Chapter 10: Faking It
The taste of her mother lingered. It was a phantom flavor on Luz’s tongue, hours later, as she stood under the scalding shower trying to burn her skin off. Salt, musk, the iron tang of completion, and underneath it all, the faint, sweet note of his celestial seed. She scrubbed her mouth with soap until her gums bled, but the memory of the taste was a stain on her consciousness. The feel of her mother’s swollen, used flesh against her lips, the obedience in her own body as she lapped up the evidence—it played on a loop behind her eyes.
She dressed mechanically in soft pajamas, the fabric feeling alien against her skin, which still hummed with a wrongness she couldn’t name. It wasn’t guilt, not purely. It was a hollow, aching need that had been carved into the center of her. The backyard had broken something. A dam. The part of her that was still Luz Noceda, the human who loved Amity Blight, was screaming, trapped in a deepening well. But the screaming was getting fainter, drowned out by a louder, baser thrum: He owns you. You ate from him. You want more.
She found Amity in their shared bedroom, bathed in the golden, dying light of the skylight. Amity was on the bed, propped up on pillows, a thick spellbook open in her lap. She wore one of Luz’s old Hexside hoodies and a pair of shorts, her lavender hair mussed from a day of studying. She looked up and smiled, her golden eyes soft, and for a second, the world righted itself. This was real. This was love.
“Hey, you,” Amity said, marking her page with a ribbon. “You vanished after lunch. Everything okay?”
Luz’s throat tightened. “Yeah. Just… a weird headache. All better now.” The lie was ash in her mouth. She walked to the bed, the scent of the room enveloping her—Amity’s lavender shampoo, the vanilla candle on the nightstand, the clean linen smell of their sheets. And beneath it, just a trace, the darker scent that belonged to him. It was in the air, in the fibers of the quilt he sometimes sprawled on while they played games. It was in her.
“Come here,” Amity said, opening her arms.
Luz crawled onto the bed and sank into the embrace, burying her face in the curve of Amity’s neck. She inhaled deeply, trying to anchor herself in this familiar, beloved scent. But her body, traitorously, compared it. Amity smelled of soap and magic and home. He smelled of ozone, of ancient stone, of addictive, corrupting power. Her arms around Amity felt weak. Her fingers, which had dug into the shed’s wood earlier, now trembled against Amity’s back.
“You’re shaking,” Amity murmured, her hand stroking Luz’s hair. “Was it a bad headache?”
“The worst,” Luz whispered, and it was the truth.
She pulled back slightly, looking into Amity’s concerned face. She needed to erase the backyard. She needed to feel like Luz again, the Luz who belonged to Amity, not to some ancient, capricious god. She needed to prove to herself that this—the warm bed, the soft eyes, the tender love—was what she truly wanted. She needed to feel anything other than that yawning, cock-shaped void inside her.
So she kissed her.
It wasn’t their usual sweet, slow kiss. It was desperate, hungry, a claim staked against the corruption. She pushed Amity back against the pillows, her body following, pressing down. Amity made a soft sound of surprise that melted into a moan as Luz’s tongue plunged into her mouth. Her hands came up to tangle in Luz’s still-damp hair.
“Luz,” Amity breathed when they broke for air, her cheeks flushed. “Someone’s eager.”
“I need you,” Luz said, and the raw ache in her voice was real, even if its source was a lie. “I need to feel you, Amity. Right now.”
She didn’t wait for a response. Her hands went to the hem of Amity’s hoodie, pushing it up and over her head. Amity cooperated, lifting her arms, her expression shifting from surprise to smoldering desire. Luz’s gaze fell on Amity’s breasts, full and pale in the twilight, her nipples already pebbled tight. Beautiful. Hers. She lowered her head and took one into her mouth, sucking hard, her tongue circling the areola. Amity arched her back, a gasp escaping her.
“Yes… like that,” Amity sighed, her fingers tightening in Luz’s hair.
But as Luz worshipped her girlfriend’s breasts, a vicious, unwanted thought intruded: Not as big as her mom’s. Not as full, not as soft from pregnancy. She banished it with a violent internal shove, moving to the other breast, biting down just enough to make Amity cry out. She needed to get lost in this. She needed to feel.
Her hand slid down Amity’s stomach, over the soft cotton of her shorts, and cupped her mound. Even through the fabric, she could feel the heat. Amity was wet for her. The thought should have set Luz on fire. Instead, it felt like a clinical observation. She hooked her fingers into the waistband of Amity’s shorts and panties and dragged them down her legs in one motion.
