Chapter 26: Waiting
The key slid into the lock with a sound like a breaking bone. Eleanor pushed the door open, her body humming with a fatigue so deep it felt like a new kind of consciousness. The sterile glow of the apartment was gone, replaced by the warm, stale darkness of her own home. She reeked of sex, of other people’s sweat and spend, of her own relentless, dripping cunt. She’d pulled her clothes on over the mess, a futile attempt at normalcy.
The lamp on her bedside table was on. David was sitting up, propped against the headboard, a book open but unread in his lap. He looked up. His glasses reflected the light, obscuring his eyes.
“Hey,” he said. His voice was flat, a neutral territory.
“Hey.” Eleanor stood just inside the bedroom, a trespasser. The dampness in her underwear was a cold, accusing shame. “You’re up late.”
“Couldn’t sleep.” He closed the book, set it aside. “I was looking for that little blue bottle. The one from the doctor. Couldn’t find it.”
Her stomach dropped. “Oh.”
“I thought,” David continued, the words careful, measured, the way he’d dissect a flawed thesis, “maybe I’d take another one. For you. The last one was… intense. Unpleasant afterwards, honestly. But you seemed to want it. I wanted to try again.” He finally took his glasses off, pinching the bridge of his nose. “It wasn’t in the medicine cabinet. Or my drawer.”
Eleanor’s mouth was dry. The truth was a lump she had to physically force out. “I have it.”
His eyes met hers. They were tired, but sharply focused. “You have it.”
“I had it with me... At Carol’s.”
Silence stretched, thin and brittle. The hum of the refrigerator in the kitchen was the only sound.
David let out a long, slow breath. It wasn’t a sigh of anger. It was one of resignation, of a puzzle piece clicking grimly into place. “You gave one to Mark.”
It wasn’t a question. Eleanor nodded, her throat tight.
“And you had sex with him.”
“Yes.”
Another measured silence. David’s gaze traveled over her—the rumpled shirt, the way her now-heavy breasts strained against the fabric, the slight, guilty shift of her weight. He surprised her. There was no explosion. No hurt. Just a quiet, terrible calculation.
“How was it?” he asked.
The question stunned her. “What?”
“The pill. For him. How did it work?”
Her mind flashed to Mark’s red, engorged cock, its terrifying permanence, the milking grind she’d been forced to maintain until she wept. “It… it worked. Very well. Too well. He stayed hard. Like you did.”
David absorbed this. A strange light entered his eyes. Not jealousy. Not even anger. It was curiosity, edged with a flicker of something competitive. “Hours,” he repeated. “And did you like it? Being fucked for hours?”
The directness was a shock. It bypassed her guilt and went straight to the pulsing, chemical need still thrumming in her veins. Her cunt, sore and well-used, gave a distinct, wet throb. A fresh trickle of fluid seeped into her already-soaked panties. The feeling was instantaneous, a humiliating betrayal of her body.
“David, I…”
“It’s a simple question, Ellie.” He pushed the covers back. He was wearing pajama pants. A distinct, solid bulge tented the soft flannel. “You took my medication, gave it to another man, and fucked him with it. I think I deserve to know if it was good.”
The crude language from his mouth, so unlike him, sent a jolt through her. The damp spot on her underwear widened. “It was… overwhelming.”
“That’s not an answer.” He swung his legs out of bed and stood. He walked toward her, not with aggression, but with a quiet purpose that was more frightening. He stopped close enough for her to smell his toothpaste, his familiar skin, and beneath it, the faint, clean scent of his own arousal. “Did you come? On his big, hard, pill-fueled cock?”
“Yes.” The word was a whisper.
“More than once?”
“Yes.”
He reached out and took the strap of her purse from her slack hand. He opened it, rummaged with calm efficiency, and pulled out the small blue bottle. He held it up, the pills rattling softly like a promise.
“Give me one,” he said.
“David, I don’t know if—”
“Give me one,” he repeated, his voice low and final. “You wanted this. Now it’s my turn. I want to give what my wife needs. I want to fuck you until you forget what his dick felt like.”
Every word was a match tossed on the kindling of her chemically-altered libido. Her knees felt weak. A hot gush of fluid escaped her, soaking through her pants, a dark patch spreading on the fabric. She could smell her own excitement, musky and ripe.
She took the bottle with trembling fingers, shook out a single pill. He took it from her palm, his fingers brushing her skin, then dry-swallowed it with a grimace.
They stood there, in the lamplight, waiting. He watched her face. She watched his body.
