A Feast Of Delights
by: Jenny Dare

I waited just behind the sliding rice paper doors of the private dining room, awaiting the time of my appearance. I wore only a red silk kimono, and while I waited in the filtered light of the paper walls, I listened to the conversation of the two men inside who prepared to dine. I could hear them say "thank you" to the servant girls, who donned full geisha attire and white painted faces, and knew that they must have just presented them with hot towels to bathe their hands. The lilting sound of ancient music played in the distance, and I patted my hair, making sure it was secure in its smoothly twisted style atop my head. I could see the shadows of the two server women on the other side of the door, and then it slid open, revealing me to the guests.

As was usual for the ritual, my skin had been bathed in a subtle, green tea and ginger soap, so as not to distract from the carefully combined flavors of the cuisine, then rinsed clean with spring water. I walked carefully into the room and stood briefly before the two men, then the servant girls came around behind me and slid my silk kimono off my shoulders, so that I was now nude. I watched, my face expressionless, as their eyes traveled over my body as I stood, poised, before the dining area. Methodically, and with the assistance of the servers, I lowered myself down onto the low, wooden slatted table that was between the two men. I took the ritual position; on my back, one leg slightly bent, arms raised above my head and hands positioned elegantly. The geisha girls wrapped a vine of orchids around my wrists and twined it along my arms to my head, and did the same about my ankles so that the flowers trailed delicately up to my knees. A large purple hibiscus flower was placed over my navel, and then the preparations were finished. The geishas bowed and left the table, and then the chef entered and began preparing the sushi.

I was not really permitted to participate in the dining experience, the conversation, or even be really aware of it; I was an ornament, a piece of furniture. But I could not help myself as the two men talked, their accents foreign and fascinating, the combined air of power between them, intoxicating. One was surely a high ranking military officer; a dead giveaway had been his uniform, but even if he'd been in civilian clothes I would've guessed the same. From their conversation I gathered that his name was Tarkin. The other man was some unidentifiable figure head; surely at least a Chancellor, perhaps even more prestigious than that. He wore heavily ornamented ceremonial robes and his mannerisms were deliberate and precise. He was fascinating, but his counterpart was truly the more compelling of the two.

I was so enraptured in listening to their conversation that I almost didn't notice when the first course of sushi had been finished and brought to my midriff. A serving girl placed the pieces in a decorative line around my navel, framing the purple flower that lay there. I looked up-something I wasn't really supposed to do- and caught the eyes of the man I found most interesting. His stare was intense and deeply intimate, and I allowed myself a moment of swimming in his gaze before I dutifully moved my focus back to the ceiling as I felt the sushi being removed, one at a time, by chopsticks as the two men began to eat.

The art of the meal was exquisite; and soon there was an assortment of beautifully crafted sushi pieces artfully placed along my torso, following the natural contours of my hips and stomach, the plane of my pelvis. I could feel the eyes of both men on me as their conversation stopped, and the meal was completely served. They gave their compliments to the chef, and the geishas, and they politely bowed from the room. And all at once, the tone of the dinner changed.

What conversation had once been dominated by political talk, deals and negotiations, tapered off to smattering comments about the food as they ate, and the occasional mentioning of the surrounds; the light tinkling of Japanese music in the background, the sound of water trickling far off. I stared at the ceiling still, trying to maintain my composure, aware each time of the scrape of the chopsticks of the man I found irresistible, brushed over my skin.

"Fascinating, isn't it?" came the voice of the other man, Emperor Palpatine, I'd realized as I listened to them talk. "How she pretends to not listen to us, and yet I bet she hasn't missed a word of anything we've said." My glance switched to him, to the wicked smile on his face. I felt a hand on my hip-his hand, I was sure- and his fingers retrieved a piece of sushi, trailing across my leg as he raised it to his mouth.

"Delicious," he said, his voice low and suggestive.

"I agree," came the other voice, the voice of the man I desired. "A true work of art."

"Yes," said the Emperor, "they take such time and detail in the preparation of their cuisine." All but last two pieces of the sushi had been lifted from my stomach, and suddenly, I felt something looming over me. I looked down to see Tarkin's face hovering above my midriff.

"I didn't mean the food," he said, and drizzled the combination of wasabi paste and soy sauce onto a piece of sushi. It spilled over the edge, falling onto my skin and dripping down my hip. With his tongue, he licked up the spicy liquid, then took the sushi into his mouth, his lips lingering on my flesh as he did. Then he looked up at me.

I met his glance with shock. No one had ever done such a thing to me. But I can't say that I wasn't pleased. The last piece of sushi was taken from my body by the hands of the Emperor, and he slid his palms along my legs as he brought it up to eat. I felt the smooth wood of chopsticks running across my belly, over the neatly trimmed curls over my mound, and down between my legs.

"I wonder, are you so tasty everywhere, as where the sushi was laid?" Tarkin asked, still leaning over me. The chopsticks lingered for a moment, tracing along the line of my folds, then were discarded. Tarkin planted several slow, wet kisses down my body, around the hibiscus flower, across my pelvis. My breath drew in deeply at the closeness of his lips to my center, and I heard a dark chuckle issue from the Emperor.

