Chapter 27: The conveyor's squealing gears force Erin's trembling thighs apart just as Isis's spread cunt meets hers - their mutual gasp turns to shuddering moans when Ryan activates the vibrators strapped to their clits, the shared torment forging an unspoken bond as they come violently against each other's slick flesh.
The silence in the truck was a physical weight. It was different from the absorbing quiet of the slaughterhouse; this was a tense, loaded silence, thrumming with the memory of gears and the phantom sensation of being moved. Erin watched the streetlights smear past the window, each one a fleeting burst of orange across her hands, which lay still in her lap. She could still smell the rust. She could still feel the slow, inevitable drag of the hook.
Shane didn’t drive them home. He drove to a diner on the outskirts of town, a well-lit island of normality in the dark. “Eat,” he said, his tone leaving no room for debate. The fluorescent lights were merciless. Erin felt exposed, as if the violent, mechanical intimacy was stamped on her skin for everyone to see. She picked at a plate of fries, the grease suddenly nauseating. Isis sat across the booth, not eating, just drinking water in slow, deliberate sips, her eyes fixed on some middle distance. The hatred was still there, but it had mutated. It wasn’t hot anymore. It was cold, complex, and threaded with a shared, unspoken humiliation.
“You two look like shit,” Ryan observed, not unkindly, as he finished his burger.
“Fuck you,” Erin muttered, but the fire was gone. It was just reflex.
Shane leaned back, his arm stretching across the back of the booth. “Saturday. Back at the plant. Noon.” His blue eyes pinned first Erin, then Isis. “You’re both thinking too much. Last time was about breaking your will. This time is about breaking your minds. A different kind of machine.”
Isis finally looked at him. “More conveyor belts?”
“No,” Shane said, a faint smile touching his lips. “Something simpler. Something you can’t fight.” He dropped a twenty on the table. “Get some sleep. You’ll need it.”
Saturday came with a harsh, clear sky. The slaughterhouse seemed even more forbidding in the stark daylight. The broken skylights cast sharp, clean rectangles on the filth below, exposing every stain, every patch of crumbling brick. The same segment of conveyor track hung from its rusted rails.
But the apparatus on the floor below it was new. Two heavy, upright metal frames, like doorframes without doors, stood about eight feet apart. From the top crossbar of each hung a pair of leather wrist cuffs. At the base of each frame were heavy, wide leather cuffs attached to short chains bolted to the floor.
“Position,” Shane said. He was holding two small, black plastic objects. They were bullet vibrators, but thicker, with a remote antenna nub.
Erin and Isis were stripped as before. Shane gestured to the frames. “Kneel.” They knelt on the cold concrete within the frames. Ryan secured their ankles to the floor cuffs, pulling their legs wide apart, knees pressing into the grit. Then their wrists were fastened to the cuffs above, forcing them into a taut, kneeling presentation, facing each other again with about six feet of empty space between them.
Shane crouched in front of Erin. “Open.” His voice was low, a private command in the vast space. He slid the smooth, silicone-coated vibrator between her labia, pressing it firmly against her clit. A strip of strong adhesive tape across her lower belly secured it in place. She flinched at the touch, already sensitive, already betraying her with a low thrum of anticipation. He repeated the process with Isis, who remained rigid, her breath hissing through her teeth.
“These aren’t your dollar-store rabbits,” Ryan said, holding up a small, black remote. “These are industrial. Found ‘em in an old... therapy catalog.” His smile was brief. “They’ve got one setting. And it’s not ‘buzzing’. It’s ‘drilling’.”
He nodded to Shane, who picked up a heavy-duty staple gun from his bag. He approached Erin first. Before she could process it, he positioned the head of the gun against the inner strap of the leather cuff securing her right wrist. THWACK. The sound was shockingly loud. A thick, industrial staple pierced the leather, pinning it directly to the wooden crossbar. She was literally stapled in place. THWACK. THWACK. THWACK. He moved around her, stapling each cuff secure. The finality of the sound, the vibration through the wood into her wrist bones, was a new level of immobilization. Chains could be unclipped. Staples were permanent until someone pulled them out.
He did the same to Isis. The sound was rhythmic, punitive. THWACK. THWACK. THWACK. THWACK. When he finished, they were exhibits, mounted and displayed.
Shane stepped back, dusting his hands. “Now, the track moves. But you don’t.” He pointed to the conveyor above. Ryan went to the control box.