Amity lay bare before her, breathing heavily. The patch of hair at the junction of her thighs was a soft, perfect lavender, neatly trimmed. In the amber light, Luz could see the glistening slickness already coating her inner lips. Amity’s scent, intimate and aroused, bloomed in the air. It was a clean, sharp scent. Nothing like the musky, overwhelming aroma of her mother’s well-fucked cunt.
Stop it, Luz screamed at herself.
“Luz,” Amity whispered, spreading her legs in open invitation. Her golden eyes were dark with want. “Please.”
The word echoed. Please. It was the same word she had screamed in the backyard. The memory was a poison dart. Luz flinched.
She descended between Amity’s thighs like a penitent seeking absolution. She pressed her face into the soft lavender curls, inhaling. She tried to let Amity’s familiar, beloved scent fill her, cleanse her. She ran her tongue in a broad, flat stripe from Amity’s perineum up through her soaked folds.
Amity jerked, a sweet, high moan pouring from her lips. “Oh, Titan, yes…”
The taste was… fine. It was Amity. It was tangy, slightly sweet, purely her girlfriend. It was the taste of a hundred lazy afternoons in this bed. It did not burn her tongue with shame. It did not make her throat convulse with degradation. It did nothing.
Make it do something.
Luz began to eat her out with a frantic, practiced diligence. She licked and suckled at Amity’s clit, her tongue flicking rapidly. She plunged her tongue into Amity’s opening, tasting her deeper, fucking her with the muscle. She used her fingers to spread Amity wider, to expose every sensitive inch to her mouth.
Amity was lost in it. Her hips rolled and bucked, meeting Luz’s mouth with eager thrusts. Her hands fisted in the sheets, her back arching off the mattress. “Right there, oh fuck, Luz, right there! Don’t stop!”
Luz didn’t stop. She worked like a machine, her jaw aching, her tongue cramping. She listened to Amity’s cries, felt the twitch of her thighs around her ears, tasted the increasing flood of her arousal. It was a performance. A brilliant, dedicated performance. Inside, she was a hollow shell. The sensations were distant, like hearing sex through a wall. The part of her that should have been throbbing with need, that should have been soaking her own pajama bottoms, was silent and dry as dust.
Her own cunt, nestled in its nest of brown hair, felt dead. Numb. It was a useless, empty hole that only remembered one thing: being stretched to a mind-shattering width by a god’s cock. Amity’s gentle, loving touches, even her tongue, couldn’t compete with that memory. It was like trying to fill a canyon with a teaspoon.
Amity’s movements became more erratic, her moans sharper. She was close. Luz focused everything on the little bud under her tongue, sucking it hard, pulsing her pressure.
With a sharp, strangled cry, Amity came. Her body seized, her thighs clamping around Luz’s head as her cunt convulsed, gushing a hot stream of release that flooded Luz’s chin and dripped onto the sheets below. She trembled through the aftershocks, her cries softening into whimpers.
Luz stayed there, her face buried in Amity’s wetness, until Amity’s legs went slack. She slowly pulled back, wiping her mouth with the back of her hand. She was panting, but not from arousal. From the effort. From the sheer, exhausting work of pretending.
“Wow,” Amity breathed, her chest heaving, a sated, dazed smile on her face. “That was… you were amazing.” She reached down, her hand gentle on Luz’s cheek. “Your turn. Come here.”
Luz climbed up Amity’s body, her movements stiff. Amity kissed her, tasting herself on Luz’s lips. Her hands went to Luz’s pajama pants, eager to return the favor.
“No,” Luz said, the word coming out too fast, too harsh. She softened it with a kiss. “I just… I want to be close to you. Like this.”
She shifted, sliding her body down until she was positioned over Amity. She guided herself, pressing her own pajama-clad mound against Amity’s bare, wet one. Even through the soft fabric, she could feel the heat, the slickness. She began to move, grinding against Amity in a slow, scissoring motion.
Amity moaned, her hands coming to grip Luz’s hips. “Oh… I love this…”
Their clothed clits rubbed together through the layers. Amity was still sensitive from her orgasm, and each grind drew another soft sigh from her. She was getting wet again, her juices soaking through Luz’s thin pajama pants.
Luz moved mechanically. Up, down, pressure, friction. She watched Amity’s face, so beautiful in her pleasure, so trusting. Love for her swelled in Luz’s chest, a painful, desperate love that felt like it was tearing her apart. She wanted this. She wanted this to be enough. She buried her face in Amity’s neck, inhaling her scent, trying to tattoo this feeling onto her soul.
But her body was a stone. No heat gathered between her legs. No tension built in her core. The friction was just… friction. It was a dull, pointless massage on a numb nerve.
