Chapter 17: The Vessel

The silence after the first cartoon felt heavier than the blackness before it.

Sugi floated in that silence for an unknown stretch of time. Her only anchor was the cold, mechanical trickle into her stomach. It had ceased to be a distinct sensation and had become the background hum of her existence, like the sound of her own blood. Her stomach was a solid, painful mass. The fullness had passed a threshold hours ago, moving from acute discomfort into a deep, metallic ache that occupied her entire lower torso. It was a constant pressure, a dull throb that pulsed in time with the pump’s soft whirr through the chair’s frame.

She tried to think about her body as separate parts. The ache in her gut. The numb pressure of the straps on her thighs. The stiff soreness in her back from holding the same upright position. But the thoughts were slippery and refused to hold their shape. They dissolved back into the general fog of suffering.

The chat scrolled in its steady green stream at the bottom of her vision.

how much slurry gone in? look at her belly push against that strap $10 for a cooking show clip shes so out of it lol happy birthday again cutie!!

The messages were about her, but they felt as disconnected as the videos. They were data points from a distant world. Her belly. Cutie. The words had no purchase on the physical reality of the leaden expansion under the nylon strap.

Another video cut through the dark.

This one was a slow-motion shot of a chocolate fountain, thick ribbons of dark syrup cascading over a tower of strawberries. There was no sound. Just the hypnotic, glossy flow. The image was so vivid she could almost smell the sugar. Her stomach clenched involuntarily, a fresh wave of nausea riding atop the existing ache. The contradiction was vicious—her body was being filled beyond capacity while her eyes were forced to watch the sensual celebration of consumption. The video lasted a full minute before vanishing.

The blackness returned, but the image of the chocolate syrup seemed burned onto her retinas, a ghostly afterimage in the void.

Time became granular and meaningless. She drifted in and out of a shallow, restless consciousness. It wasn’t sleep. Sleep implied rest, and there was no rest to be had on the hard ceramic rim with a stomach stretched taut. It was more like her mind periodically short-circuiting, blinking offline for a few seconds or minutes to escape the sensory monotony of agony. She would surface again to the same reality: the trickle, the ache, the strap indentations, the green text scrolling.

anyone else think she looks thinner? jk whats in the slurry jennie? donated $50 for a mukbang comp her eyes look so empty

Her eyes felt empty. Dry and gritty beneath the VR visor. She hadn’t blinked enough.

A new video started. It was a compilation of her own past content. Clips from early days—her awkwardly eating mac and cheese, struggling with the family-sized pizza, winning the pie contest at the fair. The footage was edited to cheerful, upbeat music. Seeing herself, smaller and more animated, moving under her own power, felt like watching a documentary about a stranger. That person had choices. That person could push a plate away if she wanted. That person could stand up and walk.

A sharp, surprising pang of loss cut through the fog. It was gone as quickly as it came, smothered by the immediate, overwhelming reality of the throne.

The clip ended with a shot from her most recent weigh-in, her massive form standing confidently on the scale. Then black.

The pump whirred on. The ache deepened.

Somewhere in the formless passage of hours, a new sensation intruded on the dull pain. A need to urinate again. It was a mundane biological signal that felt absurdly complex in her current state. The process required a mental negotiation she was too tired to have. She resisted at first, clinging to a shred of bodily autonomy that was already laughable. Finally, with a sigh that was just a slow exhale through her nose, she gave in. The hot release into the bowl beneath her was barely perceptible this time, just a slight shift in temperature against her skin that was quickly absorbed by the cool ceramic. Another function completed. The vessel processed input and output.

The chat scrolled. she just peed again i saw the tube move so hot this is next level content $100 for a horror movie jump scare

She read the words without comprehension. Next level. What did that mean? This felt less like a level and more like a fundamental state of being.

Another video: silent footage of a factory assembly line, robotic arms welding car parts with precise, endless repetition. Then black. More scrolling. is she even awake? her lips are moving think shes praying lol

She wasn’t praying. She was trying to count seconds in her head to measure the gaps between videos, but she kept losing track around forty-three.

A sudden, different vibration shook her from the stupor.

It wasn’t through the chair. It originated lower, between her legs where she sat on the toilet rim. A sharp, insistent buzzing that cut through the deep ache in her gut.

She flinched, a full-body jerk that was stopped short by the chest strap. Her mind, sluggish and frayed, took several seconds to process. The vibration was mechanical, rhythmic. It wasn’t part of the pump.

The chat exploded with new messages, scrolling faster. YESSSS thank you anon500!! vibe time! lets see if she can still feel it thru all that lard

A donor. Five hundred dollars. A vibrator session.

The realization arrived slowly, wading through the mud of her dissociation. Jennie had complied. Of course she had. A remote-activated toy secured to the throne somewhere beneath her.

The initial sensation was pure annoyance. A sharp, buzzing intrusion on top of the overwhelming pressure in her core. It felt like a mosquito bite on a sunburn—an irrelevant sting against a vast background of pain. She tried to ignore it, to sink back into the numb acceptance of the filling process.

But it persisted.

