Meals of Misery Part 2

During the upcoming days of shooting and the weeks the followed, Annetta waited for some sort of retaliation for her actions against Fox, however, that retaliation never came. In the back of her mind, the woman knew that she was being lulled in to false sense of security, but she decided to take her victories whenever she could. After all, you never known when Mr. A or his associates would contact her.

Even the bicentennial dishes segment was shot almost without a hitch, and the chef herself, usually anal about perfection, thought that this was a good segment overall. In the quiet aftermath of the bicentennial special, with the threat of immediate retaliation seemingly evaporating into the ether, the blonde decided that sitting around and waiting for the axe to fall was a no go for her, especially when a deposited cheque was sitting so comfy in the bank. If her life was going to become one of not her own, then she might as well pamper herself and her family while she has the chance.

*

However, the ideal life could not last very long and in the penultimate week of the month, the message she had been dreadfully anticipating finally arrived on her official work e-mail. At that moment, Annetta was in her studio office reading through some documents related to her show when she heard a sound notifying her of a received e-mail. A cold feeling pooled in her stomach as she nervously put the documents away and gazed her eyes on the contents of the e-mail.

The woman's heart hammered against her ribs as she clicked the message open, half-expecting a detailed list of depraved acts or a leering note from Mr. A. Instead, the email was a formal notification of a filming schedule.

“Dear Mrs. Mortinson,

We hope this message finds you well. We just wanted to inform you that the filming, which you will be required to attend, is scheduled to be next week, on Wednesday morning, at your usual working hours: from 09:00 AM. The shooting will take place at the mansion and should not take more than your regular work hours do for filming ordinary segments. At most, you will be confined with us until 05:00 PM at the latest.”

The chef’s eyes darted across the screen, scanning for any catch. What the fuck is this shit I’m reading? Can’t they just be normal fucking rapists? Wait, the fuck am I saying? Annetta grit her teeth while reading further. "We have prepared a replica of your own studio kitchen. We ask you to prepare for the shoot as you usually do".

The chef stared at the screen; her brow furrowed in suspicion. This was... unexpected. She had prepared her mind for a gruesome violation, not a memo that looked like it came from a mundane scheduling coordinator. "A replica of my kitchen?" she whispered to the empty room. "They want me to cook?" The absurdity of it was almost laughable. If they were going to turn her into a sex slave for their "refined tastes," why bother with the set dressing? Why not just get it over with?

"Please be prepared to improvise if need be." Improvise? Did that mean improvise a recipe when an ingredient was missing, or improvise a sexual position when a guest got bored? The final sentence was a postscript. Annetta read the sentence twice, just to be certain she wasn't hallucinating. "Please note that for this introductory session, sexual intercourse is not scheduled, but may happen if the participants wish it so. However, should the scene involve an exchange of bodily fluids, attached is the medical certificate of our guest. We kindly ask that you forward your own recent test results to us no later than three days prior to the shoot."

Attached to the email was a PDF file. Annetta hovered her cursor over it, her finger trembling slightly, before clicking it open. It was a standard medical form, stamped and signed by a private clinic she didn't recognize, declaring a person, whose name was blacked out, free of any STDs or infections. She slumped back in her chair, a hot flush of humiliation creeping up her neck to her cheeks. "What the actual fuck?" she whispered, the silence of the office amplifying her voice.

 *

After a couple of days have passed, Annetta forwarded the negative answer via e-mail. To say that she was feeling all the dignity of a dog was an understatement. Still, she thought, if in the future there will be lots of unprotected sex, who knows, maybe knowing beforehand and using medication will actually be in her favor. However, now, she was just grumpy having attached a file in her office, because the only person that she have had sex with was her husband. And, from first hand experience, he did not have any STDs to speak off, ‘cause she would know.

The TV chef had even called her sister once to as a sounding board, but the older woman’s response left the woman’s mood sour. Apparently, Anne was given luxury they never gave Audrey. Like it’s my fucking fault somehow that those bastards want regular check-ups just in case.

 *

Couple of days after, Annetta decided to forget her worries by indulging in to carnal desires with her husband. After the kids were finally tucked in to bed, she descended the stairs to find Tomas in the living room scrolling through TV channels absentmindedly. Anne didn’t say a word. She walked over to the couch, took the remote control from his hand, tossed it onto the coffee table, and straddled his lap. Tomas smiled at her quirking his brow, while his hand was rubbing Annetta’s ass through the denim jeans she was wearing. The woman leaned in and captured his lips in a searing kiss. Tomas wrapped his arms around her waist, pulling her flush against him as he returned her kiss with matching fervor.