Amity’s breathing hitched again. “Luz… I’m gonna…”
She came a second time, a shorter, sharper peak, her body shuddering beneath Luz’s. Her juices soaked a wider, darker patch onto Luz’s pants. As she pulsed, Luz forced her own body to stiffen, to mimic the rhythms of climax. She let out a choked, strained moan into Amity’s neck, her hips jerking erratically. She squeezed her eyes shut, conjuring an image not of Amity, but of the Collector’s face, of his massive, veiny cock spearing into her, and with that vile, necessary image, she managed to force a few shallow, dry convulsions from her pelvis.
She collapsed atop Amity, spent from the performance, her soul withering inside her.
Amity held her close, stroking her sweaty back. “That was incredible,” she whispered, her voice thick with love and satisfaction. “You’re incredible.”
Luz couldn’t speak. Tears, hot and silent, welled in her eyes and spilled into Amity’s lavender hair. She held on tighter, as if Amity could anchor her to a self that was rapidly disintegrating.
“I love you so much, Luz,” Amity murmured, her voice drowsy with post-coital bliss.
“I love you too,” Luz choked out, and it was the truest, most tragic thing she’d ever said.
They lay entwined as the last of the twilight bled from the sky, replaced by the deep blue of evening. Amity’s breathing evened out into sleep. Luz stayed awake, staring at the shadows on the ceiling.
The hollow ache was now a screaming void. The taste of Amity was already a ghost on her tongue, utterly overwritten by the memory of the other taste. Her cunt, dry and numb, now throbbed with a phantom need—the need to be stretched, filled, destroyed, and remade by that specific, brutal fullness. The gentle love-making had been a mockery. It had only highlighted what was missing.
Carefully, so carefully, she extricated herself from Amity’s sleeping embrace. Amity sighed but didn’t wake. Luz stood beside the bed, looking down at her girlfriend’s peaceful face. A sob tried to climb her throat. She swallowed it, turning it into a painful knot in her chest.
She padded silently out of the bedroom, down the dark hallway. The house was quiet. Her mother’s door was shut. Luz paused outside it, her hand hovering near the knob. She imagined Camila inside, sleeping with a belly full of his child, her body a testament to his ownership. There was no comfort there. Only a reflection of her own damnation.
She continued downstairs. The living room was dark, lit only by the faint glow of streetlights filtering through the blinds. He was there, of course. Sitting cross-legged in the middle of the floor, surrounded by a galaxy of crayon drawings. He was drawing a crude, huge cock on a piece of paper, coloring it in with careful, bloody red strokes.
He didn’t look up as she entered. “Your girlfriend’s pussy tastes like flowers,” he said conversationally. “Pretty. Boring.”
Luz stood in the doorway, her arms wrapped around herself. She was still in her damp pajama pants, Amity’s release cooling on the fabric against her skin.
“I can’t feel anything,” she whispered. The confession was torn from the deepest, most ruined part of her.
He finally looked up, his star-filled eyes gleaming in the dim light. A slow, knowing smile spread across his face. He dropped the red crayon. “I know.”
“Why?” The word was a plea.
“Because you’re mine.” He unfolded himself and stood, walking toward her with that eerie, gliding grace. He stopped inches away, looking up at her. He was shorter than her, but in that moment, he loomed. “I rewired you, star child. Your cute little human cunt is wired for my divine plug. Nothing else will turn the lights on.” He reached out and poked her belly, right over her womb. “It’s waiting for me in here, too. It’s getting hungry. It knows its daddy.”
A fresh wave of tears spilled down Luz’s cheeks. “Make it stop.Please. Make me feel like me again.”
“But this is you now.” He tilted his head, genuinely curious. “The you that belongs to me is the realest you. The other one… the one who kisses Amity Blight and cries… that’s the ghost.” He reached down and took her hand, guiding it to the front of his own loose pants. She felt the hard, thick outline of him, already half-erect. Just the touch through the fabric sent a jolt of electricity through her deadened nerves. A spark. A cruel, undeniable spark of life.
“See?” he whispered. “Your body knows the truth.”
Her fingers curled around the shape of him, trembling. It was so big. Her mind recoiled, but her palm grew hot. A treacherous drop of moisture finally, blessedly, shamefully, seeped from her own numb cunt, dampening her pajamas further.
“I need…” she began, her voice breaking.
“I know what you need.” His hands went to her waist, pushing the pajama pants down her hips. They pooled at her feet. The cool air hit her bare skin, her small, flat stomach, her thatch of dark brown pubic hair. He looked at it, his golden eyes glowing with fascination. “I love this. It’s so wild. Like a little animal.” He sank to his knees before her, his face level with her mound. He didn’t kiss her. He just nuzzled his nose and cheeks into her curls, inhaling deeply. “Mmm. You still smell like her. Like flowers and boring love.” He looked up, his expression turning mischievous. “Let’s wash that off.”
