Collection Privée - Histoires de Sexe

Collection Privée

... that doesn’t matter. Everyone is too drunk to worry - and too high on various substances, including the ambiance.

They are supposed to be engaged in a medieval feast, judging by the various resplendent dishes heaved onto the solid table. À roast boar reigns over its poultry and marine neighbors. Steaming pots of stew survey great loaves of brown bread, and various fruits crowd into the few spaces left between the serving dishes and the diners’ own bronze plates and goblets.

The room has been fitted out for the era as well. Stereotypically so: hunting tapestries, dark wood paneling, heavyset and ornately sculpted table and chairs, even a chandelier with real candles burning. Troubadour music, the final touch, meanders through the smoky air.

All of this and yet the guests have barely touched the masses of food. They are occupied by something much more gluttonous. Over the spread of dishes, they raise their glasses to drink, pick at their plates, exchange looks or hearty laughs from time to time while, below, they abandon themselves to the pleasures of the flesh.

Every one of the men has his pants open, if not down around his heels. And every one of them is standing to stiff attention below the waist.

On the far right side of the table, the best friend of the future groom stares into an empty plate, his hands on each side of it, as if willing food to appear on it. À glance lower down makes it clear that his attention is elsewhere though.

Hidden from him by ...

... the dark wood of the table, a woman sits on the stone floor at his feet. One of her legs is bent to the side to reveal the crotch of her skimpy white underwear. Bracing herself against his leg, she leans into him and reaches her left arm up to pull his cock to her mouth. When she pokes a sly pink tongue out to savor the tip, she finds a drop of juice waiting for her and painstakingly spreads it around the head, working her way gradually downwards. As she continues to lap at him, her free hand slips down to nestle between her own legs. One finger pulls the thin band of material to the side as another, moistened with her own saliva, begins sliding up and down over the slick flesh beneath.

Over her head, a second guest gazes off into space. Under the table, both of his hands are clutching an oversized peach with a tunnel bored through. He is now absorbed in sliding it back and forth over his erection to the determined rhythm of a requiem.

The diner next to him has slid his own chair back and is straining to catch a glimpse of the scene below. At the same time, his hand pumps his own cock to a furious ska beat.

Centrally placed, the groom-to-be presides over the meal. With his goblet in the air, he appears to be in the midst of proposing a toast. But his mouth is closed as tightly as his eyes are, and wine keeps spilling from his cup. It tilts back and forth in his hand, rocking in time with his entire body.

Below the table and hiding his lower half is a woman on all ...