Day 8 (continued)

As Juliette approaches the table, four masked men appear from the crowd and approach her. Her body tenses as they grab her, pulling toward the table with mechanical precision. The cold metal bites into her skin as they lift her, her back arching instinctively. The platter wobbles slightly under her weight as they position her in the center. Her hands clench into fists at her sides.

The room erupts into applause. Their approval pounds in my ears as Juliette's eyes find mine. She's breathing fast now, her chest rising and falling rapidly. Sweat forms on her forehead, her toes curl against the polished metal of the platter.

Metal clicks against metal as the restraints tighten around her wrists, cold steel biting into flesh. She jerks involuntarily, a small gasp escaping her lips. The men work quickly and efficiently, securing each limb to anchor points built into the platter's edges. Her body tenses as the last restraint snaps into place.


One of the masked men steps forward with a silver carving knife, testing its edge with a practiced flourish. Sharp metal glides across delicate fabric as the first cut slices through the silk bodice of her gown. The sound of ripping material fills the room as the servers work with careful, methodical motions. Piece by piece, her clothing falls away until she lies completely exposed on the silver platter, the cold metal now pressing against every inch of her bare skin.

The crowd leans forward, hungry eyes drinking in every detail of her vulnerability. Someone inhales sharply when they notice the goosebumps rising across her exposed flesh, the way her nipples have hardened from the chill. Others whisper among themselves, pointing at specific parts of her body they find most appetizing.

I settle into a chair that creaks slightly, positioning myself directly across Juliette’s face. Her breath is warm and uneven, stomach tensing and relaxing as she tries to control herself.

Jeff's sits to my left his presence is solid, familiar. He leans forward slightly, elbows resting on the table. He smirks, clearly enjoying the view. The rest of the guests have found their seats around the table, their chatter fading into a low murmur as they await the main event.

Juliette's eyes flick up to mine, wide and pleading. I meet her gaze steadily, letting her see the understanding there. Her pupils are dilated, swallowing most of the brilliant blue, but she maintains eye contact. A single tear rolls down the side of her face, tracing the curve of her cheekbone before disappearing into her hair.

Her breath catches as she parts her mouth slightly, her pink tongue darting out to wet her dry lips. She makes a small sound in her throat – not words, just a soft whimper that only you can hear over the crowd. Her fingers twitch against the restraints, testing them one last time even though she knows there's no escaping now.

My throat tightens as I watch her, the burden of what's to come pressing down on me.

The words form unspoken “I love you” on my lips as the first blade appears – a long, curved knife catching the harsh fluorescent lights. Juliette flinches when the cold metal first touches her skin just below her right breast. The crowd draws a collective breath as the server drags the knife downward in a slow, deliberate arc.

Blood wells up along the fresh cut, trickling toward her armpit. She whimpers, chest heaving, but doesn't scream. Not yet. Her muscles tense as she fights to remain still, to not make this worse than it already is. Fingers dig into the restraints with all her force.
My stomach turns, bile rising in my throat. I swallow hard, forcing down the sickness as the next cut begins – diagonal across her stomach this time, a matching line to the first. Blood spills faster now, pooling beneath her body on the platter. Juliette gasps through clenched teeth, her entire body shaking.

The crowd murmurs appreciatively as the next server steps forward with a different tool – something smaller, sharper. He presses the tip against the upper slope of her left breast and twists. A strangled cry escapes her as the nipple is excised, the tiny severed peak falling onto her chest amidst the growing pool of blood.

"Please," she whispers quietly, but even then I hear the pain in her voice.

"I'm sorry… Sorry I couldn't save you."

My whisper is nearly inaudible over the hum of the crowd and the sounds of her pain, but Juliette hears it. Her bloodshot eyes well with fresh tears that cut tracks through the red streaks already drying on her face. She sucks in a shuddering breath, her throat working as she tries to respond.

"I-I know," she finally chokes out.

Servers continue making cuts into her body, placing pieces of her flesh on the grill and then serving them to the guests around the table. The meat sizzles as it hits the grill – her flesh turning golden brown around the edges, fat rendering into a pool of grease. The smell fills the banquet hall, rich and horrific. Some guests reach eagerly for the first serving, her flesh arranged delicately on silver trays with sprigs of rosemary.

Juliette's breathing grows ragged as more pieces are carved away – first a strip from her thigh, then a portion from her stomach. The servers work methodically, efficiently. Her body is no longer hers to control; it's simply raw material now, being prepared with care.

Through it all, she keeps her eyes locked with mine. I hold my breath, trying not to cry.

