten produce from splattered clothing. The more intelligent ones, as well as the sadists, were sifting through the piles and hefting the heaviest and juiciest of projectiles.
John purred out his command. “You may fire when ready. To the one who dismounts the black, a vacation on my private island, but remember, no broken bones.”
From the first instant Susanna rode her steed, she knew there was no possibility she’d orgasm via Simon’s efforts. To state he was inept would be a kindness. No woman would ever be turned on by such desperate slobbering. To be on the safe side, she sank deeper inside, letting all her emotions turn to ice and her responses rote.
Thus the storm of produce and the pronouncement she’d killed twelve by vehicular homicide made little impact on her outward appearing equanimity. There’d be a price to pay—later—there always was. Someday she’d be unable to outrun her personal demons.
The first projectile missed; not because the throw was poorly aimed, rather the conjoined target was no longer immobile. The abrupt lurch nearly unseated Susanna, who clutched the frame at the last second. Yet another surprise: the devices in the arena had never moved before.
Earth origin fruits and vegetables pelted down in a rainbow cascade of filth. Marksmanship was a necessary by-product of social climbing on Afrans, and the eager audience soon adjusted to the random darts and jukes.
Susanna didn’t attempt to duck, as a cowering target would only incite the mob’s hunger. In rapid succession, numerous loud splats coated her torso with purple, orange and red pith. Green squash burst in a disgusting mass of slimy entrails-like goop.
During all the preprogrammed maneuvering, she managed to maintain contact with Simon’s mouth. Compared to the wet, stinking biomass dripping from her dress, the oral fluttery was an annoying gnat. Several large peeled citrus struck the back of her head.
Emboldened by the hard hits, most redoubled their efforts to smash her from her perch. There were plenty with scores to settle. Susanna hung on grimly; she’d taken worse punishment in gladiatorial combat after all.
There were many others though, that sat back and watched the show, piles of carefully selected produce stacked at their feet. They withheld attacking targets in the stands until they were sure it was within the evening’s guidelines.
After sending discrete pings to John, and receiving clearance, the trajectory of hurled organic objects shifted as rivals in the tiered seating let loose with a barrage. While some still fired at Susanna and Simon, even those were soon forced into defensive postures by stray rounds.
There was no finesse, and whatever strategy existed at first, soon degenerated into a free-for-all food fight. Shouts and warnings flew in laughing tandem with oozing pears, squishy bananas and overripe tomatoes.
The chair ceased gyrating and Susanna took advantage of the respite to wipe the mess from her face. She kept her head on a swivel but no one took another potshot at her.
“Good grief, Simon! Are you gnawing on my pussy?”
“Please, Baroness, please come, I can’t take another sho—”
Susanna grimaced as the hapless man’s body was contorted into rigidity by the electrical current emanating in his ass. She glanced up at John. He was chortling and clapping his hands at the spectacle. When his gaze drifted her way, she raised an eyebrow, looked down and shrugged her shoulders as if to say, ‘now what?’
John tallied the number of Simon’s shocks, noted Susanna’s elevated but non-aroused vitals, and made his decision. A stubby finger jabbed the big red button. From the ceiling, a cascade of warm water sluiced, drenching the combatants.
Clothes were quickly shed. Glistening clean limbs soon emerged from beneath the rotted mess. The torrent quickly swept all evidence of combat away, leaving behind scores of naked people.
Once the deluge had stopped, shackled janitors were marched into the arena to rake the sand clear. Susanna dismounted to strip and wash. Guards removed Simon from the queening chair and yanked the rectal probe out.
The floor rose smoothly until level with the lowest ring of seats. Around the circumference, a horseshoe shaped pit opened. Sand drained over the edges with a steady hiss. From the depths, a wide, clear Lucite table filled the entire gap, base sealing tight with an audible click. Down its center was a narrow rail, with an elevated platform at the end nearest John.
A sigh echoed round the amphitheater. Platter after platter of real food sent waves of scents to salivating mouths. John leaned back on his throne and smirked. Like all his colored slaves, they only ate synthetized protein cubes and drank carbohydrate shakes.
The weekly feasts were an epicurean orgy of rare wines, real meats and fresh fish along with unblemished produce and cooked grains. Many had fasted in order to consume as much as possible. The excess was dumped on the sand to feed the Nubian’s war dogs.
“Take your seats everyone and gorge freely. Susanna, you will mount the platform. Simon, as you failed in your assignment, in fact, I doubt she even noticed you were down there,” jeers filled the arena, “you will practice your oral skills by crawling under the table from the far end.”
He raised a solid gold goblet. “The Black Feast has begun!”
Susanna knew the drill. Each diner was allocated at least five minutes of playtime. She crouched on all fours, the platform cleverly placed so that each pair of participants had to stop eating in order to use her sexually.
Any intercourse—front or back—required a delicate balancing act standing on the chair seat. Corporal punishment dictated the high-backed chair be removed entirely to facilitate room to swing.
She was relieved when the first dozen or so diners rushed through perfunctorily, seemingly much more interested in gorging on the rich food than in fucking. In any event, the privileged seats at the center were always the dangerous ones. There, time was doubled to ten minutes each, and by then, the first pangs of hunger were assuaged. Listening to some of the toasts sent her way, deviant minds high on aphrodisiacs were plotting her torment.