She broke the kiss only to pull her sweater over her head, tossing it aside without a second thought. Annetta felt her husband’s member hardening through his pants and smiled, grinding her hips on his crotch. Tomas groaned in her mouth. His hands now were freely exploring her bra-clad chest. Annetta's breath hitched as Tomas started kissing her neck and gently capturing her pulse-line with his teeth. She closed her eyes as the heat in her center made her panties, and in turn, jeans moist. She grabbed Tomas’ hand and guided it towards her crotch. She smirked when his eyes grew wide.

“Shouldn’t we…”, Tomas asked, but the blonde placed a finger on his lips.

“This is more fun”, she winked at him. “Now, remove mine and your pants and fuck me properly”. Tomas chuckled at her eagerness. While still kissing her, he laid his wife down on her back on the sofa where he was first sitting. She saw how his tongue slightly came out of his mouth as he concentrated of unzipping her pants and dragging them down. He made quick work of her jeans, sliding them down her legs along with her panties in one smooth motion, which made the woman giggle. The cool air of the living room brushed against her heated skin, raising goosebumps.

However, instead of getting his own pants down, Tomas first decided to dip in and taste her core. Annetta gasped, her back arching off the sofa cushions as he began to tease her with slow, deliberate strokes knowing full well how she liked their foreplay. Her fingers tangled in his hair, pulling him closer as she lost herself in the sensation. Tomas took his time, his tongue tracing maddeningly slow patterns against her sensitive flesh. He knew exactly how to work her up, alternating between broad, flat strokes that made her hips buck and quick, fluttering flicks that sent electric jolts up her spine. The wet sounds of his mouth against her filled the quiet living room, mixing with her soft, breathless sighs.

The blonde's head fell back against the armrest, her eyes squeezing shut as the coil of tension in her belly tightened deliciously. It felt amazing, a perfect distraction from the looming dread of the upcoming week, but his patience was driving her insane. "Tomas..." she moaned, her fingers tightening in his hair, pulling him slightly closer before urging him upward. "I fucking need you to fuck me properly now", her voice half growl, half laugh as her chest heaved.

Her husband didn't need to be told twice. He pulled back, cocked his head to the side as if thinking about something, which made Annetta's eyebrow arch at him (now, what he is thinking?). She got her answer, when she tasted herself on his lips after Tomas leaned down to capture her lips with his own. “You taste fucking amazing”, Tomas whispered in her ear, and it made Anne shudder.

“Shut the hell up and fuck me already”, she growled at him, her fingers already trying to unzip his pants, but Tomas playfully swatted them away. Chuckling at his wife’s eagerness, he fumbled with the button of his jeans, the urgency of the moment making his fingers clumsy, but he managed to unzip his fly and shove his trousers and boxers down just enough to free himself. His cock sprang free, rock hard and jutting out from his body, the tip already glistening with precum.

He leaned forward, positioning himself at her entrance, his hands braced on either side of her head. Annetta wrapped her legs around his waist, drawing him in. With a guttural groan, Tomas pushed forward, sinking into her wet heat in one smooth thrust. The woman gasped, her head tipping back as he filled her completely. He paused for a fraction of a second, giving her a moment to adjust, before he began to move. He started with a steady, deep rhythm, pulling almost all the way out before plunging back in, his hips slapping against hers with a wet, skin-on-skin sound.

The friction was exquisite, a perfect glide of heat and hardness that sent sparks skittering across her vision. It had been too long since they’d been this spontaneous, this desperate for each other. Tomas didn't hold back; he drove into her with a fervor that matched her own need, the couch creaking rhythmically beneath them.

"That's it," Annetta gasped, her fingernails digging into his shoulders. "Just like that." The coil in her belly, which had been loosened by his tongue, tightened again with alarming speed. The combination of the earlier foreplay and the raw, primal rhythm he set was too much to resist. Her breathing grew ragged, shallow little pants that escaped her open mouth as she felt the crest approaching.

