Meals of Misery

Annetta flashed-back to the present, her head lolling around, as her eyes became cloudy from the synth’s ministrations down south. The blond squeezed her eyes shut, her breath coming in shallow, ragged gasps as the pressure built low in her belly, a traitorous heat rising to meet the synth’s expert ministrations.

She didn’t want to look, but the sounds from the other side of the room, wet skin slapping against skin, rhythmic creaking, and soft, breathless moans, pulled her gaze towards the scene.

Through hooded, lust-blurred eyes, the chef watched the scene unfolding on the cold floor. Audrey, now fully healed and almost glowing with an unnatural vitality, was positioned on her hands and knees. Mr. B was behind her, gripping Audrey's hips with a possessive strength, driving his cock deep into her sister’s willing body while Mr. C knelt in front, offering her his own member, which the woman was eagerly devouring. The older sister's back arched in a way that emphasized the curve of her spine, her body moving in perfect synchronization with the men’s thrusts. The sounds escaping her throat were muffled by Mr. C’s length, but the vibration of her moans was audible, a hum of genuine pleasure that sent a chill down Annetta's spine even as the synth’s tongue brought her closer to the edge.

Is she genuinely enjoying this or just pretending for the men’s sake in order to avoid more punishment?. The younger blonde thought as a trickle of sweat beaded down her neck. Christ, they really did make these things for all-purposes, didn’t they? The synth between her legs was relentless, a machine of perfect efficiency. It knew exactly when to suckle, when to flutter the tip of that synthetic muscle against her clit, and when to press down flat to grind against her entrance. The contrast was maddening: the cold, calculating precision of the robot bringing her to the brink versus the raw, primal heat of the threesome playing out just a few feet away.

Annetta's hips bucked involuntarily, her body betraying her mind as the first waves of her orgasm began to crest. The chef let out a strangled whimper, her eyes rolling back as the synth intensified the suction on her clit. It was too much. The coil in her belly snapped, and she came with a violent shudder, her thighs clamping around the synth's head, her back arching off the chair. The world dissolved into a kaleidoscope of white light and deafening sound, her cries of pleasure mingling with the obscene slaps of flesh against flesh across the room.

Seeing Anne come undone under the synth’s ministrations, Mr. B chuckled and looked down at Audrey, sweat dripping from his forehead onto her back. "What do you think, slut? Did your little sister enjoy that as much as you're enjoying this?"

Audrey could only respond with a muffled, wet gargle, her eyes rolling back slightly as Mr. C thrust deeper into her throat. The vibration of her attempt to speak sent a jolt through him, making him groan. Her body, however, answered for her. She pressed back against Mr. B, taking him to the hilt, her muscles clenching around him as her own climax crashed over her. Her muffled cries intensified, her nails digging into the carpet as she shuddered between the two men, riding out the waves of forced ecstasy.

That was all the encouragement the men needed. Mr. B gripped her hips hard enough to bruise, burying himself deep inside her with a final, guttural grunt. He pulsed, filling her with his release. At the same time, Mr. C tensed, his hand fisting in her hair as he held her steady, spilling down her throat. Audrey swallowed frantically, her body twitching with the overload of sensation, trapped between the two men as they used her completely.

For a moment, the room was filled only with the heavy sounds of breathing and the wet, sticky aftermath of their exertion. Annetta slumped in the chair, her chest heaving, her body still twitching with the aftershocks of her orgasm.

“Don’t just lie there like a sack of potatoes”, Mr. B grumbled at Audrey who was currently laying on the ground and trying to catch her breath. She looked up at him, a hint of fear behind her eyes. “Clean my cock from your juices”.

She didn't hesitate. The older sister scrambled to her knees, wincing slightly at the soreness in her muscles, and leaned forward to take Mr. B into her mouth. Annetta watched with a hint of perverted fascination as her sister diligently licked and sucked the man clean, her tongue flicking over every inch of him to remove the evidence of their coupling.

“Like what you see?” Mr. C asked the chef with a shit eating grin. Fuck you, the blond thought while her cheeks got increasingly red, however, Anne could not go away and hide in some metaphorical hole till the end of days, now could she? Instead, she averted her eyes from the scene.

"Ah, yeah, just the way I like it. You’re a good cock cleaner, Aud”, the man patted her on the head like one would a dog. Audrey beamed at his praise.

Mr. B and C stood up, grabbed their trousers from the floor, stepping into their legs and zipping up. Audrey remained on the floor, her knees bruising on the cold floor. The woman looked up at them, eyes wide and uncertain, clearly awaiting instruction. Her chest still heaved slightly, a sheen of sweat coating her skin. Mr. B merely glanced down at her as he smoothed his shirt, offering a curt, dismissive nod. Mr. C chuckled, running a hand through his hair, and followed his companion out without a backward glance. The heavy door clicked shut behind them, leaving the trio in a silence that felt louder than the previous noise.

