The Fruit Tray

The two of us are in shadow.

All the party guests are in the other room. I can hear their clinking wine glasses and chattering voices. These are important, powerful people. Even setting aside the hefty paycheck, I'm honored to be working for them.

A scarlet handkerchief drapes down from his strong, tan fingers. He folds it around itself, making a thick length of cloth. He says to open my mouth. He gags me.

I didn't expect to have my voice stolen tonight, but I'm thrilled that I did. In a world where I constantly need to say so much, it's a miracle to be forced silent.

It doesn't feel like Joseph is punishing me. It's more like a reassurance that words aren't necessary today. "The room is more beautiful with you in it," he says, just above a whisper. "You grace these walls just by being here."

Shivers all over. My oh my, I am one valuable asset.

I lift my head for him to tie the cloth gag behind my head. "You look so pretty wearing that," he says. "Well, you look pretty anyway. But especially like this."

The flickering candlelight teases his handsome features. I admire his casually piercing stare, his sharp face, his fiery breath.

Joseph Patel. I can't believe it's really him.

This is the man in charge of the whole operation. He owns this hotel chain. He handpicked me, out of all the maids in the company, to serve him at the party this evening. And now he's inches away, caressing my soft cheek with his fingertip.

He has a warm, enveloping presence. That's why I had no reservations about stripping nude right in front of him. He tells me to lie flat on my back against some wood fixture build into the floor. It's smooth against my skin, and still whiffs of the naked Earth it came from. I feel safe here.

"My friends will be joining us soon. I better set the table," he says simply.

Goosebumps. Because I know the table is me.

That was the job description. To be a human table at Joseph Patel's house party. It says something about his stature that an offer like that would sound like such a tempting opportunity.

He decorates my neck and waistline with red and yellow flowers. ("To make you even prettier than you already are").

I feel so elegant like this. A living, breathing mosaic.

"We'll start with fruit," he says softly, pulling a ripe kiwi out of the basket.

He slices it into fourths, then uses his knife to strip the peel off those four pieces. By how vibrant and green the kiwi's naked flesh is, I can only assume it's fresh from his private orchard.

He places the first piece of kiwi on the top half of my breast.

Its sweet juice leaks out, making me shiver and tingle. My nipple grows warm and hard, just in time for the second piece of kiwi to go right on top of it.

I bite on the gag and let out a tiny moan as he puts the remaining two pieces on my other breast in the same spots.

Next come the dark, juicy strawberries. He puts them on me one at a time, making a blood-red dotted line down my torso, ending just short of my beautiful, energized clitoris.

I'm addicted to Joseph's earthy scent and delicate touch as he decorates me. I'm addicted to everything about him. He puts soft mango slices on my left thigh and midnight-colored blackberries on my right.

Each new gem he blesses me with is more voluptuous than the last. Plump orange slices go on my right arm. Sugar-coated lemon wedges go on my left.

I am one hell of a platter.

It's thrilling. To feel all their wetness at the same time. Products of nature's fertility, every last one of them. The fruit pieces rise and fall as breath pulls my torso up and down and up and down. The air is sweet, sour, tart, and fresh. An incredible smoothie of scent.

"Are you ready to meet my friends?" he asks, his saltwater breath brushing all my senses.

I nod my head.

"That's a good girl."

They walk in and fall silent, immediately incapable of looking away from me. These are established men of the finest taste, and they already think I'm fucking delicious.

They can't wait to touch me.

That's how gorgeous I am. All I need to do is lie still and look pretty, and I already have the attention of every man in the room. I'll walk away with five-thousand dollars for a single day's work, all because of how goddam wanted I am.

They're showering me with their potent eyes and shameless desire. It makes me tingle even more. To be presented like this. To be looked at like this.

Gentle waves of heat crash into each other all throughout my body, intensifying by the second. I want them to want me so badly.

I want these men to grab me and lick me and suck me everywhere, making me pant and gasp and moan and groan and grind my body against all their tongues at once. And by the way they're looking at me, I think that's exactly what will happen.

There's no denying it any longer. I'm electrifying.

And I've had this kind of power for as long as I remember. Without saying anything, my face and figure turn men into boys and businessmen into animals.

Beasts in suits.

That's what they really are. Now that I've seen them witnessing my naked body, I know they're not even a little bit civilized. All their beastly mouths are watering at the same time, and not just at the fruit.

That's the appetizer. I'm the main course.

Just look at them... admiring my serene eyes and perfect curves. They're desperate to get their fingers on me, but scared to ruin something so perfect.

The fruit is as beautiful and dripping wet as I am. It glimmers all over, waiting to be devoured by their hungry hands and demanding lips.

They'll all be touching me soon.

That's my job tonight. To be admired, touched, tasted, and used.

Please touch me, Sir, I silently beg all of them at the same time.

And I can only hope that once they finish the fruit on my body, they'll have an appetite for a different fruit. The kind that's warm and pink, blossoming between my legs at this very second.