The servers cut deeper now, following the natural divisions of her body with surgical precision. Each slice is met with a new whimper from Juliette – still soft, still controlled. Her fingers flex against the restraints, leaving faint red marks on her pale wrists.

The last coherent thought fades from her eyes. It's not sudden – it's gradual, like a candle's flame guttering in a breeze. Her pupils dilate slightly, her breathing slowing as the pain finally overwhelms her.

"I... love... you..." she gasps out, each word accompanied by another incision.

Her stomach now displays an intricate pattern of cross-hatched cuts.

Suddenly Jeff stands up.

"Please serve her pussy to our dear host!"

Cheers erupt from the guests as Jeff raises his hand, pointing directly at me. The servers pause their work, their blades still dripping with her blood. They look to me for confirmation.

Juliette's eyes flutter open at the sound, her lips moving silently. The terror floods back into her gaze – she knows exactly what they're about to do. Her hips jerk involuntarily against the restraints, a futile attempt to escape what's coming.

I don't protest – I know it's futile. So I just nod.

The first server steps forward with a small, curved blade. He presses the tip just above her pubic bone, angling it down. Juliette's entire body tenses as she sees it.

"Please," she whispers again, her voice barely audible above the excited chatter of the guests. "Not... not that…"

The blade sinks in, cutting through the delicate flesh. She cries out, the sound raw and broken. Her throat works as she tries to swallow back the pain. Blood pools between her thighs, mingling with the earlier cuts. The second server moves in with a smaller knife, delicately slicing around the area.

Jeff grins as he gestures to the table before me.

"Our host deserves a proper tribute, don't you agree?"

The crowd roars in approval, some guests already reaching for their silver forks.

Juliette's breathing becomes rapid and shallow as the servers work around her sensitive areas. Each cut sends fresh waves of agony through her body, her muscles spasming against the restraints. Her tears fall freely now, mixing with the blood on her face.

I force myself to hold her gaze as the servers finish their preparations. They lift the section of flesh, still warm and quivering, onto a serving tray lined with rose petals. The work they've done is intricate – the edges trimmed cleanly, no wasted meat.

As they place it on the grill, Juliette watches me through tears, her expression somewhere between horror and pleading. She holds my gaze, though her body trembles with pain and dread. Her chest rises and falls rapidly, each breath a struggle.

"For... for you," she whispers, her voice nearly inaudible.

The servers place the triangular piece of meat before me on a golden plate. The delicate folds are arranged in their natural shape, though now crisped to a dark golden brown on the outside. The sauce pools beneath it, the heat from the grill causing tiny droplets of rendered fat to bubble up from within.

Jeff stands behind me, his hand coming to rest on my shoulder.

"Go ahead, try it." He murmurs.

Juliette watches with desperate hope, her body wracked by sobs but her attention focused entirely on me. I take my fork and cut into the meat, watching as the interior releases steam. The flesh yields easily to the cut, perfectly medium rare.

"I can... feel it," Juliette gasps out, speaking so softly I can hardly hear. "Like... like phantom pain. Please... please be quick with it."

I pause, the fork hovering above the plate. Around me, the guests lean forward, their faces flushed with excitement and hunger.

Jeff's grip tightens on my shoulder, his breath hot against my ear as he whispers, "Don't keep our honored guests waiting, John. You need to show your appreciation."

Juliette's breathing grows more erratic as she watches me. Her wrists strain against the restraints, fingers flexing uselessly. Sweat beads on her forehead despite the cool air circulating through the chamber. Her pulse hammers in her throat as she swallows, her gaze locked onto the fork in my hand.

"I... I will endure it," she finally manages, breaking on the last word. Her chest heaves as she draws a shuddering breath. "But... but look at me when you do it."

I meet her gaze fully. She's not asking as much as demanding, with a fierce intensity that seems to burn away the fear. Her expression reveals not just desperation, but a stubborn resolve that contradicts her physical weakness.

The guests around me fall silent as I lift the fork to my mouth. Their collective breath catches in anticipation. The aroma of grilled meat and seared flesh hangs heavy in the air, combining with the subtle perfume and sweat of the surrounding crowd.

I open my mouth and take the first bite. The texture is more delicate than expected, almost buttery in its tenderness. A rich, coppery flavor spreads across my tongue – heated steel and iron beneath the charred surface. I recognize the unmistakable taste of Juliette's sex, enhanced by the seasoning of herbs and the crisp edges where it was carefully cut.

"Mmm." I let out a satisfied hum, chewing slowly as Juliette watches, her pupils dilating despite herself.