Her toes curled, her body locking up as the wave crashed over her. When she was about to cry out, Tomas kissed her deeply so as not to wake the children up; she came hard around him. Her inner walls spasmed, gripping him tightly, rippling along his length as the pleasure overwhelmed her senses. Tomas didn't stop. If anything, her climax only spurred him on. He kept moving, his strokes remaining deep and punishing, drawing out every last aftershock of her orgasm. He shifted slightly, the angle changing just enough so that the base of his shaft rubbed against her sensitive clit with every thrust.

Annetta whimpered, overstimulated but loving every second of it. She watched him through half-lidded eyes, the sweat glistening on his forehead, the look of intense concentration on his face. He reached down between their sweating bodies, his fingers finding that swollen, tender bundle of nerves. He circled it once, twice, applying just the right amount of pressure as he continued to piston in and out of her.

The dual stimulation was too much. Her body, already sensitive from her first peak, spiraled rapidly toward a second one. Tomas seemed to sense it, his thrusts becoming erratic, losing their perfect rhythm as he chased his own release. "Come with me, my love," he groaned, his voice rough and strained.

He pinched her clit gently just as he drove into her hard, and that was all it took. Annetta's vision went white, her body convulsing beneath him as a second, more intense orgasm tore through her. She cried out into his shoulder, muffled by the fabric of his shirt, her internal muscles clamping down on him like a vice…

 *

Her nights passed on in a similar fashion, trying to lose and forget herself before the upcoming shoot in the arms of her husband. Tomas didn’t mind, in fact, he found her new eagerness to initiate sex to be a real turn-on. One day, after another passionate tryst, while they were laying in bed, Tomas took her sweaty hand and brought it to his lips. After kissing it, he asked Anne what’s with this sudden new drive? Not that he was complaining or anything.

For a beat, the woman seemed to ponder her answer, but she just shrugged her shoulders, casually smiling back at him and said that it seemed that with their job and having to juggle three children around they never have enough time for themselves, so she just thought that “fuck it”, in this case literally.

 *

Eventually, on Tuesday’s evening, the chef received another e-mail. With a groan she got out of bed. She felt Tomas’ eyes burning holes in her naked back side and smirked. However, her smirk dissolved when she opened the message from her would be pimps. The content was brief and impersonal, as always. Those fuckers even make a god-damn prostitution look like a fucking day-to-day business transaction, though, I guess, technically it is.

"Mrs. Mortinson, please arrive at the network studio tomorrow morning at 05:30 AM and head directly to the executive boardroom. Further instructions regarding your transport to the location will be provided upon your arrival. Punctuality is appreciated."

The chef stared at the time. 5:30 AM. That was ungodly early, she usually didn't roll out of bed until six, and even then, it was a chaotic rush of coffee and packing lunches. Tomas, glanced over to her. "Everything okay? You look like you just swallowed a lemon."

"Well, it sure looks like it, don’t it," Annetta grumbled as she closed the lid of her laptop and went back to bed. She sighted. “Sorry, honey, but it looks like tomorrow is going to be one of those hectic days that start bright and early. I’m going have to be at the studio before six it seems”.

Tomas groaned, rolling his eyes. “So, I take it, no round two?”

“Ha-ha”, the woman laughed as her husband nuzzled his nose in to her neck. “Sorry, no. I’ve got to get some sleep. Also, it looks like tomorrow you’ll be taking our kids to school and preparing them food. Think you can handle that”?

“Yes, mam”, he mocked saluted her before kissing her goodnight…

 *

The drive to the studio was brisk, since it was a little after five in the morning, Annetta seemed to avoid the morning rush hour traffic, which usually started at around seven in the morning. Now, the streets were nearly empty and the traffic lights were flashing yellow. In reality, she would have preferred being stuck in traffic, at least, the inventible would come much later.

She took a deep breath after parking her car in the underground parking garage, steeling herself. She left home with her usual work attire: denim jeans, some sports shoes, white t-shirt and a jacket. Usually, during shootings, the studio’s costume designers gave her clothes to wear, so she thought this will be the case as well, especially that those assholes never gave her instructions to the contrary.

The blonde got out of the car and headed to the elevator. Pushing the button, which would take her to the top floor where the executive boardroom was located, she inhaled deeply.

The elevator pinged once more opening the doors to a lit and empty corridor with a lot of locked doors. Employees on this floor usually came to work only after eight or nine in the morning, and in this ungodly hour only an occasional rent-a-cop would be going on his rounds. As luck would have it, and Anne was grateful for it, no one was around.

