Chapter 25: Forced Feast
The quiet in the days that followed was different. It wasn’t peace. It was the silent, humming tension of a tripwire not yet sprung. Erin moved through the house, through her work at the dusty salvage yard office, with a strange, hollow calm. The confession had scoured her out. She felt like a clean, empty vessel, waiting to be filled with whatever they chose.
Saturday found them back at the warehouse. The generator’s hum was a familiar heartbeat now. The Sybian stood in its same pool of light, a silent altar. Isis was already there, leaning against a rusted shelving unit, her arms crossed. She looked at Erin with none of the previous camaraderie, only a flat, resigned recognition.
Shane didn’t give them time to think. “Strip. Both of you.”
The concrete was grit under Erin’s knees. She shivered, watching Isis shed her clothes with mechanical efficiency. Ryan powered the Sybian on, its low idle thrum vibrating in the floor. But instead of guiding them onto it, Shane grabbed a worn leather collar from his bag and fastened it around Isis’s throat. A short lead dangled from the O-ring.
“On your back,” Shane told Isis, giving the lead a slight tug.
Isis obeyed, lying down on the old, stained mattress they’d dragged in, her head near the base of the Sybian. The cold of the concrete seeped through the thin foam.
Ryan walked to Erin, his fingers tangling in her dark hair. “Up,” he said softly, pulling her to her feet. He led her to the mattress, to Isis. “Straddle her face. Your cunt right over her mouth.”
Erin’s stomach twisted. This was a new geometry of humiliation. She looked down at Isis, who stared back, her expression unreadable. Erin’s legs felt weak as she knelt, one knee on either side of Isis’s head, and lowered herself. The heat of Isis’s breath hit her first, then the tentative, flat press of her tongue.
“Not like that,” Shane growled. He crouched beside them, his hand gripping Erin’s hip hard enough to bruise. “You grind. You fuck her face. You use it. You make her eat your pussy, or you drown her in it. Your call.”
He stood and walked to the Sybian, taking the remote from Ryan. “This is your rhythm,” Shane said, his thumb hovering over the dial. “You move with it. You don’t, and I turn it up until you do.”
He turned the dial. The deep thrum jumped to a harsh, insistent buzz. The vibration shot through the floor, up through the mattress, into Erin’s knees.
“Move, Erin,” Ryan said, standing over them, his voice a calm counterpoint to the machine’s scream.
Erin sobbed, a dry, wretched sound. She rocked her hips forward, feeling Isis’s nose press into her clit, her mouth opening reluctantly. The sensation was blinding—shame, revulsion, and a sharp, unwanted bolt of pleasure. She grinded down, smearing her wetness across Isis’s lips and chin.
“Harder,” Shane commanded. The vibration intensified. The entire mattress seemed to shudder.
Erin bore down, her thighs trembling. She felt Isis’s tongue lick, then push into her, a hot, violating stripe against her sensitive opening. A choked gag vibrated against Erin’s flesh. Isis’s hands came up, fingers scrabbling at Erin’s thighs, not to push away, but to hold on, to find purchase in the drowning.
“She’s gagging,” Erin cried, tears streaming down her face.
“Then let her gag,” Ryan replied, his tone devoid of mercy. “Keep going.”
Erin fucked the woman’s face in frantic, jerking motions. The obscene, wet sounds filled the space between the machine’s buzz. Isis’s struggles became more pronounced, her body bucking underneath, her choked breaths hot and desperate against Erin’s swollen flesh. The vibration made everything blur—the pleasure was a sharp, serrated edge, the humiliation a deep, sick thrill that coiled in her gut alongside it.
She came suddenly, violently, her back arching as a silent scream tore through her. Her cunt clenched around nothing, pulsing against the probing, suffocating tongue beneath her. Her juices flooded Isis’s mouth, and she felt the woman swallow convulsively, then gag in earnest, her whole body convulsing.
Erin collapsed sideways, rolling off onto the cold mattress, gasping. Isis turned her head and vomited onto the concrete, a thin, bitter stream, coughing and sucking in ragged lungfuls of air.
Shane turned the Sybian off. The silence was abrupt, heavy, broken only by Isis’s retches and Erin’s shattered weeping.
Ryan knelt beside Erin, wiping the sweat and tears from her face with his thumb. “Good girl,” he murmured, but his eyes were on Shane. “She understands the function now. Complete use.”
Shane uncollared Isis, who curled into a fetal position, wiping her mouth. He threw a towel at her. “Get dressed. You’re done.”
Isis dressed with trembling hands, not looking at any of them, and stumbled out into the gathering dusk.
Shane pulled Erin to her feet. She was boneless, everything liquid and raw. He held her chin, forcing her to meet his piercing blue eyes. “That stranger you fantasized about?” he said, his voice low and rough. “He doesn’t exist. There’s only us. And we decide what you are, who uses you, and how.” He kissed her forehead, a brutal parody of tenderness. “Next time, you won’t sob. You’ll thank her for the tongue.”
He released her, and Ryan gathered her clothes, dressing her slowly as she stood passive, hollowed out once more. As they led her to the truck, the warehouse loomed behind them, a black silhouette against a bruised purple sky. The vessel was empty. And they had only begun to fill it.