Chapter 30: New self image
The towel did nothing. Dani stood on the bathmat, water pooling around her feet, and stared at the thick terrycloth tented obscenely over her persistent, throbbing erection. Drying off was a farce. Every pat, every dab, sent jolts of unwanted sensation through the swollen flesh. She gave up, just wrapped the towel around her shoulders and walked, naked and dripping, into the dimness of their bedroom.
The fan hummed its low, constant note. The room smelled like them—like Chloe’s jasmine lotion and the laundry detergent they shared. It smelled like a life that now felt like a museum exhibit behind glass.
She didn’t bother with clothes. What would she put on? She found an old silk robe hanging on the back of the door, one Chloe liked to wear after showers. Dani shoved her arms into it, the cool silk a shock against her damp skin. She left it untied. It fell open, and there it was, jutting up from the thatch of dark hair, purple-headed and veined, a brutal exclamation point on her body.
A low, aching thrum seemed to emanate from its core. It wasn’t just hard; it was needy. Insatiable. The two rough, draining orgasms in the shower had been nothing but pressure valves, doing nothing to quell the fundamental demand. The contamination wasn't just physical. It was a hunger.
With a shuddering sigh that was half-sob, Dani lay back on the rumpled duvet. The silk of the robe whispered against her back. She looked at the ceiling, at the faint crack in the plaster they’d always meant to fix. She didn’t want to touch it again. Her hand moved anyway.
Her fingers closed around the shaft. It was hotter than the rest of her skin, a feverish brand. She gave a tentative, disgusted stroke. A fresh pearl of pre-cum welled instantly, slicking her path. Her hips bucked, a traitorous little jerk.
“Fuck you,” she whispered, to the thing, to Chloe, to the world. She tightened her grip and began to pump in earnest.
This time, it wasn’t frantic. It was a grim, determined transaction. She worked herself with a brutal, efficient rhythm, her fist a tight tunnel gliding up and down the swollen length. The sound was filthy, a wet, rhythmic squelch in the quiet room. She focused on the mechanical details: the way the ridge of the head caught on her curled fingers, the pull of the skin, the thick pulse of the central vein under her thumb. She detached her mind, letting it float near the crack in the ceiling, while her body performed its vile duty.
Orgasm came quickly, a harsh, dry-eyed convulsion. Her abs tightened, her back arched off the bed, and a weaker, thinner stream of cum striped her stomach and the dark silk of the robe. She gasped, her body seizing, then collapsing.
She lay there, spent, waiting for the relief. For the softness.
It didn’t come.
The weight on her pelvis remained, solid as oak. She glanced down. Her cock stood at full, rigid attention, glistening with her spend and pre-cum, utterly unmoved by its own expulsion. If anything, the head seemed darker, more engorged. A deep, relentless ache filled her, an emptiness that had nothing to do with her womb and everything to do with this new, hungry socket inside her.
A broken sound escaped her lips. She wrapped her hand around it again. This time, her touch was different. Softer. Almost exploratory. She was so tired. The fight was leaching out of her, replaced by a horrifying, dawning curiosity. What did it want? What would it take?
She stroked slowly, a languid, gentle caress from root to tip, smearing the cool mess on her stomach. She used her thumb to circle the slick, flared head, tracing the slit. A shockwave of pleasure-pain radiated through her, making her toes curl. She did it again. And again.
This build was different. Not a storm, but a rising tide. It was deeper, more insidious, winding through her pelvis and coiling at the base of her spine. Her breathing deepened. Her free hand crept down, fingers slipping through her own wetness to find her clit, now swollen and hypersensitive, a twin engine to the monstrous thing above. She touched herself there, a frantic, circular press, while her other hand worked her cock in long, slow, devastating pulls.
“Oh, god… oh, fuck…” The words were torn from her, no longer angry, but ragged with a helpless, overwhelming sensation. She was a instrument being played by a mad musician. Her hips began to roll in a broken rhythm, fucking up into her own fist, chasing the feeling that was now a blinding, white-hot knot in her gut.
The door clicked open.
Dani froze, her hands stilled, buried in the nexus of her own ruin.
Chloe stood in the doorway, haloed by the hall light. She looked smaller, her face pale and streaked with dried tears, her long blonde hair a tangled mess. Her eyes, wide and devastated, traveled from Dani’s face, down the open robe, to the scene her hands were making.
“Dani,” Chloe breathed, the word a shattered thing.
Shame, hot and corrosive, flooded Dani. She yanked the silk robe closed, but the tent it made was grotesquely obvious. She scrambled back on the bed, pulling her knees up. “Get out.”
“I’m so sorry,” Chloe whispered, taking a step into the room. The door swung shut behind her, plunging them back into the fan-hummed dimness. “I’m so, so sorry. I didn’t… I got lost. The feeling, the power… it was like I was finally awake inside my own skin. I wasn’t thinking about you. I should have. I should have known what it would do to you.”
“Known?” Dani’s laugh was a sharp, broken sound. “Look at me, Chloe! Look at what you did! You didn’t know? You turned me into this… this fucking thing!”