While walking slowly towards her destination, the blonde smelled faint traces of flower scented floor polish. Evidence, that the cleaners have been here hours before. As she approached the sliding glass-doors to the executive boardroom, which currently were closed with blinds, she heard faint sounds.

At first, it was just a low, indistinct hum, easily dismissed as the building's ventilation or a distant radio. But with every step closer, the sounds grew clearer, vibrating through the solid wood. The hum resolved into a wet, rhythmic noise, punctuated by heavy, guttural breathing. Well, that’s my answer to whether I will be alone for a while.

She rolled her eyes at the unmistakable sound of oral sex being performed beyond the doors. Standing a few feet away from the doors, hand hovering in mid-air, the woman torn between retreating to the elevators and knocking. Part of her wanted to wait it out, lean against the wall and pretend she had the luxury of time until whoever was inside finished their business. But the email had been specific: Punctuality is appreciated. And after the demonstration at the mansion, she knew these people didn't like to be kept waiting. Plus, the idea of lurking outside while listening to the sounds of some intern pleasuring a producer or vice versa was just too degrading.

With a resigned sigh, Annetta decided to at least make them know that someone is out there. She knocked firmly on the glass doors. The blonde waited a full ten seconds, expecting the noises to stop, for a scramble of clothes, or at least a muffled "Just a minute!" Instead, the wet, slurping sounds continued unabated, and if anything, the groaning grew louder, as if her presence had added a layer of thrill to the encounter. They didn't care. They didn't even have the decency to pause.

Well, that wasn’t really true, because through the closed doors she heard Aurelius yell to her to come in. Annetta rolled her eyes once more. Of all the fucking… She pushed the sliding door open and stepped inside, her brain refusing to process the scene unfolding before her. The woman’s breath hitched in her throat, and her jaw went slack. Seated in the plush leather executive chairs were Fox, Aurelius, and Jim: pants around their ankles, ties loosened, expressions of rapturous delight plastered across their faces.

But it was who was on their knees that turned the blonde's blood to ice. Kneeling between Fox's spread legs was none other than her doppelgänger. The synth’s head was bobbing enthusiastically, taking Fox deep into her throat while making sounds of exaggerated pleasure, which made the chef's cheeks turn red.

To the left, Aurelius was leaning back, his hands tangled in the hair of a woman who was the spitting image of her sister, Audrey, but whether it was the real Audrey or another doppelgänger, Anne had no idea. For all she knew, her sister was soundly sleeping at home and this was just another mind-fuck trick to fuck with her. On the right, Jim was receiving similar attention from Fox's ex-wife Renata Brown, whose doctored (or not) video image, spun this whole affair in the first place weeks ago.

Fox tilted his head back against the leather headrest, his eyes fluttering open just enough to focus on her. A lazy, arrogant grin spread across his face, even as his breath hitched from the wet heat surrounding him. "Good morning, Anne," he managed to gasp out, his voice thick with lust. He looked down at the golden head buried in his lap, then back to the real woman standing in the doorway. "Since you so rudely refused my advances... well, I'm afraid I have to settle for the next best thing."

Annetta's hands curled into fists at her sides, her nails digging into her palms. She gritted her teeth so hard her jaw ached, refusing to give him the satisfaction of a response, let alone the indignation he was fishing for. It was pathetic. It was a transparent power play designed to humiliate her, and the worst part was that she was actually standing there watching it. With a dismissive shrug of her shoulders, she acted as if the scene before her was nothing more than a boring weather report. She turned on her heel and walked toward the far end of the room, dropping herself onto a plush leather couch situated as far away from the grotesque tableau as possible. She crossed her arms and legs, staring intently at a blank spot on the wall, trying to tune out the wet, rhythmic noises that filled the room.

From her isolated spot on the couch, the blonde tried to block out the auditory assault, but the acoustics of the boardroom were unforgiving. To her left, Aurelius had lost whatever patience he had. He gripped the Audrey lookalike’s head with both hands, his hips snapping upward violently. The wet gagging sounds intensified, echoing off the polished mahogany table. "Ah, there we go, slut," the man grunted, his face contorted in a grimace of exertion. With a final, brutal thrust, he held the synth's face flush against his groin, burying himself to the hilt as he emptied himself down her throat. Odeta didn't struggle or pull away; she simply moaned around him, her throat working visibly to swallow every drop as if it were the finest nectar. Sure hope it's not my sis...