Audrey stayed frozen for a heartbeat, listening to their footsteps fade down the hallway. Then, she gazed at her younger sister and the synth in the room, clearly debating on what to do. The older woman sighted and began crawling across the floor. She slightly shook her head when she saw Annetta opening her mouth.

Seeing her approach, the synth shifted its position a little and sat at the right of Anne's leg while Audrey sat at the left. The synth’s hand was placed on the chef's thigh. Its fingers were running feather light circles around her skin, which erupted in goosebumps. Oh, for fuck sakes, can you stop? The blonde groaned inwardly looking at her sister who was avoiding eye contact at the moment.

As Annetta again began opening her mouth to ask a question, she was interrupted by Renata's doppelgänger. “Your questions and re-acquainting with each other can wait. Now, wait, I’m getting a signal that Mr. A is returning… with a guest”.

Oh, great, she thought bitterly, her nails digging into the armrests of the chair. Another poor soul to be dragged into this. She wondered what poor desperate for money woman they procured this time: struggling actress? A desperate model? Or perhaps just someone in the wrong place at the wrong time?

Annetta squinted as the heavy door swung open again, the light from the hallway spilling into the dim room and momentarily blinding her. Mr. A entered first, his signature smug grin plastered across his face, holding the door open with a flourish.

"Mrs. Mortinson," Mr. A announced, gesturing grandly to the figure standing beside him. "I believe you have a lot in common with our new guest."

The younger blonde's breath caught in her throat. She blinked rapidly, certain the dim lighting was playing tricks on her mind. Standing there, looking around the room with a mixture of nervous curiosity and professional poise, was herself. Or a synth that was made to look like her. The being was wearing white sneakers, blue jeans, green shirt with a couple of buttons undone to accentuate its cleavage and a black denim blazer on top. Its wrist was adorned by a silver watch, which Annetta herself sometimes liked to wear. The nerve of it, the blonde thought feeling rage bubbling up inside of her after noticing that it had the audacity to wear her clothing. The only difference between the two was where Anne’s blonde hair cascaded freely to her shoulders, the synth’s was tied in to a pony-tail.

“Well, hello there, me”, the synth said in the same voice as Annetta’s. “I see you are enjoying your stay here”. I don’t fucking believe it. The synth looked at Mr. A for a bit and then walked towards the trio. It stopped a few feet away from the chair, offering a practiced smile that chilled the real Anne to the bone since she saw it herself a thousand times while rewatching her own fucking cooking show. The synth winked at her, the way Anne herself winked at the invisible audience at home, and began to undress. It moved with efficient, fluid motions, shrugging off the black denim blazer and laying it over the back of Anne's chair. Next came the green shirt, which it unbuttoned with a deliberate slowness, folding it neatly before placing it on the woman's lap.

Annetta's eyes became wide as saucers when the synth effortlessly lifted its foot up to its neck in a straight angle: no bones snapping, no tendons creaking. Well, shit, if I still clung to some distant notion that this could be my long-lost twin… yep, out the window. Its hands went to work on the sneaker’s strings before removing the shoe and dropping it near the other synth’s legs. The humanoid robot repeated the same movement with the other leg. If you fucking tear my jeans with this shit…

The jeans followed (remarkably intact), and soon, the synth was standing as naked as the real Annetta, wearing nothing but the silver watch and a confident, detached expression. The synth then looked down at the floor where Audrey was still resting on her knees. Its eyes scanned the floor, locking onto the small, glistening puddle of fluid that had leaked from Audrey's body when she had crawled over.

"Tsk, tsk," the doppelgänger said, shaking its head, its voice an exact mimicry of Anne's television-host tone. "We can't have a mess on the rug. That simply won't do." The synth dropped to its hands and knees, moving with a feline grace that made the real Anne shrink back into her chair. It crawled toward Audrey, its movements silent and fluid, like a jungle cat stalking prey. Without a word, the synth lowered its head to the stained floor. It extended its tongue, long and impossibly dexterous, and began to lap up the mixture of Mr. B’s seed and Audrey’s own juices. The sound was obscenely wet and loud in the quiet room: a rhythmic, sloppy slurp that echoed off the walls.

Annetta squeezed her eyes shut, her face burning with shame of having to witness this scene. Stop looking, she scolded herself, but the raw primal curiosity, forced her lids open again. The synth didn't stop there with the floor. It shuffled closer to Audrey, who remained frozen on her hands and knees, her eyes wide and trained on the floor. The synth was just inches away from the older sister's pussy, its hands gently gripping the woman’s thighs. "Hold still, please," the synth said, sounding for all the world like a hostess instructing a guest to wait for the oven timer to ding. "We need to ensure you are decent."

Audrey let out a shuddering breath but didn't pull away. The synth lowered its head once more, this time targeting the mess that was still leaking from the woman's folds. Annetta watched unable to tear her gaze away, as the machine wearing her own face buried itself between her sister's thighs. The synth worked efficiently, its tongue curling inside to scoop out the remnants of Mr. B’s release.

