A Tale Truly Meant to be Read Hidden From Sight
I'll be a guest at Stoya's dirty book club in November, so let's talk Ortolan
Stoya asked me recently if I’d be willing to come back to her dirty book club, Sex Lit to talk about The Ortolan Hunters and Other Disturbing Tales. It’s a collection of three short stories and a novella which is in itself a collection of shorter tales told by two strangers trapped in a hotel during a black out.
Of course, I said yes, and I’m looking (with some small anxiety) to talking to her members about the book, the stories, and creepy sex stuff. It’s always a nice group, and I’ve enjoyed the past two times I was invited very much. They’re currently virtual and free which is also a plus for folks wanting to join in.
So, for tonight’s midnight missive, I thought I’d share the first story in the book in its entirety. It’s the title of the book, and it’s a bit creepy, hopefully sexy, and potentially disturbing.
And much like an ortolan, it’s best if you hide yourself from god while you indulge.
Consider sharing this to help spread the word!
The Ortolan Hunters
“Sometimes I think you’re too nice,” she said.
The fact that she couldn’t sit down without wincing didn’t mean anything. Neither did the two hours she spent last night begging me to let her come as I teased her with fingers and words. Her bruises, her tears, and her welts all meant nothing.
“This is about the birds again,” I said, not even looking up from my breakfast. We were sitting across from each at the French Roast, but we might as well have been in our living room. Every week we sat at the same table, ate the same thing, and drank the same coffee. It was the one small consistency in our life together and we cherished it more than we admitted, even to ourselves. Arguing was also a part of the tradition.
“Of course it isn’t,” she said. “You’re just too nice in general.”
“You nearly passed out last night thanks to me, and now you’re saying I’m too nice. It’s totally about the fucking birds.”
“I just don’t see what the big deal is! It’s like you’re a different person for this one thing and I don’t even know you.”
“Are you serious?” I asked. “It’s completely different! It’s not like slapping someone around when they want it. The birds don’t consent. It’s clear as day.”
“There are worse ways to die than being drowned in Armagnac. Getting hit by a car, falling off a bridge, getting shot. All worse. You could get devoured by a bear, beaten with baseball bats, or electrocuted. Also worse. Come on, stop feeling bad for the birds and feel bad for me instead.”
“You’re really serious about this,” I said. “You’ve talked about the fucking ortolans for years, but I always thought it was a joke.”
“It’s my greatest desire and you won’t give it to me. You do everything else but this one thing, and it’s because you’re too nice. You feel bad for the goddamn birds.”
How did I end up here, I thought. After years of dating, pushing every limit we could find, and indulging our senses in everything from food to drink to sex, this was the one thing she was upset about. It had started as a joke, but recently it had become something else. It had become a test, and it was a test that I’d been failing. She wants to eat a whole fucking sparrow and if I don’t give in, it’s not going to last. How did I end up here?
“I’ll call Sebastien,” I said, taking another sip of my coffee. There was nothing else to say.
“Are you serious?” Her eyes were wide, and filled with so much hope it almost felt worth it.
“I don’t know if he can do it. They’re impossible to find, and no one wants to serve them without a serious bribe. They’ve been illegal for years.”
“That’s what makes it so much fun! We can have whatever we want, whenever we want it, and it’s getting boring. I want something I can’t have. It’s not like a birthday gangbang or an old bottle of whisky. This is special. And I want it.”
“I’ll call him. That’s all I can promise.”
It took weeks. And I had to admit that she was right about one thing. I had become so used to instant gratification that waiting for anything at all felt horrible. When I want something I want it now, and even if I have to work hard for it, it’s better than waiting. Sebastien promised me that he could hook me up, but it would take time. The birds had to be flown in from France and the right Armagnac had to be found. His chef needed to prepare the grains, find the right oven, and set up a private place to eat without getting arrested. It would be easier if we agreed to fly to Paris, but she wouldn’t have it. It was New York or nothing, even if it meant waiting.
I finally surprised her, nearly out of habit; telling her what was about to happen just didn’t fit in with our dynamic. The night we were to go, I told her we were going to meet some friends for drinks at Schiller's. As far as she knew Sebastien was still waiting, and I’m sure a part of her expected me to back out. Even when I slapped her the hardest or turned her ass to a constant bruise she shook her head and called me sweet. I got rougher as the day grew closer, as if I had to prove something to myself, but if she noticed it was simply with more encouragement.
But when we got out of the cab and turned left, she instantly knew something was up.
“Why are we going this way? What’s going on?”
“Don’t worry about it. You love surprises,” I said, taking her hand and pulling her down the block.
“I hate surprises. Unless it’s strange men fucking me in an alley. It’s not strange men fucking me in an alley is it? That was so much fun last time.”
“No,” was all I said, the memories bringing a flush to my cheeks. She had been surprised that time as well, but she fell into it with complete vigor, kneeling on the dirty concrete and letting them use her without restraint.
