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In the center of the room was a long, ornate table carved from a single trunk of mahogany wood. It was polished until it shone, reflecting the firelight and the glittering chandelier. The partygoers were dressed in their finest, though they didn’t speak above a whisper. None of them dared to be the first to prevent another from hearing the sweetest sobs that came from the centerpiece of the table.
The appetizer course himself was barely clothed. He had been dressed in white gossamer and lace that left little to the imagination. The smallness of his waist, the tiny rise in his belly where his child slept, it was all emphasized by the draping of the fabric. Verso’s hair was let free in its naturally wild curls and waves. It was soaked where it brushed against his shoulders from the fat tears rolling down his cheeks. His face was flushed and splotchy, his lips parted and his brows furrowed as he cried. He tried to muffle himself, but each time he bit his bottom lip, a thumb found its way into his mouth and forced it open once more.
His breasts were full and sore, his nipples peaked and crowned with a single, wobbly drop of golden milk. There had been no relief for the last day, and he had not ever been this swollen. It hurt, but not enough to to take his mind off of those watching him. He couldn’t curl in on himself and seek protection in the hiding. He couldn’t save his milk for his family. He was a prize on display, bound spread-eagled on the dinner table.
There was a noise between his legs. Verso squeezed his eyes shut against the humiliation, his heart rabbiting against his chest. A single toothpick brushed against the softness of his inner thigh, and he tried to jerk away - but he could not move. He sobbed new tears as a single glossy, ripe fruit was plucked from the apex of his thighs. He could feel the berries, the grapes that rolled up against his sweet spot and the single strawberry that had managed to notch itself up against his cervix. The fruits had been plucked at perfect plumpness, and Verso was too frightened of the consequences to clench down and ruin them all. His stretched-out walls trembled and fluttered around the intrusions, making everything inside of him feel even bigger.
“Salt on fruit is a delicacy, you know.” Someone was saying. Verso heard them slurp their treat up, and he shuddered at the knowledge that they were eating him too. His juices, his slick. His mind betrayed him for a moment. Did he taste good to them? Was he a good amuse-bouche? He was so small, he hadn’t been able to fit very much inside of him…
He had to shake those thoughts away. Warm fruit touched his cheek. He cringed away, but could not find purchase. The stickiness lingered like a kiss against his skin as his tears sunk into the tender flesh of a pink piece of watermelon. He squeezed his eyes shut as a soft chuckle emanated over him. His fingers curled in their bonds as his breathing came quicker. His cunt clamped down for just a moment. He felt the squish of the fruit inside of him, the sweetness leaking from the taut skin -
A mouth pressed against his cunt. For a moment, Verso did not know what was touching him. All he knew was the warmth and the awful pleasure-pain of another terrible orgasm. How many times had he come now? He’d lost track somewhere around the twenty-seventh. He screamed aloud, his voice piercing through the muffled conversation. His voice echoed off the walls as lips suctioned to his cunt. He could feel them nursing from him, drinking up whatever they could find. He gasped aloud, his mouth gaping open as he flexed against his bonds. He could not move. He could not even try.
More mouths descended, as if the first had given them permission. Verso’s tears pooled on the table, helpless noises escaping his lips as the fruit was steadily sucked from inside of him, as his inner walls crushed the tender flesh of some berry and reluctantly released a fat grape that had been tucked deep inside of him. His breasts were tenderly lifted before twin suction attached to them both. Verso’s throat ached, scratchy and sore from overuse, but it still forced helpless, animal noises from deep inside of him as his milk was drunk up. It was a terrible relief. His body would just make more. How much more sore would he be later?
He had no time to think of this. The mouth had retreated from his cunt. A big, cruel thumb pressed to his throbbing clit instead, dragging sticky juice over it. Verso keened up towards the ceiling as his cunt pulsed. He could feel his inner muscles pressing against the skin of the final berry left inside of him, the big one that was caught somewhere against the single entrance to his womb. For a wild moment, he wondered if it would pop past that innermost barrier. His baby was about the same size as it right then, wasn’t it? He couldn’t remember what the pregnancy books had said.
Verso wasn’t sure what he had been expecting to follow the mouth. Perhaps fingers, perhaps more fruit. Instead, he cried out in shock when something big notched up against his cunt. He felt his body resist, the cradle of his hips bow inward. His breathing came quicker, his throat forming helpless noises that were more animal than human. Whatever was between his legs was too big, carved with cruel ridges and edges. The ropes bit into Verso’s wrists as he thrashed, as the delicately draped fabric slipped from his skin, as he cried aloud and mouths toyed with his fat nipples and -
The tip popped in. Verso gasped for breath, staring sightlessly up at the ceiling as the intrusion carved him open. It just kept going. It pressed deeper, deeper, forcing him further apart than he’d ever been. He was almost grateful his legs were spread so wide. He choked on air as it dug into his cervix and then brushed past, digging a home inside of him, in the very back of his cunt. He could not think. He couldn’t even clench down around the intrusion. He wouldn’t be able to close after this. His baby, his baby, would they just slip out of him? He wheezed out another helpless noise. His cunt fluttered around the intrusion.
The mouths around his breasts pulled away. They were replaced with new ones. The disturbed fabric was tenderly fixed. Verso was left to whimper and weep as his cunt slowly, slowly pulverized the carved pineapple inside of him into delicious juice. Renoir watched on with pride. He licked his fingers clean of his son’s slick and the acidic nectar both. His clean hand settled on Verso’s belly, his thumb absentmindedly running beneath the gentle swell of it. He couldn’t wait to do this again once his boy had given birth. He could only imagine the way the fruit would taste once it had rolled up against the sweet walls of his son’s womb.