Chapter 10: Mirror Voyeur
The thirst woke him. A parched, aching dryness in his throat that felt deeper than mere dehydration. Taichi blinked in the gray pre-dawn light, his hand automatically going to his stomach. It was still there, the firm, rounded curve. It hadn’t receded with sleep. If anything, it felt more pronounced, a permanent softness that pressed against the waistband of his briefs.
He slid out of bed, the floorboards cold under his feet. The apartment was silent, save for the low, sub-audible hum that seemed to emanate from his own bones. He needed water. He needed to see.
In the bathroom, he flicked the light on, the harsh fluorescence bleaching the color from everything. He avoided the mirror at first, gulping water straight from the tap, the coolness doing nothing to quench the deeper thirst. Finally, he looked up.
His reflection was a shock. His face was thinner, cheekbones sharper, giving his eyes a sunken, hungry look. But lower… his gaze drifted down. The soft swell of his belly was undeniable now, a smooth dome under his pale skin. It looked like it belonged there. It looked right.
A heat, distinct from the general hum, began to pool low in his gut. It wasn’t arousal, not exactly. It was a hollow, physical need, a craving for a specific kind of fullness. His eyes slid to the conduit on the living room table, visible through the open bathroom door. It had grown again, its obsidian surface now cradled in a nest of thin, vein-like tendrils that draped over the table's edge. It pulsed softly, in time with his heartbeat.
He couldn’t wait. The thought was clear,冰冷, and absolute.
He locked the bathroom door, a meaningless gesture that felt necessary. The air in the small room was still, the only sound the drip of the faucet and the frantic thump of his own heart. He peeled off his briefs. In the unforgiving light, the change was even more obscene. The new slit, the ‘cunt’ Van had named it, was no longer just a line. It was a proper opening, puffy and flushed a deep rose, nestled between his asshole and his balls. It glistened faintly with a clear, slick fluid.
His breath hitched. He traced a trembling finger over the outer lips. A jolt, sharp and sweet, went straight to the root of his cock, which hardened instantly. “Fuck,” he whispered to the empty room, his voice ragged.
He turned on the shower, letting the room fill with steam. It wouldn’t hide him from himself, but it blurred the edges. In the haze, he looked less real, and what he was about to do felt less monstrous.
Slicking his fingers with his own spit, he braced one hand against the cold tiles. He started with one finger, pressing against the tight, resisting entrance. It was tighter than his ass had ever been, a virginal clench that burned as he worked the tip in. He whimpered, forehead against the tile. It was strange, a foreign sensation of being stretched in a place that shouldn’t exist. He pushed deeper, crooking his finger. A spark of something intense and unfamiliar flared inside him, making his knees buckle.
“Oh, Christ,” he gasped, adding a second finger. The stretch was exquisite, a pain that bled instantly into a pleasure so profound it felt like a geological event inside him. He scissored his fingers, feeling the hot, silken clutch of inner muscle. This was different. Deeper, more intense. It felt like it was connected directly to the swollen ache in his belly.
But it wasn’t enough. The void inside him yawned wider, hungrier.
Leaving the shower running, he stepped out, dripping, and walked naked into the living room. The conduit pulsed, as if in greeting. He didn’t hesitate. He knelt on the rug before it, his new opening throbbing in the cool air. He lifted the thing. It was warm, almost body-temperature, and heavier than it looked. The surface wasn’t smooth; it was textured, with ridges and subtle variations that felt designed.
He lay back, knees falling apart in a gesture of utter submission. Guiding the broadest end of the conduit to his new opening, he pressed. The resistance was monumental. It wasn’t meant for this. He was forcing it.
“Come on,” he gritted out, pushing with his hips. The slickness from his own body helped, and with a painful, tearing pop, the head of the toy breached him. He cried out, back arching off the floor. The feeling of being entered there, by something so large, so inhuman, was overwhelming. It wasn’t just physical. It felt like a violation of his very nature, and the dark thrill of it pushed him on.
He worked it deeper, inch by agonizing inch, his stomach already churning with the bulk of it. When it was fully seated, he paused, panting, impaled. Then, he began to move.
Riding it was a slow, torturous rhythm. Each time he lowered himself, the toy seemed to push deeper, pressing against internal walls that had never been touched. He could see the deformation in his lower abdomen, a distinct bulge shifting under his skin with every thrust. He placed his hand over it, feeling the hard outline of the conduit inside him, and moaned.
He was lost in it, in the filthy, slapping sounds, in the burning stretch, in the way his body was being remade from the inside out. He fucked himself onto it with increasing abandon, his other hand frantically stroking his cock.