The synth finished its task with a final, decisive swipe of its tongue, ensuring Audrey was as clean as if she had just stepped out of a shower. It pulled back, its expression blank and unreadable, wiping a glistening sheen of fluid from its chin with the back of its hand. Then, it rose gracefully to its feet and turned its attention back to the woman in the chair. Panic flared in Anne's chest as the synth leaned in, its face hovering inches from hers. She could smell the musk, the distinct, salty tang of Mr. B’s semen mixed with the scent of Audrey’s arousal, wafting from the synth’s mouth. The realization hit her like a bucket of ice water. It wanted to kiss her. It wanted to transfer that vile cocktail directly into her mouth.

"No," the chef whispered, shaking her head frantically, pressing herself as deep into the chair as the synth on her right would allow. "No, absolutely not. I won't do it."

Mr. A chuckled. He hadn't moved from his spot near the door, but his presence filled the room just as effectively as the looming synth. "Now, now, Mrs. Mortinson," he said, his voice dripping with condescending patience. "There is no need for such dramatics. You are, after all, the hostess. Part of the job is... sampling the ingredients." He took a casual step forward, stuffing his hands into his pockets. "Besides, we really shouldn't be wasteful. And if you find yourself... reluctant to participate, we can always persuade you. We have the facilities to correct any physical damage almost instantly, you know. A few minutes in the tank heals broken bones, cuts, and burns. It means we can be very creative with our persuasion methods without any lasting consequences to your precious appearance."

The threat hung in the air, heavy and suffocating. Annetta looked from Mr. A’s cold, amused eyes to the blank, expectant face of the synth leaning over her. Her stomach churned, a violent mix of revulsion and fear. The memory of the pain she had witnessed earlier was still fresh. Her pride warred with her survival instinct, but survival won out. It always did. "Okay," the younger blonde whispered, her voice trembling so badly she could barely get the word out. "Okay... just... don't hurt me."

 "I assure you, Mrs. Mortinson, hurting you is the least thing on my mind”, Mr. A smirked. Annetta squeezed her eyes shut, her jaw clenching and unclenching as she braced herself. She felt the synth's breath fan across her lips. A moment later, the doppelgänger’s  mouth pressed against hers. For a moment, the woman wondered how can a robot’s mouth feel so fleshy and warm, but her musings had to wait when the synth pushed the contents of its mouth into hers. The taste was immediate and overwhelming: salty, bitter, and musky.

Anne's throat worked convulsively as the warm, thick fluid flooded her mouth. It coated her tongue, the alien texture of the synth's saliva mixing with the essence of her sister and one of her captors. The synth pulled back, breaking the kiss with a wet pop. As Mr. A was about to command Annetta to swallow the offering, the woman gulped, swallowing the offending mixture.

“Good girl”, Mr. A said walking towards the women. He crouched down next to Annetta and started stroking her hair like he did before leaving. “There, there, it wasn’t so bad, was it?” Seeing her shudder, Mr. A rolled his eyes. “I, assure you, Mrs. Mortinson, having to drink post-coital juices is the least disgusting thing we can think of”.

Oh, fucking hell. That’s just great, the chef thought to herself trying her best to generate large dosage of saliva in her mouth so she could gulp it down and wash away the aftertaste.

“Well, I guess, this is it for now, ladies”, Mr. A smiled, and both women looked at him in surprise. Clearly, none of them believed that they will be let go today... or at all for that matter. Mr. A seeing their confused stares simply chuckled. “What? Oh, you think we want to keep you here indefinitely, perhaps? Oh, come on now, we all have our own lives to lead, and while the thought of twenty-four seven slavery does sound appealing in theory, but its barely practical; you have to deal with all the nasty side-affects as emotional or psychological traumas yaddy yaddy yadda. Believe me, none of our sponsors want that… at least so far…”, the man chuckled standing up.

“I… am… free to go, sir?”, Audrey asked the man hopefully.

“Yes, you are, as is your younger sister. Although, your clothing will be provided at the guard’s station at the start of the forest, so you will have to walk naked and barefooted there, but I’m sure your sister will keep you company”.

Annetta just sat there numb, her mind racing a mile a minute. The fuck is going on!

„Oh, least I forget”, Mr. A said, picking out a folded sheet from his pocket. “As agreed”, the balding man simply said and put the small sheet of paper on Anne's naked thigh. She gaped at him. “Ten thousand euros, unfortunately, this time, it will only be a cheque, but after the filming, we will wire the moneys in to your bank account, Mrs. Mortinson. Well, have a nice and long rest. When we will be in need of you… either of you”, he looked at both women, eyes sparkling with mirth. “We will contact you”.

Both women followed him out of the room with their eyes. For a moment, there was only silence, but then both synths stood up. As Renata's doppelgänger followed after Mr. A, the chef's doppelgänger looked at her expectantly. Seeing them not moving, the robot actually rolled its eyes. “When you are done gaping at me, put on your clothing, help your sister up and follow me out”…