Centerpiece

by

Caution: This Erotica Sex Story contains strong sexual content, including Ma/Fa, Mult, Consensual, Oral Sex, Masturbation, Food, .

Desc: Erotica Sex Story: Stephanie loses a bet to her brother Denny. As the loser, she must agree to become a living centerpiece. Read on and find out what happens.



The tray was cold and hard. I could feel my flesh shrinking from the way it felt under me. A shiver stole over me and I felt my nipples growing hard. Of course, being naked as the day I was born could have something to do with the chill. I managed to recline like I was told, on my side, barely able to wait until the tray warmed at my body heat.

"You could have warmed this up," I muttered.

"Nice," the chef said acting as if he hadn't heard a word I said. He smoothed his wide palm over the curve of my sleek hip and moved my bottom leg just enough so that I had balance while straightening the top one. "You will make a beautiful centerpiece."

"Yeah," I snapped, already hating this like I knew I would. "I just live to be covered with fruit and flowers and ogled by a bunch of horny college guys."

The chef just chuckled, tapping me gently on the jaw with his fist.

For the life of me, I didn't know how I had gotten suckered into doing this, into being the centerpiece at an alumni get together at my brother's alma mater. His fraternity hosted this damn thing once a year and this year I got to be the edible centerpiece.

Well, yeah, I did know how I got here. I mean, I was the one who made the bet on the football game with him when he was home in December. I was so cockily sure my team would win and his Eagles would swan dive that I'd agreed to do what he wanted if I lost.

We didn't just lose, we floundered.

That left Denny rubbing his hands in glee and telling me about this little ritual at the Frat house. I guess those Pi Alpha Omegas had some really kinky ideas about food.

"You just have to lay there, Steph," he'd told me, a grin on his face. "The guy that caters this for us does all the rest. He's fantastic at making living centerpieces."

"You want me to climb up on a tray, have fruit and other food draped over me artistically and lie there while your frat brothers feel me up while they eat?" I had asked, with very little enthusiasm as I recall.

"It won't hurt you," he said, reminding me with a small pat on my ass that I had lost. "Besides, remember the bridal shower you made me go to?

"I knew I'd live to see the day you threw that in my face." But I couldn't help but remember that day. He'd been great, working like a dog to help me set up and then getting one of his hunky friends to come in and strip for the girls. Then he'd played cab service, making sure that everyone got home all right and finally pouring me into bed later that night. I sighed. I owed him.

"I don't have to do nothing else?"

"Nope, just lie there. No one will do anything to you that you don't want to happen."

I took the last part of that conversation as a warning and felt a shiver of dread. Now that the time was here, my stomach was a mass of butterflies and I could feel gooseflesh covering my skin.

"You look a little cold," the chef remarked, his eyes on my breasts.

I couldn't help but glance down, seeing the small brown tips grow tight. "You think?" I know I was being rude but for the life of me, I couldn't find it in me to care. "Can we just get on with this?"

"Yeah, sure," the man said, pulling down on his white jacket.

That's when I saw his name. Pierre Lefute. If he was French, then I was a guy.

"Turn your head," he ordered, and I did as he said, feeling his fingers in my hair. He pulled out the rubber band I'd used to keep my thick, sable colored hair back, slipping it into his pocket before he finger combed my hair. The waves and curls looked startlingly dark against the silver of the tray, and he arranged it the way he wanted it to look, the length just long enough to touch the edges of the tray.

"Okay, now on your side, slip your hand under your cheek. I want you to have a dreamy look, kind of like you just woke up after some very naughty dream."

I moved as he wanted, finally getting into a position that left me comfortable and didn't offend his artistic sensibilities. I had to admit though that I felt very exposed as both my butt and my pussy were out there for anyone to see. It grew worse as I felt his hands on my legs, pushing the straight one back and bending the other one so that it was toward him more. That position raised my hips just a bit more and I knew anyone standing at the bottom of the tray would get a fantastic view.

So absorbed in I in how I must look, I nearly jumped off the tray when he reached over and smoothed his hand over the thick thatch of curls that covered my sex.

"No, no this won't do at all," he said and I had a bad feeling what was going to happen next was not something I was going to enjoy. "Have you ever shaved this?" he asked, his fingers pulling gently at my pubic hair.

"No, and don't think you're going to do it either," I snapped.