The buzzing wasn’t superficial. It resonated. It traveled up through the soft tissue of her inner thighs, vibrating into the dense, swollen mass of her lower belly. It didn’t erase the deep ache of fullness; instead, it threaded through it. The two sensations began to braid together—the profound, stretching pressure of the slurry inside her and the sharp, electric pulse from outside.

Her breath hitched.

It was a complex, alien feeling. The pleasure wasn’t clean or separate from the pain. It was born from it. The vibration seemed to amplify the internal pressure, making every throb of her overstuffed stomach more acute, more present. A thick wave of sensation built low in her pelvis, a confusing mix of agony and arousal that tightened her muscles against their restraints.

A low, ragged sound escaped her lips. It wasn’t a moan of pleasure or a whimper of pain. It was something in between—a shuddering sigh that carried the weight of both.

For the first time in what felt like years, her focus narrowed to a single point. The murky suffering of her entire body receded, leaving only this bright, tangled thread of feeling where the vibration met the fullness. It was a welcome distraction, a terrible relief. Her hips made a tiny, involuntary rocking motion against the ceramic seat, seeking more of that resonant buzz.

The chat went wild. there it is! shes feeling it! look at her try to move! worth every penny

She didn’t read them. Her world had contracted to the buzzing and the ache and their dangerous fusion. Her eyes squeezed shut behind the visor. Her mouth hung open around the feeding tube, saliva dampening her chin anew. Every nerve ending in that region was alight, singing a discordant song of violation and thrill.

It lasted for five minutes according to some timer Jennie controlled.

When the vibration stopped abruptly, the silence it left behind was deafening. The absence of it was a new kind of agony. The deep fullness rushed back in to claim all territory, now feeling emptier and colder without the electric counterpoint. She sagged against the straps, spent and trembling from a release that wasn’t quite release at all.

She floated in the aftermath, hollowed out.

Time passed in a blurry haze. The pump continued its work. Her stomach protested with fresh cramps, groaning audibly enough for her to hear through the headphones’ noise cancellation as a distant, liquid rumble.

A new message appeared in the chat, highlighted in gold. Donor ‘BioChemGuy’: $200 - Suggest adding digestion enhancers to slurry mix for faster processing + visible effect.

She read it without reaction. The words were just shapes.

A moment later, Jennie’s voice crackled softly through the headphones for the first time since the stream began. “Adding a little enzyme cocktail,” Jennie said smoothly for their audience’s benefit. Her tone was light. “Let’s see if we can speed things up.”

There was a faint click from somewhere near the pump unit. Sugi felt nothing new in the tube at her throat. But within minutes, something shifted deep inside her gut.

It started as a low gurgle. Then another. Then a series of rapid-fire bubbles and groans that rolled through her abdomen with an intensity that made her gasp. Her stomach churned violently. It wasn’t nausea exactly. It was as if everything inside her had suddenly been set on fast-forward. The dense slurry seemed to liquefy further, churning and breaking down with frantic, audible urgency. Her intestines joined in, a cacophony of gurgles and sharp cramps that made her shift uselessly against her straps. The pressure in her belly changed character—from a solid, unyielding mass to a turbulent, shifting lake. She could feel things moving, processing, with an unnatural speed. The abdominal strap grew uncomfortably warm against her skin from all this internal activity. A sharp, acrid smell reached her nose—her own digestive gases, trapped by the smock and heated by her body. She groaned, a sound of pure physical misery. The chat loved it. lol listen to that! sounds like a plumbing disaster $20 for another cartoon gut go brrrrr

The digestive storm peaked and then began to subside into a continuous, low-grade churn. The process had accelerated, making room even as more slurry trickled in. The agony of maximum fullness lessened by a fraction, replaced by this new, constant internal turbulence. It was exhausting in a different way. Her body was working overtime, burning through fuel at an engineered pace. A deep fatigue settled into her bones, heavier than any she’d felt before.

She lost large chunks of time after that. Consciousness became a flickering bulb, bright for brief moments before sputtering out again. The videos that came were fragmented and surreal: A close-up of sizzling bacon that made her dry-heave around the tube. A static shot of a blank white wall for ten full minutes. A clip from an old Japanese game show with shrieking contestants. They meant nothing. They were just bursts of incoherent light and sound in an endless night.

The chat continued its endless scroll, a river of commentary she could no longer decipher. day 2 almost done she looks broken best birthday ever wish i could feed her

Somewhere in what must have been the final twenty-four hours, her mind simply let go. The last threads connecting her thoughts snapped. She wasn’t Sugi anymore. She wasn’t Chubby Cutie. Those were names for stories that happened elsewhere. Here, she was just this: the cold trickle down, the warm churn within, the hard rim below, the straps holding it all together. A closed system. Input, processing, output. Awareness reduced to bare sensation and the flickering, meaningless lightshow behind her eyes.

She didn’t notice when the final donor video ended—a serene nature scene of waves crashing on a shore. She didn’t notice when chat messages slowed to a trickle as viewers logged off, assuming she was asleep or comatose. She existed in a state of pure, passive endurance.