With a lurch, the meat hooks began to move along the track, squealing as they had before. They traveled from opposite ends toward the center, directly above the space between the two kneeling women. As they drew closer, Erin saw that each hook now held something. Dangling from Shane’s hook was a large, double-ended dildo, a thick, shining black shaft. From Ryan’s hook hung a heavy, polished metal butt plug, intimidating in its girth.
The hooks stopped, swaying gently, the toys dangling like obscene fruit directly between Erin and Isis’s faces.
“You’ll take what’s given,” Shane said. “Your only job is to come. You don’t have to move. You don’t have to fuck. You just have to break.”
Ryan’s thumb hovered over the remote. “Let’s sync you up.”
He pressed the button.
The sensation wasn’t a buzz. It was a deep, sub-audible thrum that instantly vibrated through Erin’s entire pelvis, a violent rattling of bone and nerve. It wasn’t located on her clit; it was her clit, her labia, her inner walls—a concentrated, furious oscillation that bypassed pleasure and went straight to a shocking, overwhelming overload. A sharp cry was torn from her throat. Across from her, Isis gasped, her back arching as much as the staples would allow, a low moan shuddering out of her.
“God… fuck…” Erin whimpered. It was too much. It was like being electrically tenderized.
The hooks began to move again, lower this time, on a separate pulley. The black dildo descended towards Erin’s mouth. The cold metal plug aimed for Isis’s lips.
“Open,” Shane commanded.
Tears streamed down Erin’s face, blurred by the relentless, drilling vibration in her cunt. She opened her mouth. The slick, rubbery head pushed past her lips, heavy and tasteless. She had to take it, the weight forcing her jaw wide. Across from her, Isis was forced to accept the cold, flared base of the plug onto her tongue, her eyes wide with revolt.
Ryan adjusted a dial on the remote. The thrum intensified, becoming a brutal, jackhammering pulse.
Erin’s world dissolved into pure sensation. The violation of her mouth, the violent, unending tremor in her pussy. Her body was not her own. It was a collection of overstimulated nerve endings, a vessel for this engineered torment. Her hips tried to jerk, to seek friction or escape, but the ankle cuffs held her fast. All she could do was kneel and take it. A guttural, helpless sound vibrated around the dildo in her mouth.
Her eyes locked with Isis’s. The other woman’s composure was gone, shattered. Her face was flushed, her mouth stretched obscenely around the metal. In her eyes was the same raw, unraveling shock. There was no rivalry here now. Only shared, absolute subjugation.
The orgasm didn’t build. It detonated. It was a seizure of pure, mindless release, a lightning strike that tore through the center of her. She screamed around the gag, her body convulsing against the staples, her cunt clamping down on nothing, pulsing violently around the alien vibration that didn't stop, didn't care. It kept hammering, turning the climax into a torturous eternity.
As her own cries echoed, she saw Isis shatter too. Her body went rigid, then spasmed, a choked sob escaping as she came, her eyes rolling back in her head.
Ryan kept the remote engaged. The brutal pulses continued, dragging them through the aftershocks into a realm of brutal overstimulation. Erin thrashed, sobbing, her sensitivity turned into agony. Make it stop make it stop make it stop beat in time with the thrumming in her cunt.
Finally, after an eternity, Ryan released the button.
The sudden silence was louder than the vibration had been. It rang in Erin’s ears. The hooks whirred, lifting the toys from their mouths. Spit and tears dripped from their chins. They sagged in their restraints, held upright only by the staples in the leather.
Shane approached with pliers. The sound of each staple being wrenched, twisted, and pulled from the wood was excruciatingly slow. Each pop of release sent a new shock through Erin’s abused wrists. When she was free, she collapsed onto her side on the cold floor, unable to stand. Isis lay similarly broken a few feet away.
Shane looked down at them, his boots near Erin’s face. “See? You don’t need to be moved. You just need the right frequency.” He toed the discarded vibrator, still adhered to her. “Your bodies are just machines. We found the ‘on’ switch.”
Ryan gathered their clothes, dropping them in separate piles. “Get dressed.”
As Erin pushed herself up, her muscles trembling, she looked at Isis. The other woman was staring back, her earlier cold hatred gone, replaced by a hollow, knowing emptiness. They had not fought. They had not even moved. They had simply been turned on, and off, by remote control. The understanding that passed between them was more intimate than any fuck. It was the silent, dreadful knowledge that they could be broken without being touched, that their defiance was just a setting waiting to be overridden.
Shane held the door open, the daylight beyond a blinding, meaningless expanse. “Let’s go. We’re done here.”
But as Erin limped toward the light, the phantom thrumming still echoing in her bones, she knew with a cold certainty that she was not done. The machine was still running. She just couldn’t hear it anymore.