Feed Me - Episode 3

Sally hustled the two men out before Celeste could appear—Billy tripping over his jeans, Ryan wiping lipstick from his mouth. She needed a moment. Dr. Petit’s warning echoed: whatever lived inside her wanted seed, and her body had already answered twice tonight. She left messages on his answering machine while the kitchen light still glowed behind her. He ran blood, swabs, and a quick pelvic exam that made her breath catch. "Temporary measure," he said afterward, handing her a milky syringe of what he called stabilizers—enough to calm the urge until he could dig deeper. She rushed home, relief sharp, but found Celeste in the living room holding Sally’s phone. Messages from Ryan. Messages from Billy. Celeste’s eyes burned. "Pack," she said. Door slammed. Suitcase barely shut. Heather opened her apartment with that slow, generous smile of hers, letting Sally cry on the couch. Later, wine glasses empty, Sally confessed everything—the itch under her skin, the way her belly cramped until warm come filled her, the fear that grew every hour. Heather listened, nails tracing small circles on Sally’s thigh. "I’ll go down on you," Heather said. "No cock. No risk. Let’s see if it helps." Sally hesitated—straight, always straight—but her stomach fluttered with a new kind of hunger. She lay back, legs open, letting Heather’s tongue find the slick heat between them. Sally moaned, hips twitching, desperate to know if two women could quiet the thing or just feed it differently. Heather licked deeper, slow then urgent, tasting Sally like she’d waited years. The hunger shifted, not gone—yet—and Sally wondered what came next.