I led her down the side stairs of an old brownstone, following Sebastien’s instructions as closely as I hoped he had followed mine. The metal was old and rusting beneath our feet, but the small cobbled pathway did in fact lead to a red door with nothing but a black knocker in the exact center. Her hand was trembling as I reached up, and by the time the door opened she was nearly squealing with anticipation. It’s possible the smell of cooking food gave it away, or maybe she simply knows me too well, but within seconds she knew and there was no containing her.
“Can I help you?” the young woman at the door said, speaking through a thin crack.
“Sebastien sent us,” I said. “It’s about the buntings.”
She closed the door, and I heard the clicking and clanking of locks on the other said. A moment later she opened it and ushered us into the dark hallway. Her dress was long and red, nearly trailing the floor behind her as she lead us down towards another door. The air smelled of cooking flesh and pepper. It was dry and moist all at the same time, and we gripped each other’s hands tightly as we followed our guide.
She opened the door at the end of the hall and led us into a small room with a fireplace burning quietly, and a round table set for two. She pulled out the chairs and motioned for us to sit. From the large decanter on the table she poured us each a small glass of wine before turning and leaving without another word.
“You really did it,” she said raising her glass in a toast.
“I don’t know. I haven’t seen any dead birds yet.”
“Don’t be a jerk. They’re supposed to be delicious. Do you see these napkins?” she asked, holding up the impossibly large linen that had been resting on her plate. “You cover your head with it as you eat. So God can’t see you sinning. You know, just like French aristocracy did. And don’t forget, you have to eat the whole thing at once. It’s like an oyster.”
“This is the most expensive goddamn oyster I’ve ever heard of,” I mumbled, taking a sip of my wine. “I just don’t understand why they have to drown the birds. Can’t they just break it’s neck like a normal person?”
“You’re insane. Would you seriously prefer to have your neck broken to drowning in booze? It’s like I don’t know you at all. Come on. They lock them in a box full of food so they gorge themselves on grains and then they drop them in a bucket of cognac. You’ve practically died that way a million times.”
“Sure, but it was my choice to drink myself stupid. The bird just happened to be in the wrong place at the wrong time.”
“If we weren’t eating it then some other thing would be. It would be murdered by a hawk instead of ending its life blissful and drunk. Now be nice and eat your tiny bird when they bring it out.”
I shook my head and drank more wine, hoping it would help with my trepidation. I have eaten all sorts of strange things, but for some reason I simply couldn’t get the picture out of my mind. I instantly imagined the poor things being shoved into a barrel, the fumes making them sick until finally they were drowned in the liquid, just so we could eat them with a fucking towel over our heads.
“Just remember that it was you who said you wanted to drown in liquor,” I said quietly. She raised an eyebrow, but I didn’t back down. I lifted my glass in a toast, and she followed suit just as the door opened and the chef came in looking nervous.
“Have you eaten ortolan before?” he asked without even a pause.
“It’s our first time,” she said with a huge smile. “It’s been my dream since I was young though and we’re so grateful for your skill.”
“Well, the process is simple enough, even if it’s not familiar. In a few moments, Marie will bring out the birds, and place them in front of you on the table. You will take the napkin, and hold it over your head as you lean it over the plate. Cover your head completely so you get the best of the aroma, as the birds have a strong flavor of Armagnac. It is traditional that the ortolan is eaten in one bite so you can taste all of the flavors.
“If you have a question I will be right outside, but in the meantime, please enjoy. Okay?”
“Thank you so much,” she said, her grin wide and authentic. “I’m really looking forward to it.”
“I hope it doesn’t disappoint,” he said, before stepping back out through the door.
We drank our wine in silence, glaring at each other over the table and the anticipation was doing different things to us. She was squirming with hope, and I was bracing myself, as much for the dinner as for what was to come after.
We didn’t have to wait too long, and before I knew what was happening, Marie had placed a small bird on my plate, and all I could do was take in the glorious smell of the dish. Following along quickly I covered my head with the napkin, picked the thing up by the head and took a deep breath.
“Are you ready?” she asked from underneath her napkin.
“Are you?” I asked back. “Are you sure it’s not too hot? It might burn you.”
“It’s supposed to hurt,” she whispered. And then I heard a snap and a crunch and the sound of pleasure leaking out from behind her shroud. I raised the ortolan to my own mouth, closed my eyes, and wrapped my lips around it. I bit down on the neck, felt the heat explode within my mouth before I started to seriously chew. The flavors were complex, the texture was a mixture of too many things, and the smell nearly drowned me. The bird literally melted in my mouth, its delicate flesh molten in melted fat. Everything was too rich, too hot, too decadent. The tiny bones drew blood from my tongue and cheeks, a final act of defense, and the release was almost welcome, the saltiness cutting through the taste of melted gold. My mouth was overflowing, flesh pushing out between my lips, my chin a slick of oil. All my senses were aching from overexposure. Even my ears were attuned only to the crunching of bones, sizzling of skin and her moaning from across the table.
