friends

Three women Tamara, Chloe, and Jade are sprawled across designer lounge chairs. All three are grotesque masterpieces of plastic surgery: impossibly wide hips, breasts that seem to defy physics, and lips so swollen they look like they belong to different species.

They are all dressed in micro bikinis that serve more as jewelry than clothing. Their conversations are not about politics, art, or even the weather they are petty, vicious, and entirely focused on their own aesthetic value and their utility to their husbands.

"I'm telling you, Jade, if you don't get another round of filler in those cheeks, you're going to look like a fucking peasant by next month," Tamara sneers, sipping a neon pink cocktail through a straw. "My Marcus said my ass looks like it was sculpted by gods yesterday. What did yours say about you?"

Jade rolls her eyes, the movement sluggish because of her heavy lashes. "Marcus is a philistine, Tamara. He doesn't know quality. But honestly? My husband complained that I needed more 'bounce.' So I'm going back under the knife on Tuesday." Jade licks her swollen lips, a vapid smile spreading across her face. "It's exhausting being this fucking perfect, but someone has to do it."

Chloe giggles, a high pitched, empty sound. "You both sound so stressed. That's why you're still trying to think. Once you fully embrace being a cunt, all that stress just... melts away." She pats her own massive belly. "I spent three hours yesterday practicing my new gagging technique. My husband said I'm the best fucking toy he's ever owned. Can you imagine being a person? Having to make decisions? Ugh, so gross."

Tamara snorts, rolling onto her side to show off the obscene curve of her BBL.

"Exactly. We're literally just fucking meat puppets. That's our entire purpose. We have no rights, no votes, no money and honestly? Thank fuck for that. Imagine having to pay taxes or own property. What a fucking nightmare."

"Ugh, right?" Jade agrees, though she shoots a venomous glare at Tamara's cleavage. "Though, seriously, Tam, your implants look a little lopsided today. Are you sure you didn't get the cheap synthetic stuff from that clinic downtown?"

Tamara's face twists into a scowl. "Cheap? These are imported, you basic bitch. At least my cock to face ratio is correct. You look like a fucking balloon with legs."

"Oh, fuck you, Tamara!" Jade snaps, though there's no real heat behind it just the reflexive cruelty of women who have nothing else to compete over. "At least I don't smell like yesterday's cum as loudly as you do."

"That's because I'm a better fucking slut than you are!" Tamara retorts, leaning forward. "I actually make them cum until they pass out. You're just a fucking decorative pillow."

The three of them descend into a flurry of petty insults and vulgar boasts about whose husband spends more time filling them up. There is no solidarity among them, only a vicious, competitive need to prove they are the superior object.

"Anyway," Chloe says, breaking off the argument with a bored yawn. "My husband said he might bring home a new cock for me to practice with tonight. A 'special guest' from the Ministry. I'm so excited to see if I can handle it without choking."

"Better hope you can," Jade sneers, adjusting her bikini strap. "Because if you embarrass the neighborhood with your incompetence, I'll personally tell your husband you've been thinking too much."

They all dissolve into giggles hollow, plastic sounds that drift up over the city of obedient vessels, where the only thing that matters is how well you can serve, how prettily you can break, and how thoroughly you can be erased.