Chapter 12: Shared spectacle

Sam’s room felt smaller than ever, the walls closing in as the clock ticked past 9:00 PM. He’d spent the evening in a fog, replaying the day’s dual horrors: Lila’s warm mouth around him, a real connection tainted by his secrets, and Emily’s tear-streaked aftermath on the feed, her body marked by Jake’s brutality. Madison’s promise of “joint watching” loomed like a noose, pulling him deeper into her web. Elena Vargas, she’d said, but a new message had come ten minutes ago, redirecting him: Change of plans. Schneider house. 9:15 sharp. Don’t disappoint me.

He logged in reluctantly, the grid expanding to include the new feed. The Schneiders—Leonie and Bob, a quiet couple in their fifties he’d barely noticed before. Bob was a stocky German immigrant with a thick accent and a paunch; Leonie was his heavyset wife, her body a testament to years of comfortable living, her obesity more pronounced than he’d realized. The camera in their bedroom showed a modest space: floral curtains, a king-sized bed with rumpled sheets, and dim lamplight casting warm glows.

Sam’s phone rang—a video call from Madison. He answered, her face filling his screen: perfectly made-up, a silk robe draped loosely over her shoulders, revealing the deep cleavage of her enhanced breasts. She lounged on her own bed, one hand idly tracing the neckline of her robe. “Right on time,” she purred, her voice smooth through his headphones. “I see you’ve pulled up the feed. Good boy. Keep your camera on—I want to watch you watching them.”

Sam swallowed hard, his own feed showing his tense face and the growing bulge in his pants. “Why the Schneiders? I thought—”

Madison cut him off with a laugh, low and throaty. “Elena’s predictable. I want something ... different tonight. Look at them—starting already.” On the screen, Bob entered the bedroom, shirtless, his hairy chest glistening with sweat from whatever chore he’d been doing. Leonie followed, her massive frame filling the doorway: rolls of soft, pale flesh spilling over the waistband of her sweatpants, her enormous breasts straining against a threadbare tank top that did little to contain them, the fabric stretched thin over nipples the size of quarters. She was easily 300 pounds, her body a landscape of curves and dimples, her thighs rubbing together with each waddling step.