Thus far the sex had been disappointing: lots of poking and prodding and spanking and fondling. Routine and boring, but she noticed the next segment contained a cluster of ten neuters. She couldn’t help but smile, knowing the genetically engineered caste was highly sought after. Lacking hair and genitalia, they were trained solely to give pleasure and pain. She could rarely afford their services.
“Good evening, friends.” Susanna bowed from her kneeling position. There were rumors neuters were telepaths, it never hurt to address them as a bloc.
The music changed to an orchestral work, a masterpiece by Bach, and the first pair of neuters used Susanna’s body like an instrument. Her breasts, until now largely ignored, were drizzled with a thick honey sauce. Nimble hands massaged the sticky fluid into a smooth layer. Seaweed was wrapped tightly around the base of both her breasts and tied off in bows. Nipples were strummed and plucked until distended and sore, encircled with pineapple rings, then clamped with serrated teeth.
The other partner probed her rectum with slick, oily fingers. A large, shaved ginger root was held up for Susanna’s inspection. Thrust through her opened anus, the rhizome was moved in and out, coating her anal walls until finally seated deep inside.
The spiced oil reacted to the ginger, and fire lanced her bowels. She clenched her jaw, refusing to whimper and moved to the next couple. Directed to kneel upright, the neuters smeared fresh berries over her torso. They used soft leather floggers to whip the pulp off her shoulders and bottom then lashed her sticky, juicy breasts and previously unmarked lower abdomen.
Five minutes later, she was crisscrossed with bright red lines. The middle pair was next, and a light cane danced welts across her buttocks while she swayed to the tempo on her knees. Her hips snapped forward with every stinging blow. A fist-sized clump of banana was shoved into her pussy. A vibrator hummed away at her swollen clit and wet folds.
The next-to-last last couple poured hot, viscous white cream sauce over her bottom and thighs. They used a studded paddle and a wire loop to whip her clean. The loud splats speckled the punishers. By the time the twenty-minute session of punishment was complete, Susanna was nearing her first orgasm.
The final neuters wore thick, studded dildos at their waists. In a choreographed smooth motion, they sat crablike on the platform between Susanna’s spread legs, so that the oiled fake phalluses jutted side-by-side. Susanna slowly lowered her torso—the ginger root removed—and fed the shafts into her ass and pussy. Banana oozed out.
Chafed tissues protested both the ribbed width and the spiced lubricant. She balanced on her palms and pressed down to the hilt. The couple beneath her flexed their hips in unison and lifted the impaled woman up until they formed a bridge with Susanna perched in the middle.
For the rest of the allocated time, they jounced her up and down while Susanna clung tight with knees to chest. The repeated slapping of her sore bottom combined with the burning double penetration brought her to the edge of climaxing.
The other eight neuters slapped sticky pasta, squeezed ripe fruit, or poured cold liquid over Susanna’s messy body. Red wine washed her hair.
She rapidly rubbed her clit with one hand.
“Soooooo close! Faster! Fuck me faster! I’m commming!”
The arena doors slammed open, the booming noise silenced all conversation and froze all activity. Hooded enforcers marched down the aisles.
“By the order of the Emperor, John Doe will attend Me immediately upon receipt of this message.”
All present looked up at their overseer.
“By the order of the Emperor, Baroness Susanna will attend Me immediately upon receipt of this message.”
Gazes swiveled to the entwined threesome.
The arena was deathly still as the enforcers collected their targets. All heads bowed with eyes averted, the rich food and drink now souring in terrified stomachs. After the squad left, the party swiftly broke up, as self-preservation caused a mass flight for the exits. Only Nubian guards remained at their posts. If John vanished, a new owner would soon be in charge of the Palace of Gluttony and the colored chattel.
John and Susanna would never return.
But the Empire had other places requiring an amoral pair of ruthless killers.
As written, this short story could serve as the beginning, the middle, or the end of a novella or novel. I wanted something gritty. Something disturbing. Even so, it’s a lot tamer than it could be.
The title as always came first, but the Black, does not refer to skin color, but the history behind the shade. Black has always meant evil, and foreboding deeds in sinister towers. Sable was a heraldic term, and besides, it’s also a marten, and wouldn’t make sense tied to Feast, while ebony is fine if you’re a piece of furniture.
A staple trope of sci-fi is planets settled by either religious or ethnic groups—with the odd evil corporation tossed in—seeking a harmonious paradise untainted by ‘them’: All the while blithely forgetting that Old Earth had always been riven by sectarian strife and wars of purity.
[The major problem with outsourcing Earth’s excesses to the stars, is that there is a net increase of at least 83 million people each year. Assuming a cold sleep ark could carry 10,000 passengers, then each and every year 8,300 ships would have to leave just to break even. That’s one ship almost every hour-on-the-hour. At that’s at the current population level of 7 billion+. Sci-fi writers sidestep this conundrum by killing off most of the population first with handy plagues, wars or aliens. Sometimes all three combined.]
Anyway, my presumption is that Africa rose to preeminence and left in a massive surge leaving behind the ‘coloreds’ to their fates. They took with them slaves, and allowed immigration to the Empire. Gluttony in this case is not only food, but an entire culture bent on gorging in every way possible to wipe out the past.
Erotica to me does not automatically mean sex. The setting, the tone, the genders; all of these factors make the story work. The sex should feel organic: within the flow of plot, and not a jarring action. But then again, that’s just another label for something that people do every day—even in outer space.
Hope you enjoyed this newsletter and see you next month here, or get your daily spanking, at Spank Me Hard… Please?.