It began quicker than last time. A flush climbed his neck. His breathing deepened. The bulge in his pajamas grew more pronounced, straining against the seam. He reached down and adjusted himself, a slow, deliberate gesture. His eyes never left hers.
“Take your clothes off,” he said. “Let me see what all the fuss is about.”
Her hands shook as she complied. The shirt. The bra. Her full, sensitive breasts spilled free, the nipples already taut and aching. Then the pants, the soaked underwear. She stepped out of them, naked and exposed under the lamp’s intimate glare.
David’s gaze was a physical touch. It roamed over her enlarged breasts, the dark, dramatic circles of her areolas. It traveled down her belly, now softly rounded, and settled between her legs. His expression shifted from curiosity to stark, hungry fascination.
“My God,” he breathed. He crouched down, getting eye-level with her sex. “Look at you.”
Eleanor looked down. Her labia, once a simple fold, were now a complex, swollen landscape of deep pink and burgundy flesh. The inner lips, thick and ruffled, protruded visibly, glistening with a constant sheen of her own lubrication. As she stood still, a clear bead welled up from her opening and traced a slow path down her inner thigh.
David reached out a single finger and touched the very edge of that protruding flesh. It was an electric shock. Her whole body jolted. A low, needy sound crawled from her throat.
“It’s like a different part of you,” he murmured, almost to himself. He spread the folds gently with his thumbs, revealing the dripping, flushed interior. The muscle there fluttered, a hungry, involuntary pulse. “It’s gorgeous. It’s fucking voracious.”
He stood up suddenly. The pill was working in full force now. His pupils were dilated, his jaw tight. He shoved his pajamas down. His cock sprang free, already fully erect, thick and veined. It wasn’t grotesquely enlarged like Mark’s had been, but it was harder than she’d ever seen it, the head a dark, flushed purple. Pre-come already smeared the tip.
“On the bed,” he commanded, his voice rough. “On your back. I want to watch it take me.”
She scrambled onto the mattress, lying back, spreading her legs. The newly abundant flesh of her labia settled against her thighs, openly presenting her. David knelt between her legs, his cock hovering at her entrance. He looked from her face to her cunt, his expression one of intense, almost clinical concentration.
“Tell me you want it,” he said.
“I want it,” she gasped. “Please, David. I need it.”
He didn’t sheath himself in one smooth motion. He pressed just the broad head against her dripping opening, testing the give of her new, intricate flesh. He rubbed it up and down, coating himself in her slickness, spreading her outer lips, teasing the swollen, hyper-sensitive nubs that framed her entrance. The sensation was maddening.
With a sharp, controlled thrust, he buried the first few inches. Eleanor cried out. The fit was different from Mark’s—it was her husband, a familiar shape, but the pill’s effect made him feel bigger, harder, more insistent. Her altered internal walls clung to him instantly, rippling in a frantic welcome.
“Fuck,” David hissed, his composure cracking. “You’re so goddamn tight. And wet. Jesus, you’re dripping all over me.”
He began to fuck her in earnest. Not with romantic passion, but with a driven, experimental rhythm. He pulled almost all the way out, watching her stretched, glistening opening cling to him, then slammed back in to the hilt. The wet, slapping sounds filled the room. Each thrust forced a squelch of fluid from her overfilled channel.
“Is this what you wanted?” he grunted, his hips pistoning. “This relentless fuck? Your greedy little transformed pussy getting stuffed for hours?”
“Yes! Yes, god, yes!” she screamed, the words torn from her. Her hands clawed at the sheets. Her breasts shook with each powerful drive of his body. Her climax was building already, a terrifyingly short fuse. Her cunt clenched around him in rapid, milking pulses.
“You come when I say,” he ordered, sensing it. He slowed, torturing her with deep, grinding circles. “Not yet. You waited for this. You’ll wait for my say-so.”
He shifted her legs over his shoulders, bending her almost double. The new angle was devastating. His cockhead rubbed directly against a deep, spongy patch of electrified nerves she hadn’t known she possessed. She whimpered, her body vibrating on the edge.
“Please, David, let me come, I can’t…”
“Now,” he snarled.
The permission unleashed her. Her orgasm was a silent, seismic event. Her back arched off the bed, her mouth open in a soundless scream. Her cunt convulsed in a series of brutal, clamping spasms, drenching his cock and balls in a hot flood of her release. The contractions seemed to go on and on, milking him, pulling at him.
It triggered his own climax. With a guttural roar, he plunged deep and held, his body rigid. Hot jets of come erupted inside her, pulse after pulse, filling the spaces her clenching walls created. It felt endless. It mixed with her own copious fluids, a hot, overflowing seal between their bodies.