Chloe flinched as if struck. Her eyes were locked on the visible bulge in the robe. Not with horror, Dani noticed with a fresh bolt of nausea, but with a fearful, terrible fascination. “I wanted to feel good. I wanted us to feel good. I didn’t mean for it to… to stick to you.”
“Well, it stuck!” Dani roared, throwing the covers off and standing up. The robe fell fully open. Her cock, fully erect, bobbed heavily between her thighs.
Chloe’s gaze was glued to it. Her lips parted. She took another step, then another, until she was at the foot of the bed. “I’m sorry,” she said again, but her voice had changed. It was lower, thick with something that wasn’t just remorse. “Let me… let me help.”
“Help?” Dani spat. “How? How the fuck can you help this?”
“I don’t know,” Chloe said, and she reached out.
Her fingers, cool and trembling, brushed the underside of Dani’s shaft.
Dani jerked as if electrocuted, a guttural groan ripped from her throat. Every nerve was raw. The touch was a shock of pure, undiluted sensation.
“Don’t,” Dani gasped, but her body swayed forward.
“I’m sorry,” Chloe murmured again, and this time it sounded like a prayer. Her hand closed, not around the shaft, but around the heavy, tight sack beneath it. She cupped it, her touch astonishingly gentle. Dani’s legs almost buckled. A torrent of pre-cum spilled from the tip, soaking the silk.
Chloe looked up, her eyes meeting Dani’s. The guilt was still there, swimming in the blue, but beneath it was a hunger Dani had never seen before—a raw, desperate want that mirrored the ache in Dani’s own bones. “Does it hurt?”
“Yes,” Dani choked out. “It fucking hurts.”
“Tell me what to do.” Chloe’s other hand came up, her fingertips tracing the raging vein on the top. “Please, Dani. Let me fix it.”
All the fight left Dani in a rush. She was so tired, so full of this relentless, burning need. She was contaminated, and the source of the contamination was here, offering not a cure, but a deeper infection. She was past reason.
“Suck it,” Dani heard herself say, the voice not quite her own. It was flat, cold, devoid of the love that usually lived between them. “You made it. You deal with it.”
A flash of pain crossed Chloe’s face, but it was followed by a swift, shocking obedience. She didn’t hesitate. She sank to her knees on the carpet, her hands moving to steady the thick base. She stared at the angry purple head, so close to her face, dripping with Dani’s arousal. She leaned in, her breath hot.
Then her tongue, pink and tentative, licked a long, slow stripe from root to tip.
Dani cried out, her hands flying to fist in Chloe’s hair. The sensation was catastrophic—wet, hot, soft pressure on the most sensitive, alien part of her. It was wrong. It was the most right thing she’d ever felt.
Chloe took the head into her mouth.
Her lips stretched wide, struggling to accommodate the girth. She sucked gently, her tongue swirling around the slit. Dani’s hips jerked forward, a brutal, involuntary thrust. Chloe gagged, pulling back, a string of saliva connecting her lips to the glistening crown.
“I said suck it,” Dani growled, the words filthy and dark. She tugged Chloe’s hair, guiding her back. “You wanted a cock? You’ve got one. Now fucking take it.”
A moan vibrated against Dani’s flesh. Chloe’s eyes fluttered shut. This time, she opened wider, taking more. She bobbed her head, establishing a clumsy, wet rhythm. Her hands kneaded Dani’s thighs, her nails biting into the skin.
Dani watched, a spectator in her own body. She watched her monstrous cock disappear between her girlfriend’s lips, saw Chloe’s cheeks hollow with effort. The wet, sucking sounds filled the room, drowning out the hum of the fan. The heat of Chloe’s mouth was a furnace, a slick, tight sheath. The coiling tension in Dani’s gut wound tighter, tighter, a spring loaded to the breaking point.
She couldn’t stop her hips. They began to move, shallow thrusts that fucked into Chloe’s willing mouth. Chloe gagged again, tears leaking from the corners of her eyes, but she didn’t pull away. She reached up, one hand wrapping around what her mouth couldn’t contain, stroking in time with Dani’s thrusts.
“That’s it,” Dani hissed, her vision blurring at the edges. “Take it all. You love this, don’t you? You love this fucking thing you made.”
Chloe’s only answer was a desperate, hungry moan, the vibration traveling straight up Dani’s spine.
The orgasm didn’t crest; it detonated. It was a raw, brutal eruption that tore a scream from Dani’s throat. She held Chloe’s head in place, fucking deep into her mouth as she came, pulse after violent pulse shooting down Chloe’s throat. Chloe swallowed convulsively, her throat working around the intrusion, taking every drop.
When it was over, Dani released her grip, staggering back. Chloe collapsed forward, coughing, saliva and cum slick on her chin. She looked wrecked, used, utterly debased.
And Dani, spent, hollow, looked down.
Her cock, slick from Chloe’s mouth, remained stubbornly, impossibly hard.