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Cora Pearl's Dessert

Erotic
2007-06-02

I received the gentlemen in my finest style, and entertained them to a dinner of excellent quality; the conversation was agreeable, the wines accomplished. When we had finished all but the final course, I excused myself in order to supervise its presentation. Slipping into the kitchen, I stepped out of my gown (when entertaining gentlemen it is never my habit to wear quantities of under clothing, and especially was this the case on this occasion) and mounting a chair lay on a vast silver dish which Sale' had borrowed for me from the Prince d'Orleans' kitchens. I lay upon my side, my head upon my hand. Fremont stepped forward, accompanied by Yves carrying as it were his palate a large tray upon which was a set of dishes filled with marzipans, sauces and pastes, all of different colours. With that deftness and artistry for which he is so famed, Sale' began to decorate my naked body with rosettes and swathes of creams and sauces, each carefully composed so that the heat of my body would not melt them before I came to the table.

As Sale' was laying trails of cream across my haunches and applying wreaths of tiny button flowers to the upper sides of my breasts, I could not help noticing that Yves, chosen like all my servants for a combination of personal charm and accomplishment, and a young man of obvious and increasingly virile promise, was taking a peculiar interest in the chef's work. The knuckles of his hands were whiter than would have been the case had the tray been ten times as heavy, and the state of his breeches proclaimed the fact that his attitude to his employer was one of greater warmth than respect.
Having finished the decoration by placing a single unpeeled grape in the dint of my navel, Sale' piled innumerable meringues about the dish, completing the effect with a dusting of castor sugar. The vast cover which belonged to the dish was then placed over me, and I heard Sale' call the two other footmen into the room. Shortly I felt myself raised, and carried down the passage to the dining room. I heard the door opened, and the chatter of voices cease as the dish was carried in and settled upon the table. When the lid was lifted, I was rewarded by finding myself the centre of a ring of round eyes and half-open mouths. M. Paul, as I had expected, was the first to recover, and with an affectionate coolness reached out, removed the grape, and slipped it slowly between his lips. Not to be outdone, M.

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   Perriport leant forward and applied his tongue to removing the small white flower that Fremont had placed upon my right tit; and then all, except for M. Goubouges, who I expected was as usual content simply to observe and record, were at me, kneeling on their chairs or upon the table, their fingers and their tongues busy at every part of me as they lifted and licked the sweetness from my body.

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