Before she could process his meaning, he leaned forward and his tongue was on her. But it wasn’t like her loving attention to Amity. This was different. His tongue was cooler than a human’s, and it moved with an unnatural, probing force. It parted her folds roughly and stabbed deep into her channel, not to pleasure, but to clean. He licked inside her, gathering the vestiges of Amity’s juices, the lingering evidence of her girlfriend’s touch. He pulled back, making a show of swallowing.
“There. All clean. Now you just taste like… you. Which is just a little bit like me.” He grinned.
Then his mouth went to her clit. He didn’t suckle gently. He engulfed the sensitive nub and sucked with a vacuum-like pressure that made her knees buckle. A sharp, unexpected bolt of sensation—not pleasure, not pain, but sheer overwhelming sensation—shot through her. A gasp ripped from her throat.
“That’s it,” he muttered against her flesh, his tongue now flicking rapidly, brutally. “There’s the spark. Let’s start the fire.”
He was ruthlessly efficient. In minutes, under his merciless, knowing mouth, her body—her real body—responded. Heat, real heat, pooled in her belly. The numbness receded, burned away by a climbing, coiling tension that was entirely different from anything she’d ever felt with Amity. This wasn’t sweet. This was desperate, clawing, and vicious. Her hips began to move of their own accord, fucking his face, seeking more of that brutal friction. Her hands clutched at his white hair.
“Yes, yes, fuck, please,” she chanted, the words the same but the meaning utterly transformed.
He pulled away, leaving her throbbing and dripping onto the carpet. He stood up, his own pants now pushed down. His cock sprang free, fully erect, a monstrous, veined pillar in the half-light. It was already leaking, a string of pre-come connecting the swollen purple head to his stomach.
“You want to feel something, Luz?” he asked, his voice low and guttural. “I’ll make you feel everything.”
He turned her around, pushing her forward until her hands were braced on the back of the couch. He kicked her legs wider apart. He spat into his hand, slicked his enormous length roughly, and positioned the blunt, broad head at her entrance. She was wet, but she was so small. He was so big.
He didn’t ease in. He pushed.
The scream was muffled by her own arm. The stretch was blinding, a white-hot tear of agony that instantly transformed into a fullness so profound it erased the universe. He sank into her in one relentless, unforgiving thrust, hilting himself with a brutal finality that slammed her hips against the couch. She was impaled, split open, filled beyond human capacity.
“Oh, fuck!” she screamed, the pain and the shocking, catastrophic rightness of it exploding in her brain.
He began to move. It was a punishing, deep stroke, each withdrawal an agony of loss, each slam home a revelation. This was it. This was the feeling. This was what her body had been carved for. The numbness was incinerated. Every nerve ending was on fire, screaming in a chorus of agony and ecstasy. His balls slapped against her clit with each drive, sending secondary shocks through her system.
“This is your pussy!” he grunted, his hands digging into the flesh of her hips. “This hairy, hungry little cunt! It’s mine! Say it!”
“It’s yours!” she sobbed, the words ripped from her as he pounded her soul out of her body. “It’s yours, it’s always been yours!”
“Who does it belong to?”
“You! The Collector! Please, please, don’t stop!”
Her orgasm built not as a wave, but as a seismic rupture. It started in the depths of her womb, where his cockhead battered her cervix, and radiated outward in cracking, shattering pulses. It was nothing like the gentle peaks she faked with Amity. This was an annihilation.
When it hit, she didn’t cry out. She screamed. A raw, ragged sound that tore her throat. Her body seized, convulsing around his invading length, and a hot gush of fluid—not the gentle squirt of before, but a violent, pressurized jet—erupted from her, soaking his balls and the carpet beneath them. She kept coming, the sensations so intense they tipped into pain, her vision tunneling to a single point of star-filled gold.
He roared as her internal contractions milked him, and she felt the hot, endless flood of his release fill her, warmer than human seed, a branding claim that seemed to go on and on, pumping into her already-occupied womb. He held himself deep, pulsing, as she shuddered through the last aftershocks.
When he finally slipped out, she collapsed forward over the back of the couch, a boneless, shattered thing. Fluids, his and hers, streamed down her thighs. The numbness was gone. She felt everything—the glorious, devastating ache, the profound, filthy fullness, the utter wreckage of who she used to be.
He tucked himself away and patted her head, his touch almost gentle. “See? All better.” He skipped back towards his drawings, humming.
Luz slid to the floor, leaning against the couch. She touched her stomach. Inside, his child, his seed, his claim. She was whole. She was broken. She was home.
Upstairs, Amity Blight slept peacefully, dreaming of her girlfriend’s love, a single, satisfied smile on her lips, utterly unaware that the girl she loved was forever changed in the darkness below.