But even as I managed to swallow, I came back to thinking of how I had come to be there. How I had been dragged into it and what it meant for us both. The damn bird didn’t consent to our trivial battle over my kindness, and it definitely didn’t need to die just so I could prove a point. I choked down the rest of the meat, before finally sliding the napkin off over my head to see my smiling partner in crime leaning back in her chair with an expression of bliss I had never seen before.
“Well?” she asked.
“It doesn’t matter what I think,” I mumbled.
“It was delicious. It was perfect, and I love you more than I can ever say.” She leaned in and took my hand. “I don’t know how you made it happen, but my life is complete, and I’ll never pretend that you’re nice again.”
“Oh, that’s most likely true,” I said, cooling my tongue and realigning my senses with a long sip of wine.
“You’re still upset,” she said, raising an eyebrow. “What’s going on?”
“Well, we’re not quite done yet,” I said, standing up and pulling her along with me. “I mean, the ortolans were just the first part of your surprise.”
“I always like your surprises,” she said, following me without any question at all.
I took her through the doorway our host had come through and turned left as I had been instructed. We entered a room lit only by a fireplace with a thick carpet on the stone floor, and an old wooden table in the center of the room. A large basin rested on it. I guided her in, one hand on the nape of her neck, my own excitement rising with each step we took.
“What’s going on?” she asked, trying to look back over her shoulder.
“Put your hands on the basin,” I said firmly. It was a voice she knew, and without pause she did as she was told, her body shaking. I lifted up her dress and slid her panties down to the floor, watching as she dutifully kicked them off. I ran my hands up her thighs, over her ass, and then instantly between her legs, feeling how wet she already was.
“Is this Armagnac?” she asked, leaning forward as I pushed my fingers inside her.
“What do you think?” I said, instantly grabbing her by the hair and pushing her face toward the liquid. “Are you afraid?”
“No,” she said, “You’re too nice to do anything horrible. Even though you ate the fucking bird, you’re still too nice.”
“I thought you might say that,” I said, pulling my hard cock from my pants. Without a sound I thrust inside her as she arched up to meet me. “But since you were the one who thought drowning was a good way to go, why don’t we find out if you still agree when it’s you instead of the fucking bird.”
I didn’t give her time to think before pushing her head into the basin of liquor. I pushed my cock into her harder, feeling her whole body writhe as she choked and struggled to hold her breath, and I was almost lost. I fucked her faster and deeper, holding her there for just a few seconds before pulling her up again.
“Oh fuck,” she screamed, spitting the liquid from her mouth. “Fuck, I can’t breathe.”
“Were you wrong?” I asked, “Is it as pretty as you thought?”
“It’s amazing,” she said, growling at me with defiance. “It’s fucking perfect.”
I thrust into her once more, bending her over and shoving her head back down.
“Do you still think I’m sweet?” I asked, slamming into her cunt as she thrashed about in the booze. “Am I still too nice for you?” I asked, leaving her in for far longer than the first time.
When I finally pulled her out, she spat on the floor in front of her, shook her head, and actually pushed back onto me.
“Harder, you asshole,” she moaned, “Fuck me harder.”
I didn’t pause long between strokes, and a second later she was back down, my cock slamming in and out of her as her body shook. Each time I held her down longer, and she started to shake and clench. I wondered what it would feel like when she lost consciousness with my cock still inside her. I pulled her out over and over again, tempting her to say no. Tempting her to tell me to stop. To say anything at all that might make it end, but she was as determined as ever.
“Is this how you want to go?” I finally asked, pulling her out one last time. “Do you still think I’m too sweet, too kind, and too fucking nice? If this was the last thing that you ever did, would you be happy to die right now?”
“Yes,” she screamed, struggling to stand as I continued fucking her. “God yes, I love you. It’s perfect, you’re perfect. Please…”
Right before I pushed her down the last time, I pulled her hips back, pulled out my cock, and quickly forced it up her ass. She was shaking, but I was impossibly hard and ready to come.
“Good,” was all I said, my cock finally buried all the way inside her.
And then her head was back in the basin, her fists pounding on the table as I took her ass over and over again, feeling her whole body revolting around me. I closed my eyes and focused on nothing at all. The room vanished and the smell of the armagnac mellowed to a passing note. All I could feel was my cock in her ass and my hand in her hair as I held her there, fucking her without reason. Fucking her without restraint, and fucking her without any shame at all. I felt my body tighten, I felt hers do the same, and just as I started to come I licked my lips one last time.
All I could taste were the indescribable flavors of the bird, and for just a moment, for just a brief second, I knew I would never taste anything quite so exquisite again.