Meals of Misery

… and in walked Mr. A. The man was wearing casual clothing this time: some black jeans, a polo shirt and white sneakers. He looked at the pair on the bed quirking his eyebrow a bit. We must look quite the sight, thought Annetta. Me, sprawled naked on the bed and Renata holding me down with just her finger and still smiling at me. Jesus fucking Christ.

“Ah, good morning, Mrs. Mortinson, it’s good to see you up and about”, the grey man said while sitting down on the armchair near the door. “And, I see you’ve met our house pet”. After saying this, Mr. A snapped his fingers lightly; Renata removed her index from Annetta's chest. Suddenly, the blond could move again, but something told her that getting out of the bed might be a bad idea at the moment. Annetta's eyes followed the woman walking up to the man and dropping to her knees next to him. The cooking show hostess swallowed audibly when Renata leaned her head against the man’s knees and started stroking his zipped up crotch area. What in the fifty shades…

"Isn’t it quite the catch?”, the man inquired looking down at Renata whose moist tongue was currently just inches away from the crotch of his jeans. The blond did not miss how the man said "it" rather than her. Dehumanizing peace of shit. Mr. A chuckled, snapped his fingers again, and the woman leaned her body to the ground near his sneakers and started licking them slowly. “Sometimes, it’s just better to avoid one’s sexual urges when business is in order, wouldn’t you agree, Mrs. Mortinson?”

Currently, Annetta was eying them both. Her mind awash with different emotions: anger at herself for agreeing to this ludicrous venture even though she just knew things will go wrong – fucking called it, confusion for waking up in a strange place to an orgasm she hadn’t actually wanted, not to mention the fact that she haven’t been with a girl, ever, shame for having cummed to someone else other than her husband, and fear of not knowing what will happen to her now. What are they going to do with me? Oh, Jesus, my words about not wanting to end up a sex-slave or worse gonna be prophetic, won’t they?

As Renata patiently was licking the man’s sneakers (currently her tongue traced the undersides of his shoes), Mr. A’s eyes never left Annetta. The man watched with intrigue as a turmoil of emotions flickered across the TV chef’s face. He chuckled when his captive eventually covered her nakedness with the bed sheets.

“What’s going on?”, steeling herself, Annetta asked the million-dollar question. She already signed the contract agreeing to be their little plaything for money. Ah, shit, the money was fake, weren’t they? “I signed your stupid contract, why the hell did you have me knocked unconscious?”

“Let’s just say, that after an unfortunate incident with one of our other… stars… we decided it is for the best, if you understand your position in all of this”, the man said slowly. Then, he looked at Renata for a bit and kicked her in the face with his sneaker. Annetta closed her eyes when she saw a trickle of blood going down the other woman's nose and coating her lips.

To the TV chef's astonishment, Renata did not shout nor scream, nor cry. No, she was down on the ground as before, licking up the blood with her tongue as a small “mmm” escaped. Then, she went back to her previous task.

“You know, Mrs. Mortinson, you might find this shocking or grotesque, or whatever you like to call it”, the man calmly said while standing up and putting his foot on Renata's head, pinning her to the ground. He watched as Annetta was starting to shake in bed – torn by indecision, whether to run for her life, help Renata or do nothing at all but watch. “I assure you, after a while, it just gets boring: the pet does what you tell it without questioning, blindly obeying every word you say”, Mr. A began increasing the pressure. “It brings you pleasure as best as it can and when you are in a mood for something else, it just takes everything you give it”.

Annetta screamed as a sickening crunch was heard. Bile rose up in her throat as her heart began racing a mile a minute. She looked around the room frantically, but the only way of escape was running past the psycho who just murdered a woman in front of her eyes. “Please”, she heard herself pleading… Pleading for what? For her own life? For the life, which just has been taken?

The man sighed. “However, ultimately, it does not really matter, since it is not even a person”. Mr. A looked at Annetta currently cowering on the bed, eyes wild. He took out a small rectangular shaped device from his pocket, pressed a button, and the chef’s eyes widened when the cracked skull started to mend itself, and after a minute Renata was standing up looking as docile as she was before…

 “Hence, Mrs. Mortinson, why we need a live volunteer so to speak”…