Chapter 11: The Week of Trance
She woke to the subtle, persistent ache of being profoundly empty. Not the emptiness of being unused, but the void left by the machine's absence. Her sleep had been black and dreamless, a blank slate of exhaustion, but her body had remained on a hair-trigger. She peeled her face from the pillow, the room still dark, Cassie’s rhythmic breathing beside her a soft counterpoint to the pulse thrumming between her legs.Without a sound, Lucia slid from the bed. Her muscles protested, a deep soreness that felt earned. She stood naked in the gloom, her hand instinctively going to her backside. The plug was a familiar anchor, but the surrounding muscles felt loose, tender, widely accepting.The thought made a shudder of need run through her.
She padded into the living room.The bench was there, a hulking silhouette. The machine beside it.She ran her fingers over its cold steel frame.
“Couldn’t wait?”
Lucia turned. Cassie stood in the bedroom doorway, wrapped in a silk robe, her expression a mix of sleep and keen observation.
“I just… I need it,” Lucia whispered, her voice gravelly from disuse.Cassie smiled, leaning against the doorframe.“I know you do. Go on.”
It was all the permission Lucia needed.Her movements were ritualistic, automatic. She selected a new attachment from the case, not the smooth one, not the thick one from before. This was a monstrous thing, veined and tapered, a deep black silicone that seemed to drink the low light.She warmed the lube, filled the reservoir, her hands steady now with purpose.
Cassie watched, arms crossed, as Lucia positioned the bench.She didn’t offer help. This was Lucia’s liturgy.Lucia knelt on the padded leather, guiding the intimidating tip to her entrance. Even with the permanent plug, the stretch was immediate, breathtaking. She let out a slow, controlled breath as she pushed back, impaling herself on the first few inches. A sharp, bright sound escaped her lips.She fastened the ankle cuffs, then leaned forward, securing her wrists. The leather was cool, final.Her eyes found Cassie’s in the dimness. They were glassy, unfocused, already drifting towards that other place. Cassie gave a slight, encouraging nod.Lucia hit the switch.The machine began with a deep, penetrating grind. It was slower than before, but the girth made every centimeter a conquest. Lucia’s head dropped between her shoulders, a long, guttural moan pulled from her core as the toy buried itself to the hilt.It didn’t just fill her; it reshaped her.
Cassie pushed off the doorframe and walked closer. She stood beside the bench, looking down at her wife’s body, rocking with the piston’s brutal rhythm. She reached out and traced the line of Lucia’s spine, feeling the tremors there.
“You look so beautiful like this,” Cassie murmured, more to herself.“So perfectly broken open.”
Lucia couldn’t form words. Her universe was pressure and release, a symphony of mechanical invasion. The machine dispensed its warm flood, and she cried out, her caged dick straining, a pathetic dribble marking the leather below.
Cassie watched for a long time, her gaze analytical, possessive. Finally, she said, “I think you need more.This is great, baby, but it’s just a machine. It’s not… alive. It doesn’t want you.”
Lucia’s eyes, half-lidded and wet, flickered towards her.A question in their haze.Cassie pulled out her phone. “A week,” she said, her thumbs tapping swiftly.“A week of living it. No coming up for air.”
The next day, the first one arrived. Marcus, a colleague from Cassie’s firm, big hands and a confused, hungry look in his eyes. Cassie had been vague, enticing. “My wife has a… particular welcome home gift for you.”
Lucia was on the bench when he entered, the machine still pumping, her body glistening. She turned her head, looked at him, and her tongue swiped over her plump lips.
“Get over here,” Cassie told him, her tone leaving no room for debate. “She’s thirsty.”
Marcus fumbled with his belt. Lucia’s mouth opened, and he fed her his cock, groaning as her throat took him deep on the first try.The machine never stopped. She sucked him with a desperate, blissful concentration, her hips pushing back onto the toy, a double penetration performed with mindless grace. When he came, she swallowed every drop, milking him with her tongue until he shuddered. He left stammering, already checking his phone for the next time Cassie said he could come over.The stream was constant.A delivery guy Cassie flirted with regularly. A former boyfriend she’d kept on a string. Strangers from apps, vetted quickly, drawn by the photos Cassie sent—images of Lucia, bound and waiting, her eyes inviting. They came before work, on lunch breaks, late at night.
Lucia lived on the bench, in the bed, on her knees in the living room.Her body became a public utility. She sucked cock with the single-minded devotion of a communicant taking sacrament. She bent over the arm of the sofa, presenting her stretched, slick hole, and took their frantic poundings with a series of choked, happy moans.They came on her face, in her mouth, down her throat. She swallowed, licked her lips, asked for more.Cassie orchestrated it all. She let them in, poured drinks, sometimes directed the action. “Fuck her ass, she loves it deep,” or “She hasn’t come all day, cum on her tits and let me watch her lick it off.” Occasionally, she joined. She would guide a man’s cock into her own pussy while Lucia watched, then pull out and push him into Lucia’s mouth, mixing their tastes. Lucia would clean Cassie with fervent swirls of her tongue, her eyes closed in worship.