I swallow, the heat from the meat still present on my tongue as I hold Juliette's gaze. Around me, the guests release their held breaths, some nodding appreciatively. Jeff leans back slightly, satisfaction evident in the set of his jaw. Having watched the exciting part, guests continue the banquet.

"Good?" Juliette asks, her words almost inaudible.

A tear escapes down her temple, but her attention remains locked on me.

"Did it hurt a lot Julie?"

I lean in until my lips nearly brush her ear, using the cacophony of chatter and silverware scraping plates to cover my words. The proximity makes her shiver, but she moves toward me instinctively. She smells like vanilla shampoo, undercut by the coppery tang from the plate between us.

"It... it did," she whispers back, her breath warm against my cheek. Her fingers flex again, twisting at the restraints. "But not as much as I expected. It was just... just quick."
I nod slowly, watching as another tear slips free. This one falls directly onto the golden plate, hissing slightly as it hits the still-warm metal.

"Sorry that I had to eat you."

Juliette's eyes flutter closed for a long moment before she opens them again, focusing on me with a clarity that makes her seem almost lucid despite the circumstances. A small, bitter smile tugs at the corner of her mouth.

"That's why you did not answer before," she murmurs, her voice almost lost beneath the din of the guests' conversation. "You don't want to lie to me."

Her chest rises and falls with rapid breaths that do nothing to disguise the steady tremor running through her body.

"The pain... it was manageable," she continues, words quiet and steady.

The servers move with mechanical precision, their sharp instruments reflecting the candlelight as they carve delicate strips from Juliette's inner thighs. Her back arches slightly as they work, a soft whimper escaping her as the cold steel meets warm flesh. The servers place each piece on separate golden platters, arranging them with practiced artistry alongside the roasted portions.

"Keep looking at me," I whisper, leaning closer as her attention drifts away in pain.

Juliette's eyes snap back to mine, bright with moisture but determined.

"You wanted to know if it was good?" I keep my eyes locked with hers. "I know this might sound obscene and cruel, but yes – your pussy actually tastes good."

Juliette's breath catches in her throat, her pupils dilating slightly despite the pain. A flush spreads across her face and chest – whether from shame or arousal, I can't tell. Her fingers flex weakly at the restraints.

"T-thank you," she breathes. The words emerge thick with emotion. "I'm... glad you liked it. Even if... even if it is wrong to say so."

Her gaze flickers down to my mouth, then back up to meet mine.

The servers pause their work for a moment, observing the intimate exchange. One of them chuckles softly, muttering something about 'the host's particular tastes' that earns laughter from nearby guests.

"Want to taste it?"

Juliette's breathing falters, her lips parting slightly in surprise. For a long moment, she simply stares at me – her face revealing confusion, fear, and something darker that makes my pulse quicken. Then, with effort, she nods once.

"Yes," she whispers, so quietly I almost miss it over the chatter. "I... I want to know what I taste like. If... if you like it so much."

Her tongue darts out nervously to wet her lips.

The guests nearby notice the exchange and fall silent, leaning forward with rapt attention. Jeff leans back in his chair with a satisfied smirk.

I cut a piece of Juliette's pussy on my plate and offer it to her. her nostrils flare as she watches the glistening morsel on the tip of my knife, the golden plate catching the light. I notice the rapid pulse at her throat as she turns her head slightly toward me.

"Don't... don't make me ask twice," she murmurs, words thundering in the silence that has descended around us both. Her blue eyes, wet with tears, lock onto mine with a desperate intensity.

My fingers tremble slightly as I guide the knife closer to her face. The meaty aroma is sharp and musky – salt and sex commingled with the faint smoke from the grill.

Juliette opens her mouth, her lips quivering as they part. There’s a struggle in her eyes – terror warring with a dark curiosity, the will to live clashing with something deeper and more primal. Her breathing comes in shallow gasps, her chest rising and falling rapidly beneath the fresh cuts the servers have made.

As I lower the morsel toward her mouth, she hesitates for the briefest moment. Then, with a small, broken sound, she closes her eyes and allows me to feed her. Her teeth graze the edge of the knife as she accepts the bite, her lips closing around my fingers for the briefest instant before pulling away.

Her throat works, swallowing the meat. A shudder runs through her body, her back arching slightly against the restraints. Her eyes flutter open, now wide and startled.

"It is... it is warm," she says hoarsely, her words thick with emotion. "But... not bad. Not bad at all."

