Chapter 18: Request
The key turned in the lock. Eleanor didn’t move from the couch. She heard the familiar shuffle of David dropping his briefcase, the sigh he always gave when coming home. The pill bottle, small and orange, was warm in her clenched fist.
“Ellie? You in here?”
“Lamp’s on,” she said, her voice strangely thick.
He walked into the living room, loosening his tie. His glasses were slightly askew. He stopped, looking at her. His gaze didn’t go to her face first. It went to her chest, where the soft cotton of her shirt was stretched taut, the buttons straining.
“Hey,” he said, a hesitant smile forming. “You look… is that a new top?”
“It’s an old one.”
“Oh.” He blinked, his eyes lingering. “It’s just… you look different. Are you okay?” It was his professor’s voice, the one he used to gently correct a student’s thesis. A voice of mild, benign confusion.
Eleanor stood up. The movement made her breasts sway heavily, unnaturally full. She saw his eyes track the motion. There was no desire in his look, only puzzled observation.
“They’ve grown,” she stated flatly.
“Since yesterday?” He gave a soft, disbelieving laugh. “That’s not… I mean, hormones can do funny things, but that’s quite a…” He trailed off, finally looking at her face. Her expression silenced him. It was feverish, focused, utterly foreign.
She crossed the space between them. The scent of her, musky and sweet, hit him before she did. She didn’t kiss him. Her hands went to his belt, fingers fumbling with the buckle.
“Eleanor, what—“
“I need you,” she hissed, the words urgent and raw. She got the belt open, yanked his zipper down. His trousers sagged around his hips. He was soft, flaccid against his briefs. A small, vulnerable thing.
“Honey, wait, let’s just—“
Her hand dove into his briefs, wrapping around him. She squeezed, not with tenderness, but with a ruthless, kneading pressure. He gasped, a mixture of shock and discomfort. Slowly, reluctantly, his body began to respond, thickening under her insistent grip.
“See?” she murmured, her breath hot against his neck. “You can. You will.”
She pushed his trousers and briefs down to his ankles in one rough motion, then turned, bending over the arm of the couch. She hiked her own skirt up, revealing herself from behind. The new, swollen folds of her labia, dark and glistening, were fully exposed, already weeping a clear, slick fluid that made a slow track down her inner thigh. The scent of her was overpowering.
“Eleanor, my God,” David whispered, horrified and mesmerized. “What is… what’s happening to you?”
“Fuck me,” she commanded, looking back over her shoulder. Her eyes were black with need. “Now, David. Don’t think. Just fuck me.”
He was hard now, a blunt, rigid length jutting from his body. It was an autonomic response, divorced from his whirling mind. He stepped out of the fabric at his feet, his hands hovering uncertainly near her hips. He touched her, and his fingers came away slick. She was dripping.
He guided himself to her entrance, which pulsed open, visibly hungry. He pushed. And he sank into a wet, gripping heat so intense it stole the air from his lungs.
“Oh, fuck,” he groaned, his knees buckling.
She was different. Not just wetter, but constructed differently. The walls of her cunt seemed to ripple and cling to him in successive, velvet rings. New, subtle ridges caught the head of his cock as he slid deeper, massaging him in ways he had never felt. It was like sinking into a living organism designed solely for pleasure.
She took all of him in one savage, backward thrust, forcing a choked cry from his throat. Then she began to move, rocking back against him with a frantic, piston-like rhythm. The wet, filthy sound of their coupling filled the quiet room—a loud, rhythmic slapping of skin, a squelching chorus of her obscene lubrication.
“Yes! God, yes, just like that!” she screamed, her fists clenching the couch fabric. “Harder, David! Don’t fucking hold back!”
He tried to keep up, his hands gripping her fleshy hips, his own thrusts becoming ragged, driven by a primal instinct awakened by her transformed body. Her cries weren’t sounds of love; they were guttural, animal demands. Each time he bottomed out inside her, she shuddered, but the shudder was one of temporary appeasement, not conclusion. The need didn’t break; it recalibrated, demanding more speed, more force.
He panted, driving into her again, feeling her internal muscles milk him desperately. “What is this?”
“Pills,” she grunted, slamming back onto him. “From the doctor. Woke me up. Woke this up.”
He was already close, the sensation too novel, too overwhelming. He’d been dormant for years; this was a seismic event. “I’m gonna… Ellie, I can’t…”
“No!” she shrieked, and her inner muscles clamped down on him like a vice, stalling his orgasm, squeezing him until he saw stars. “Not yet. You don’t get to come yet. You have to keep up.”
She pushed him out of her, his cock springing free, slick and shining. She turned, panting, her face a mask of furious arousal. She pushed him down onto the couch. She straddled him, impaling herself in one swift, downward stroke, taking him so deep he cried out.
Riding him, she leaned forward, her enlarged breasts swaying in his face. “Look at me,” she demanded. He looked up at her, at the stranger wearing his wife’s face. “This is what I need. And you can’t give it to me. Not like this.”
She gyrated on him, a cruel, grinding motion that stimulated every new inch of her. She was fucking herself on his body, using him as a tool. He felt used, terrified, and more aroused than he had ever been in his life.
“I got something for you,” she breathed, her rhythm never faltering. She fumbled on the coffee table, her hand finding the orange bottle. She popped the cap one-handed, shook out a single, dark blue capsule. It sat in her palm like a promise, or a poison.
“Take it,” she said.
He stared at the pill. “Eleanor… what... we don’t even know what it is.”
“It’s what I took. A version for you. From Dr. Thorne.” Her hips rolled, drawing a moan from them both. “It’ll help you. Help you fuck me. Help you want to fuck me. To need it like I do.”
“This is insane. This is dangerous.”
“Dangerous?” She laughed, a sharp, broken sound. She leaned down, her lips against his ear. Her cunt pulsed around his buried cock. “I am a open, wet, aching hole, David. This is dangerous. This pill is the solution. Take it. Or I'll find someone who will.”
The ultimatum hung in the air, more potent than the pheromones clouding the room. He looked from her desperate, sweating face to the dark capsule. He thought of the cold distance of their bed, the polite conversations, the years of slow fading. He thought of the terrifying, consuming fire she had become.
His hand, trembling, came up. He took the pill from her palm.
Without breaking eye contact, without a glass of water, he put it on his tongue and swallowed.
Eleanor’s smile was a terrible, beautiful thing. She began to move again, a relentless, demanding rhythm. “Good,” she whispered, riding him harder, faster. “Now fuck your wife. Fuck me until it kicks in. Fuck me until you forget the man you were.”
And as David thrust upwards into that impossible, greedy heat, a part of him already knew he was gone. He was just waiting for the new thing to arrive.