Through it all, Lucia floated. She responded to commands, offered her body, giggled bubbleheadedly at crude jokes, moaned like a porn star at their thrusts. But her eyes held a distant gleam. She was servicing something deeper than the men—she was servicing the void inside her, the one that could only be filled by this endless consumption. She existed in a permanent state of being used, a warm, wet, willing object.Logan was a rumor.Lucia was a function.
Days blurred.Lucia’s throat was permanently sore, a raw, sweet pain she cherished. Her asshole stayed open, a slack, pink rose that no longer flinched at intrusion. She ate when Cassie put food in front of her, drank protein shakes to keep her strength up. She slept in brief, heavy crashes, often with Cassie’s fingers inside her, stretching her sleepily.On the seventh day, it was Leo, an old college friend of Cassie’s. He was rougher, holding Lucia’s head hard as he fucked her face, calling her a “dumb fucking sissy.” She took it, her gag reflex a memory, her throat working him effortlessly. When he pulled out to cum on her eyelids, she kept her eyes open, letting the hot strands coat her lashes, blinking up at him with a look of pure adoration.
After he left, Cassie didn’t call another. The apartment fell into a sudden, profound silence, broken only by the hum of the refrigerator. Lucia was on the floor, leaning against the sofa, her body smeared with the evidence of the week. She stared at a point on the carpet, her mind a white noise of pleasure and exhaustion.
Cassie crouched in front of her, using a warm, wet cloth to gently wipe the drying cum from her face. The tenderness of the gesture was a shock to the system.Cassie cleaned her eyelids, her cheeks, her chin.
Lucia’s breathing hitched.She looked at Cassie—really looked at her. She saw the fatigue under her wife’s eyes, the proud, possessive curve of her smile, the love that was as deep and complex as the degradation.A crack appeared in the trance. The white noise receded, and a singular, coherent thought formed.
Her hand, trembling, came up and covered Cassie’s on the cloth. Her voice, when it came, was ravaged, scraped raw from overuse, but it held a note of soft, dawning clarity.
“I think I’m back,” Lucia whispered.Cassie stopped wiping. She searched Lucia’s eyes, seeing the person re-emerging from the creature of need. She smiled, a real, warm smile that reached her eyes, and leaned forward, kissing Lucia’s sticky forehead.
“Welcome home, baby,” Cassie said softly. “You did so good.”
The touch of the cloth, its gentle pressure against her tender skin, felt more intimate than any of the rough handling of the past week. Lucia leaned into it, her eyes fluttering closed for a moment before opening again, clear and present.
“It felt…” she began, her voice a wrecked but wondrous thing.“It was like I wasn’t there anymore. Not in a bad way.” She reached for Cassie’s free hand, bringing it to her lips for a soft kiss. “I was just… a thing.A perfect fuck doll. You made me into the perfect submissive filthy slut, Cass. No thoughts, just… function.”
Cassie’s breath caught, her eyes shining with a fierce, proud love. She didn’t speak, just listened, her thumb stroking Lucia’s knuckles.
To demonstrate, Lucia shifted her weight slightly, moving with a languid, unselfconscious grace. She brought her own hand back, slick with residual lube, and slowly pressed her fingers against her loosened entrance.There was no resistance, no preparatory stretch. Her fingers slid in to the knuckles, then her whole hand followed, the slow, deliberate clench of her internal muscles a faint echo of what they once were.
She watched Cassie’s face as her wrist disappeared inside herself, a casual, shocking display of permanent alteration. “See?” Lucia whispered, a smile playing on her swollen lips.“It’s just… open.Always ready. It belongs to you.”
Cassie’s gaze dropped from Lucia’s eyes to the incredible sight of her wife’s fist buried in her own ass.A dark, wanting heat flushed her cheeks. Without breaking eye contact, Cassie let the cleaning cloth fall. She brought her own hand down, pushing the silk of her robe aside, and delved into her own wetness.
Her movements were sure, practiced, her fingers curling before her whole hand sank into her cunt with a soft, gasping sigh from deep in her chest. She was fisting herself, watching Lucia watch her, a mutual display of obscene ownership.They leaned toward each other, their bodies straining across the small, charged space. They met in a deep, searching kiss that tasted of salt and sweat and something profoundly theirs. It was loving, desperate, and filthy all at once.
Then, as if sharing a single thought, they slowly withdrew their hands. In the same fluid motion, still kissing, they guided each other’s slick, glistening fists to their respective openings. Lucia’s hand, slippery and cool from lube, pressed into Cassie’s molten tightness, and Cassie’s hand, dripping with her own arousal, sank back into Lucia’s slack, welcoming depth.
They broke the kiss, foreheads resting together, breathing the same air in ragged sync. Lucia’s eyes were wide with revelation.“It’s not enough anymore,” she breathed, her voice raw with truth.
“The men… the cocks… it’s decoration,” Cassie finished, her hips beginning a slow grind against Lucia’s plunging fist.“Pretty toys for a pretty toy. This…” she gasped, pushing deeper onto Lucia’s arm, “…this is real.We need to go further. We need to strip everything else away.”
Lucia nodded, feeling Cassie’s inner walls fluttering around her wrist, feeling her own body accept Cassie’s entire hand with a guttural, blissful sigh. “Just sex,” Lucia agreed, her world narrowing to the point of connection.“Nothing else.Just this. Deeper.”