Beside him, Jim was finishing up with Renata. He didn't bother with the rhythmic pumping Aurelius had favored. Instead, he clamped a hand on the back of the news anchoress's neck and forced her head down, impaling her mouth on his shaft until her nose pressed against his pelvic bone. He shuddered violently, a low growl escaping him as he released deep into her throat. Renata's eyes watered, but the smile that curled her lips once he finally released her was one of pure, adoring gratitude. Yep, that’s probably the synth, either that or the poor woman’s fucking mind broke, Annetta thought watching the scene play out in front of her.

Finally, Fox let out a long, shuddering sigh, his hips jerking sporadically as he reached his peak. He didn't force the synth to deep throat him like the others; instead, he pulled back at the last second, his hand stroking his shaft rapidly. With a guttural groan, he spent himself all over the doppelgänger's face. Thick ropes of pearly fluid striped her cheeks, nose, and forehead, landing in her blonde hair and dripping down to her lips. The synth smiled, opening her mouth to catch a stray drop, her expression one of utter delight, as if being covered in semen was the highest honor one could bestow upon her. She looked over at the real Anne, her eyes twinkling with a mocking sort of warmth, and licked a glob of Fox’s release from her upper lip.

Annetta felt a wave of nausea roll through her stomach. It was like looking into a funhouse mirror, a twisted reflection of herself reduced to a mindless cum receptacle. She tore her gaze away, fixing it back on the wall, her heart hammering against her ribs.

“You never looked better in my eyes”, Fox said, panting heavily as he leaned back in his chair, eyes fixed on the synthetic replica of his hostess. The implication hung heavy in the air, a slimy compliment directed at the real woman sitting stiffly on the couch. Instead of responding, Anne sighted dramatically, nails scratching her forehead. The men began zipping up their flies after stuffing their now flaccid cocks back in to their trousers. The blonde shifted on the couch, the leather squeaking loudly, and finally cleared her throat, unable to stomach the suffocating awkwardness any longer.

"So," she said, her voice flat and uninterested. "When do we leave for the shoot? Or was this whole theatre play it?"

Her doppelgänger, wiping a final smear of Fox’s mess from her chin with her index finger and sucking it clean, turned toward her with a bright, plastic smile. "Oh, right, the shoot. We almost forgot in all this excitement”, the synth mockingly said. "The plan for today is this, while Audrey here”, she gestured to the blonde's sister lookalike who was currently stretching her limbs, “will be driving you to your first real episode, I’ll be substituting for you here. You know, it won’t due for a star of a show to simply not appear for work, now would it?"

The chef swore her doppelgänger actually enjoyed seeing her reactions of outrage playing on her face.

"Of course, should Tomas call, I will gladly talk to him; also, should something unexpected happen during the shoot, let’s say, you being uncooperative for some odd reason, I will be staying with your family to ensure that they are being well taken care of. Isn’t that nice of me?”, the synth said while crouching down at Annetta's eye-level and looking at her with puppy-eyes.

FUCKING FUCK PIECE OF SHIT!

“Oh, that reminds me, you should really give me your mobile phone for the time being. It would not be prudent for you to have any distractions while working, would it?”. For a while, the chef looked at her doppelgänger as if assessing her. I could fucking punch her down to the fucking ground… yeah, and then in a split second she could probably crack my skull open with her fucking pinky… She sighted, none the least happy about this. Nevertheless, she fished out her mobile phone from her pants pocket and gave it to the robot.

"Thank you," it said, snatching the device with a speed that blurred its hand. The synth immediately turned its attention to the screen, its thumbs flying across the glass with inhuman rapidity as it familiarized itself with Annetta's life: her contacts, her messages, her photos.

The woman stood up, forcing herself to remain calm despite the panic fluttering in her chest. She cast a final glance at Fox, who was currently adjusting his cufflinks with a self-satisfied smirk. "I'm sure you'll have a wonderful morning," he drawled, waving his hand in a lazy shooing motion. Aurelius and JIm were already engrossed in checking their own phones, pointedly ignoring her existence now that their appetites had been sated.

"Fuck you," Annnetta muttered under her breath, turning on her heel and heading for the door as Audrey's lookalike followed her...