Her tongue darts out to lick her lips, catching a stray drop of juice. The guests lean in closer, murmuring among themselves. I cut another piece, smaller this time, and she watches it come toward her mouth with undisguised hunger. This time, when I offer it, she tilts her head back slightly to meet my eyes – challenging, daring me to continue.

The moment stretches as I hold the meat between her face and mine. Her lips part, tongue flicking out to moisten them. Her blue irises darken with something dangerous and raw – no longer tears but something more primal.

"I want it from your fingers," she whispers, so quietly only I can hear. "Not the knife."

The request sends an immediate jolt through my body. I look down at the bite between my fingers, then back to her. She watches me carefully, waiting. Around us, the guests shift restlessly, sensing the intensity building between me and Juliette.

With deliberate slowness, I bring my hand closer to her face.

Her breath catches as my fingers near her mouth, face flushed with color. She parts her lips, and I see the tip of her tongue waiting, expectant. When I press the warm meat against her mouth, she accepts it with a soft whimper, her tongue curling around my fingers as she sucks the juices from my skin. The heat of her mouth around my digits sends an intense rush through me.

Juliette doesn't immediately pull away after swallowing, instead maintaining contact with my fingers, sucking lightly on the tips. The guests murmur approval at this show of submission. Jeff claps slowly, his smile calculating and pleased.

"I didn't think you had it in you," he says, raising his voice for the cameras.

Juliette's gaze doesn't waver from mine as she swallows the last of the bite. Her tongue flicks over her lips again, catching any remaining moisture. She's breathing faster now, her chest rising and falling rapidly.

"I... I want more," she admits, speaking softly. She swallows again, eyes still locked on mine. "Please."

Around me, the guests lean forward, their faces rapt with attention. The overhead lights catch the sweat on Juliette's forehead, glistening as she waits for my response. I smell the faint metallic tang of blood mingling with the grilled meat aroma.

My fingers tremble slightly as I cut another piece, smaller than the last. I hesitate for only a moment, feeling the way the guests lean forward, eager for my next move. Juliette's chest rises and falls rapidly, her face flushed with heat, her pupils dilated until her blue irises are nearly swallowed whole. She parts her mouth, waiting. The knife trembles in my hand as I bring the fresh cut of meat closer, the aroma of smoke and char wafting through the charged space.

"Please," she whispers again.

This time it's less a request and more a plea. Her gaze drops to my mouth before flicking back up, her attention flickering across my face like a lit match seeking kindling.

My fingers close around the piece, knuckles whitening as I lift the meat to her face. She parts her mouth obediently, her breath hot against my skin. As the morsel nears her lips, she leans forward slightly, tongue darting out in anticipation.

The guests hold their collective breath. Even Jeff is unusually silent, transfixed by the scene unfolding before him.

I lower the meat into her mouth, and she closes her lips around my fingers as well, teeth scraping lightly against my skin. A small moan escapes her as she sucks, tongue working to extract every last drop of juice.

Out of everyone around the table only I understand what she is doing – her last defiant act of intimacy with me when she isn't able to do anything else.

Her mouth works around my fingers with slow, deliberate movements, her tongue swirling against my skin. The heat of her mouth sends a jolt through my body as I watch her expression. Behind the flushed face and dilated pupils, I see the calculation – the careful control she's exerting over her fear. She knows what this means, too.

The guests around the table applaud at the display, their clapping punctuated by hungry murmurs. Jeff raises his wine glass in mock salute, his smile revealing teeth too white and sharp.

"Brava," he purrs, though his eyes never leave my face. "Our little survivor has spirit after all."

Juliette doesn't acknowledge the audience.

Using the audience's excitement, I lean in to openly kiss Juliette. Let them think it's part of the show.
Our lips meet, the taste of her own flesh still on her mouth. She doesn't resist, but softens immediately, melting into the kiss with a whimper that I feel more than hear. My hand slides from her face to the back of her neck, fingers tangling in her wet hair as I deepen the contact. The cheers of the guests fade into white noise as I focus entirely on the woman in my arms.

When I finally pull back, Juliette's eyelids flutter open, her face flushed and lips glistening. She speaks softly, so only I can hear.

"I'm scared," she admits, voice catching.

"I know, Julie." I whisper. "How can I ease your pain?"

My thumb brushes away a tear tracking down Juliette's cheek as she searches my face, looking for some kind of answer that neither of us truly possesses.

"Don't make promises you cannot keep," she whispers, but her head moves a little closer, seeking comfort in my proximity.

Her scent – vanilla from the soap combined with perspiration and fear – fills my senses as I breathe her in.

"I'll try to figure something out," I whisper to her.