Chapter 26: Reclamation
Katy’s breath hitched, the residual tremor of Garrett’s climax a faint echo around her cock. The jealousy was a physical burn in her chest, acrid and sharp. Watching his—her—body convulse in pleasure, feeling the greedy clench of that familiar cunt, was a special kind of torture. She needed to reclaim some control, to dominate the sensation completely.
With a grunt, she withdrew from the slippery heat, eliciting a soft, disappointed moan from Garrett. Before he could protest, her hands—strong, male hands she was still getting used to—gripped his hips and forcefully rolled him onto his stomach. The sheets were damp and cool against his front.
“What are you—?” Garrett started, his voice muffled by the mattress.
Katy didn’t answer. She hooked her hands under his pelvis and yanked, lifting his ass into the air, presenting the slick, swollen lips of his cunt to her like an offering. The sight sent a jolt of pure, possessive hunger through her. This was her body, her pretty little pussy, and she was going to fuck it until nothing else existed.
She spat roughly, a glob of saliva landing directly on his entrance, mixing with the wetness already there. It glistened in the dim light. “Gotta make sure you’re ready for me,” she growled, her voice low and thick.
Garrett shuddered, but made no move to resist. His face was turned to the side, eyes wide, watching her over his shoulder. Katy brought her hand down, not with tenderness, but with a clinical brutality. She pressed two fingers against his opening, then a third, driving them knuckle-deep in one swift, brutal motion. The wet squelch was loud in the quiet room.
“Fuck!” Garrett cried out, his body tensing.
“Shhh, just relax,” Katy commanded, her voice a merciless whisper. She scissored her fingers inside him, stretching the tender flesh obscenely wide. She could feel the inner muscles fluttering, resisting, then yielding. She curled her fingers, searching for, and finding, that rough patch inside that made his back arch and a choked gasp tear from his throat. “There it is. That’s what this fucking cock is gonna pound into paste.”
She pulled her fingers out, slick and gleaming. She positioned herself behind him, the head of her erection nudging against his stretched, dripping entrance. It was impossibly large compared to her fingers, a thick, veiny threat. She leaned over his back, her chest pressing against his shoulder blades, and put her mouth close to his ear.
“You ready to get bred by your own dick, cousin?” she whispered, the words filthy and hot against his skin. “Gonna fill this tight little hole until it’s leaking me.”
Before he could answer, she pushed.
The initial penetration was a slow, brutal stretch. Garrett buried his face in the sheets, his knuckles white where he gripped the fabric. Katy grunted, forcing her way past the tight ring of muscle, centimeter by agonizing centimeter. The sensation was overwhelming for both of them—for Garrett, a feeling of being split open and consumed; for Katy, a hot, velvety tightness that threatened to undo her immediately.
Once fully seated, she paused, letting them both adjust to the profound fullness. Then she began to move.
Her thrusts were not gentle. They were deep, punishing piston-strokes that drove the air from Garrett’s lungs with each impact. The sound was a wet, rhythmic slapping of skin on skin, a vulgar metronome marking their degradation. Katy set a ruthless pace, her hips slamming into his raised ass, using his body for her own furious release.
“Yeah, take it,” she grunted, her fingers digging bruises into his hips. “That’s my cock. You feel that? You feel how deep it goes?”
Garrett could only manage broken sounds, each thrust hijacking his breath. The pain was already blurring into a deep, radiating pleasure, the relentless stimulation against that Spot inside him building a firestorm in his core. His own responses horrified him—the way his body pushed back against hers, the incoherent pleas for more that spilled from his lips.
“Harder… please, Katy, fuck, harder,” he begged, the words torn from him.
Katy obliged, her rhythm becoming even more frantic, more animalistic. She was consumed by the dual sensations: the powerful drive of the cock plunging into wet heat, and the agonizing envy of the pleasure she knew was wracking the body beneath her. She watched the muscles in his back tense and ripple, saw the way his head tossed helplessly side to side.
“You’re gonna come again, aren’t you?” she snarled, driving into him with a particularly vicious thrust. “You’re gonna squirt all over my fucking dick like a little slut.”
The accusation was a catalyst. The coil in Garrett’s belly snapped. His orgasm crashed over him with a violence that seemed to shake the room, a raw, screaming release that left him shuddering and convulsing around the thick shaft embedded deep within him. His cries were muffled by the sheets, his vision swimming in a haze of gold and black.
Katy felt it, the intense, rhythmic squeezing that milked her cock, and it pushed her over the edge. With a guttural roar that was all male, she emptied herself into him, her own orgasm a crashing wave of heat and release. She pumped her hips erratically, grinding deep, filling the body that was once hers with a stranger’s seed.
She collapsed on top of him, both of them slick with sweat, breathing in ragged unison. For a long moment, there was only the sound of their gasps and the distant hum of the city.
As the adrenaline faded, the jealousy returned, sharper and more painful than ever. Lying there, still inside him, she felt a hollow, aching need in her own core—the core that was currently being violated miles away in Garrett’s body. The memory of what it felt like to be filled, to be taken, was a phantom limb screaming for attention.
She pulled out slowly, the sound wet and final. Rolling onto her back, she stared at the ceiling, the afterimage of the city lights burned into her vision.
“It’s not fair,” she whispered, the words barely audible.
Garrett, spent and trembling, turned his head to look at her. “What’s not?”
Katy’s hand drifted down to her own flat, hard stomach, then to the wetness between her legs—Garrett’s legs. A deep, frustrating emptiness gaped there.
“I got you off three times,” she said, her voice cracking with a mixture of anger and longing. “I fucking wrecked that pussy. And I got a single orgasm. It's not the same. Not really. Not like that.” She turned her head, her eyes—blue and piercing in the stolen face—burning into him. “I want it back. I want to feel what you just felt. I want to be the one getting fucked by this huge dick.. I miss being a girl.”