"A thousand credits says she cannot maintain her composure by the talents of your tongue, Wilhuff," he said. Tarkin laughed deeply, sending a warm air over my flesh.

"I'm afraid I cannot take that bet," he said, his mouth moving to the juncture of my legs. "For I know that I would surely lose."

His mouth closed over my mound, almost covering it entirely, seeking, it seemed, to swallow me whole like some ripened fruit, his lips coming to close together and pressing my tingling nub between them. I gasped, and my eyes looked in startled shock at the Emperor, who had sat back, and was watching intently. I looked down to the top of Tarkin's head as he licked and caressed me, pushing my legs slightly apart, running his hands down my thighs and brushing aside the strand of orchids. I arched up slightly into his mouth, not able to contain myself from the pleasure, and a soft moan escaped my throat. I could feel his teeth against my sensitive nether lips as he smiled at my reaction.

I heard the Emperor groan slightly and I looked over to see his hand moving rhythmically within the confines of his robe. Suddenly, he cleared his throat and stood.

"If you'll excuse me," he said, and walked from the room, apparently to tend to his own business in private. I saw Tarkin move between my legs, and slither up my body slowly, running his tongue along my stomach, removing the hibiscus flower with his lips, pausing at each breast to take it into his mouth and suck patiently each nipple to hardness. I could catch his clean, masculine scent, the fabric of his uniform, the lingering spice from his shaving cream, the earthy smell of his hair. His hands trailed over my stretched arms, untwining the vine of orchids that bound me.

"You cannot move by decree of your position," he whispered, "But I shall make you move by demand of your desire."

He pressed his hips into me, and even though he was still fully clothed I could feel the stiff press of his cock against my hip. I bent my leg slightly against his side, unable to help myself as he bit and sucked against my throat, and my toes lodged against the top of his boot, anchoring themselves there, and I pushed up into the length of his bulging hardness. He reached down between us and unbuckled his belt, unzipped his trousers. I could feel his hand stroking his length as he continued to kiss me, finally moving to my face and then to my lips. I bent up against him and he began to rub the engorged tip of his penis against my swollen folds, slippery from our combined juices. I moaned against his lips, still trying to keep a hold on my composure, still keeping my arms over my head, though I wanted nothing more than to rake my nails across his backside and slam him down into me. He continued to tease, to suck my tongue on the tail end of every kiss, to work himself inside me an inch or two, then withdraw until I thought I would explode from the tension. Finally, he drew back for a moment, looking down on my directly, one hand holding my face in place, one hand anchored at my hip, and he thrust in slowly, moving inch by inch until he was buried deep within. I cried out, almost coming on his first stroke, I was so aroused. But he held me there at the brink for several minutes, watching me as he thrust, his rhythm deep and powerful, controlled and decisive. He watched me as I came, as I bit my lip to keep from crying out, as I moved with him while my inner walls spasmed. He drew one of my legs up to his shoulder, kissing my ankle as he did, bending me into a position where he achieved an even deeper stroke. His face tilted to the ceiling, his mouth slightly parted, he began to lose his measured control, slamming into me with fervor and primal lust. As my body began to quake again he gasped aloud, a deep groan sounding within the rice paper walls, and he came, spilling hotly within me, sticky and slippery and unspeakably erotic.

As he came down from his climax, he let go of my leg and I let it fall against his thigh again, my toes hooking around the stiff leather of the top of his boot once more. He stared down at me again, ran his hand across my cheek, then bent his head to kiss me deeply.

"Delicious," he muttered, kissing my cheeks, the soft ridge between my nose and lips, "You were delicious."

I couldn't speak, and he knew this; and for some reason, it made him smile. He lifted himself off of me, replacing his cock within his trousers, standing up to straighten his uniform and buckle his belt. I watched him as he did all this, then he leaned down and replaced the hibiscus flower on my navel.

"I shall see you again," he whispered, and just then I head the door slide open, and footsteps coming close.

"Finished with dinner?" Palpatine's voice asked. I glanced up to see him, his face slightly flushed. He looked down on me with that strange, interrogating smile. "Or shall I say dessert?"

"Yes," Tarkin said, glancing down once more. "A veritable feast of delights, indeed."

"I believe we should tip her well," the emperor said, and dropped a credit chip toward my head. It was intercepted by Tarkin before it even came near me.

"Emperor, such tacky methods!" he exclaimed. He paused for a moment, looking down at me. He then reached into his pocket and bent down, slipping something behind my head. I knew that it was a key card before he even whispered the words "room seven twenty-five," in my ear.

"What was that?" the Emperor asked as Tarkin turned to walk away. I couldn't help myself as I turned my head, craning it back to see Tarkin look to the Emperor as he walked out the door, and though he said nothing, he had the slightest trace of a smile on his lips.

*Fin*