“Yeah, fuck, fuck this cunt,” he babbled, sweat dripping into his eyes. “Fill it, breed it, make it yours—”
The voice came from everywhere and nowhere, vibrating through the steam still leaking from the bathroom, resonating in the very air.
“Dirty boy.”
Taichi froze, the toy buried to the hilt inside him.
“You can’t even wait for me.”
He twisted his head. Van stood reflected in the dark, rain-streaked window, his image superimposed over the city lights. Then he wasn’t a reflection. He was simply there, solid and real, towering over Taichi where he lay splayed on the floor.
Shame, hot and immediate, flooded Taichi. He tried to move, to cover himself, but Van’s foot came down, not on him, but on the base of the conduit, pinning it—and Taichi—to the floor.
“No,” Van said, his voice a low thunder. “You started this. You wanted this filth. Show me.”
He twisted his foot slightly, grinding the toy deeper. Taichi screamed, a sound of pure, shattered pleasure.
Van knelt, his movements predatory and fluid. He gripped Taichi’s hips, his claws pricking the skin. “You’ve stretched it,” he observed, a dark approval in his tone. “Made it ready. But this…” He yanked the conduit out in one brutal motion.
Taichi sobbed at the sudden, aching emptiness.
Van spat on his own hand, slicking his cock, which was already fully erect, a thick, brutal length glistening in the low light. He didn’t guide it to Taichi’s ass. He aimed lower.
The broad head pressed against Taichi’s newly-used, sore, and dripping opening. Taichi held his breath. This was it. The real thing.
Van pushed.
The pain was blinding. White-hot, searing. Taichi shrieked, his body trying to clench closed against the invasion, but Van was implacable. He leaned his weight forward, sheathing himself in that impossible, virgin tightness.
“Mine,” Van growled, the word final as a tomb door closing.
He began to fuck him. There was no finesse, no gentleness. It was a claiming. Each thrust was a conquering stroke, pounding into a depth that the toy could only hint at. Taichi was split open, nailed to the floor by the piston of Van’s hips. He could feel every ridge, every vein, every inch of that demonic cock reshaping his insides. His own cock, ignored and leaking, bounced against his belly with each brutal impact.
Van’s pace accelerated, turning into a savage, driving rhythm. He was grunting now, animalistic sounds of pleasure. One hand anchored Taichi’s hip, the other snaked up and clenched around his throat, not choking, but holding. Possessing.
“This cunt is mine now,” Van rasped, his breath hot against Taichi’s ear. “You’ll take me here whenever I want. You’ll beg for it. You’ll dream of it.”
Taichi could only gasp, tears streaming down his temples into his hair. The pain had transmuted, melted into a pleasure so vast it felt like dying. He was a thing being used, a hole being fucked, and it was the most complete he had ever felt.
“I’m gonna fill this slutty little cunt,” Van snarled, his thrusts becoming erratic, harder, deeper. “Gonna pump you so full of my seed your belly swells. You want that? Want me to breed you?”
“Yes!” Taichi screamed, the word torn from him. “Breed me, please, fill me up, master, please!”
With a final, devastating thrust, Van buried himself to the root and roared. Taichi felt the hot, torrential flood erupt inside him, a voluminous gush that immediately began to swell his abdomen further. The sensation of being injected, filled to overflowing, triggered his own orgasm. His cock spasmed, shooting streaks of come over his heaving chest, his vision tunneling to a pinprick of ecstatic light.
Van collapsed over him, a heavy, sweaty weight. They lay there, joined, on the hard floor, the only sound their ragged breathing. Taichi’s stomach was distended, tight and warm. Van’s softening cock slipped out, followed by a gush of hot fluid that soaked the rug beneath them.
Van raised himself up on one elbow, looking down at Taichi’s wrecked form. He ran a claw-tipped finger through the mess on Taichi’s belly, then brought it to Taichi’s lips. Taichi, without thought, opened his mouth and sucked it clean, tasting salt, iron, and something primordial.
Van’s smile was a razor cut in the dark. “Good boy,” he murmured. “You’re learning.”
He stood, leaving Taichi empty and leaking on the floor. “The change is accelerating,” Van said, as he began to fade back into the shadows. “Your human needs will fade. Soon, you’ll only need what I give you.”
He was gone.
Taichi lay there for a long time, his hand on his swollen, heavy belly. The thirst was gone. The hollowness was gone. He was satiated, packed full.
He knew, with a certainty that dwarfed fear, that Van was right. He was learning. And he was a very quick study.