Then, without fanfare or warning, the trickle stopped.

The absence was so profound it shocked her back into some semblance of coherence. The constant internal trickle that had been her world for three days simply ceased. The pump’s whirring died down into silence.

For a long moment, there was nothing. No new slurry. No new videos. Just black silence and the aching, churning aftermath in her gut.

A new message glowed in front of her: 72-HOUR STREAM COMPLETE THANK YOU FOR WATCHING

Then even that faded away, leaving only darkness.

She waited, too exhausted to feel relief or anticipation. Minutes passed in total sensory void.

Then hands were on her.

They touched her face first, removing something heavy from around her ears. Sound rushed back into existence: loud, painfully bright sound after such perfect silence. It started as white noise but resolved into Jennie’s voice saying something about turning something off somewhere else in their apartment before returning closer saying words about being careful now easy now let me get this off you okay?

The VR headset lifted away from her eyes next causing an explosion of white light that made her cry out squeezing them shut immediately against it despite how weak pathetic that sound came out sounding like nothing more than rusted hinges creaking open after decades disuse

Light still pressed red hot against eyelids anyway making them water instantly

Jennie's face swam into view once she managed slitting them open just enough blurry familiar smiling gentle

“Hey there,” Jennie said softly wiping damp cheek with thumb “Welcome back”

Her mouth tasted foul metallic dry around plastic still there

Jennie's fingers moved face gently taping securing tube mouth came loose then began pulling

The removal reverse insertion but somehow worse because expecting resistance not getting any throat just passive yielding around plastic sliding back up past places never meant hold something so long causing fresh gag reflex weak now exhausted producing dry convulsion cough tears

Finally free mouth closing jaw aching temples pounding head heavy too heavy neck could barely support

Jennie worked straps methodically clicking buckles loose pulling nylon away skin groaning where compressed indented deep red angry marks across thighs belly chest each release brought new wave sensation pins needles blood rushing back

When last strap chest came undone she slumped forward almost falling off toilet rim catching self hands gripping chair arms shaking violently

“Easy,” Jennie said slipping arm around shoulders “Let's get you up slow okay?”

Standing impossible concept legs belonged someone else dead weight jelly

Jennie pulled helped leverage body upward using chair frame brace

Her feet touched floor sensation alien shockingly cold solid sending jolt nerve endings long asleep screaming protest

She swayed leaning heavily Jennie taking weight staggering step forward one then another legs buckling threatening collapse each time

They shuffled away throne leaving behind apparatus sitting middle room looking like some bizarre medical sculpture ceramic bowl empty now tube coiled limp beside silent gray pump box

Every muscle screamed every joint creaked stomach monstrously distended tender shifting liquid contents sloshing painfully with each halting step leading toward bathroom

Jennie helped lower onto actual toilet proper bathroom letting go bladder bowels empty everything last three days final violent evacuation left trembling sweating forehead against cool tiled wall

Then shower water hot needles skin washing away smell sweat saline lubricant three days confinement Jennie washing hair body gently efficiently handling like fragile invalid which exactly what she was

Dried dressed loose soft robe guided bedroom collapsed onto bed mattress swallowing body whole feeling like sinking cloud after ceramic throne hell

Jennie sat edge bed placing hand forehead checking temperature maybe just checking presence

“You did amazing,” Jennie whispered voice full genuine admiration “Absolutely perfect They loved it Donations cleared fifteen thousand already Not counting merch sales”

Sugi stared ceiling blankly mind empty vessel poured out

Jennie left room presumably check stream stats edit footage begin posting highlights

Alone dark quiet room real quiet not VR quiet filled hum refrigerator faint traffic sounds outside normal world sounds

Pain began organize itself catalog various locations Deep ache belly muscles sore back stiff neck raw throat chafed skin under arms inner thighs where straps were

She lay there breathing hurting

And then memory started replaying itself not linear narrative but sensory flashes:

The absolute black silence The cold trickle becoming part of her The jarring violent colors cartoon porn home movies The straps clicking shut one by one taking choice away The tube forcing down gagging choking violation The vibrator buzzing merging with fullness creating that thick wave pleasure-pain The digestive drugs churning guts furious audible pace Using toilet while strapped down watched by thousands The chat scrolling scrolling always scrolling about her

Each memory arrived not as trauma though trauma was there woven through every second but as tableau intense vivid charged

The horror clinical dehumanization machinery clicked into place alongside dark thrilling arousal always there underneath now rising up through exhaustion pain claiming those memories twisting them reshaping them

Total surrender control Passive consumption vessel Pure function stripped messy performance Clinical violation tube bypassing mouth taste pleasure Being filled according someone else's schedule unable stop

It wasn't torture It was altar Where she unmade completely for their pleasure for Jennie's direction for own deepest most secret fantasy made brutally real

Ghost vibrator's buzz echoed nerves mingling memory unbearable fullness chemical churn gut straps holding fast

Weak breathless smile touched cracked lips She looked toward doorway could just see edge living room where throne sat waiting dark Not device torture Altar Where she became nothing became everything