He collapsed onto her, spent, but his cock, buried inside her, remained obstinately, rock-hard.
His weight was a comfort, a familiar anchor, but the rigid persistence of his cock inside her was a bizarre, thrilling counterpoint. She felt his heart hammer against her breast, felt his breath hot on her neck, but beneath that, the unchanging hardness. It was a live wire. A demand.
“Don’t stop,” she whispered into his ear, her voice husky. Her hips gave a tentative, upward rock, taking him a fraction deeper. The movement made her newly complex inner walls clutch and ripple around his shaft. “Please, David. Keep fucking me. I can feel you… I can feel you...”
He pushed himself up on his elbows, looking down at where their bodies were joined. His cock was still buried to the root, glistening with their mixed fluids. As he watched, Eleanor deliberately flexed her internal muscles, a slow, milking squeeze that traveled from her entrance to her deepest point.
“Christ,” he muttered. His hips twitched in response, a shallow, instinctive thrust. “It won’t quit.”
“Then don’t you quit,” she urged, her hands sliding down to grip his ass, her nails digging in. “Use me. My cunt is made for this now. It wants to milk you dry. It needs to.”
Her words, filthy and direct, acted like a spur. A fresh, determined energy seemed to course through him, overriding the fatigue. He began to move again, not with the frantic pace of his climax, but with a deep, grinding persistence. Each stroke was a full, wet withdrawal followed by a solid, bottoming-out drive. The sounds were obscenely liquid, a squelching rhythm that echoed in the quiet room.
Eleanor met each thrust, lifting her hips, wrapping her legs around his waist to pull him deeper. Her body was a symphony of overstimulation—the ache in her breasts, the raw, delicious friction on her swollen labia, the profound fullness stretching her inner channel. Her consciousness began to fragment, splitting between sensation and a sudden, icy clarity.
The white pills made me hungry for it. Desperate. David’s cock pistoned into her, hitting a spot that made her vision blur. But they didn’t change my body.
Her own hips rose to meet his, her heels driving into the small of his back. “Right there, fuck, just like that!” The raw need in her voice was real, a product of the blue pill in him and whatever chemical cascade still ruled her system.
The red pill did that. His balls slapped against her, a wet, rhythmic percussion. The red pill made my tits heavy. It made my pussy this… this complicated, dripping thing.
“Harder,” she begged, her head thrashing on the pillow. “Fill me up. I want to feel you in my guts.” She was so wet it was a slick flood, every thrust sending a spatter across their thighs.
Mark took a blue pill. It made him hard. It made him want it. David’s pace increased, his breath coming in ragged grunts. Sweat dripped from his forehead onto her chest. David took a blue pill. He’s hard. He’s lasting. But he’s not bigger.
The realization cut through the haze of pleasure like a shard of glass. It was a cold, logical thought born in a furnace of fucking. Her eyes flew open, locking onto David’s face, clenched in effort. “David.”
“What?” he panted, not breaking rhythm. His thrusts were becoming jagged, needy.
“The pills. The one you just took. They’re blue.”
“Yeah,” he grunted, driving into her. “So?”
“My pills were different.” Her words came between gasps. He was hitting a devastating rhythm now, his cockhead battering a deep, electric cluster of nerves with every plunge. “I had white ones first. For the hunger. Then… then red ones.”
David slowed, just for a second, his body still welded to hers. He was listening. His cock pulsed inside her, a thick, impatient reminder of the current reality.
“The white ones just made me want it,” she rushed on, her fingers clutching his shoulders. “But the red ones… my body… this happened after the red ones.” She rolled her hips, making her altered cunt grip him tightly, demonstrating the new, milking flesh. “You see? The blue ones keep you hard. The red ones… change you.”
He stopped moving entirely, holding himself deep, a statue of flesh and tension. His eyes, dark and dilated, searched hers. The implication hung in the air, thicker than the scent of sex.
“You think…” he started, his voice rough. “You think if I took a red one…”
“It might do for you what it did for me.” The idea was terrifying. It was electrifying. Her vagina clenched around him in a spasmodic, greedy pulse, drenching his imprisoned cock in fresh fluid. “It might not just keep you hard. It might… make you more.”
A low, animal sound rumbled in his chest. The competitive spark she’d seen earlier blazed into a full fire. He looked from her face to her breasts, to the obscenely lavish flesh of her sex currently sheathing him. He imagined symmetry. He imagined growth.
“Do you have one?” he asked, his voice deadly serious. His hips gave one slow, purposeful roll, grinding his hard cock against her most sensitive spot. “A red pill.”