"Then it must be trimmed. Don't move," he snapped back at me as he laid a towel next to my hip. I felt his fingers, heard the sound of the scissors and then felt the cool touch a blade slide over my flesh. I didn't dare move. He'd probably cut me on purpose.

He finished quickly and then I felt the touch of his fingers and a cool oily substance that he rubbed into my suddenly nude feeling skin. I didn't dare lift my head to see what he'd done and could only gasp when he spread apart the lips of my pussy and rubbed his fingers against my clit.

"I knew you'd like it," he said, smirking at me. Before I could speak, he leaned down and licked one of my hard nipples before turning away.

I didn't even have the chance to be indignant at his familiarities before two more men were standing around me. They carried huge bowls of fruit and Pierre held a large green wrapped package of flowers.

"Do not move," he ordered.

White daisies were coiled into my hair, strawberries and grapes were scattered around my body. Apples were sliced, formed into shapes and laid against my skin. Peaches and pears were also cut into shapes and glued to my skin using some kind of sugary syrup. Leafy greens were fanned out under the fruit that was on the tray, making me feel like some kind of sacrifice, like a turkey at Thanksgiving.

An apple was cored and sliced, the rings glued to each of my breasts so that my nipples showed through the holes in the centers. Strawberries, matched as perfectly in size as Pierre could make them, were glued over the holes. I felt as if I were wearing some kinky new kind of bikini. But at least I was now covered some what.

More of the syrup was ladled over me, running in trails down my skin, leaving it to shine and making me shiver. One of the other men made curving lines of blueberries over my hip and down my stomach. The other took slices of kiwi and dotted my legs with them. Then he picked up a paintbrush and dipped it into the liquid, running it around my eyes and across my cheeks. A mask was formed, using raspberries and black berries.

I felt the brush on other parts of my body, but what ever they were using to "paint" me was warm and slightly thick. "What's that?" I couldn't help ask.

"Melted chocolate," Pierre answered, showing me the small palate he held that had small tubs of different colored chocolate. He swirled designs around the fruit, drawing an ivy vine that bloomed with chocolate flowers.

It took them less than half an hour to create their "living centerpiece" while I lay there, feeling less than human. Finally, Pierre stepped forward once more. In his hand was a huge white flower. It looked like a daisy but it was the biggest one I'd ever seen.

"The piece de resistance," he exclaimed. I felt his fingers once more, parting the lips of my sex, the thick stem of the flower sliding between. He stepped back to examine his work, coming back to fidget with the flower, which rubbed against my clit each time he moved it.

"Are you done yet?" I growled, hating the fact that this whole thing had gotten me turned on. I still had hours to lie on this tray while the alumni plucked the fruit off of my body. The thought made me even hotter. Was I a closet exhibitionist? Could that be why I was enjoying this so?

"Yes, impatient one. We are finished. Now don't move, you'll spoil the effect." He stepped back and I saw a flash of white light.

"Wait a minute, no one said anything about pictures."

"Don't move!" Pierre snarled, reaching out and putting back the fruit that had fallen off of me. He took another picture and then moved around the long table, getting shots from every angle.

"Voila," he smirked when he was finished. He waved at his assistants and then lifted the tray, moving me to a long cart. "Have fun, girlie."

"Have fun?" I couldn't believe I'd heard him right. I was sticky and covered in fruit and chocolate with a flower stem rubbing against my clit and driving me crazy. This was supposed to be fun? I was going to kill Denny if I ever made it out of here.

Swinging doors parted and I was wheeled into a huge room full of tables. The air conditioning was going full blast and I could feel my nipples tighten even more. I was going to end up with pneumonia, I just knew it. Ending up in the hospital with pneumonia would be a perfect way to get even with Denny. He'd never live down the guilt of being the cause of my death. At least when he helped me, all that happened was someone puked in his car and I even cleaned that up.

Someone touched my hip in one of the few places that wasn't covered with fruit, chocolate or flowers and I glanced up.

"You'll do fine." It was one of Pierre's assistants, and as I blinked up at him, I couldn't help but think how cute he was.

"Thanks, I think," I felt the blush that heated my cheeks and hoped the fruit covered it.

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Story tagged with:
Ma/Fa / Mult / Consensual / Oral Sex / Masturbation / Food /