Chapter 10: Suggestion
Evie swam up from the thick, tar-like depths of a dream about locked doors. Something warm and wet was tracing the line of her hardening cock through the soft cotton of the new boxer-briefs. A hum vibrated through her, a familiar, greedy sound.
She opened her eyes to the grey, rain-washed morning light. The bedroom air was close, tasting of sleep and last night’s sex. Clare’s blonde hair was a spill of gold across Evie’s stomach. She had pushed the sheets down and was nuzzling the firming shape through the fabric, her hands already pulling the waistband down. Evie’s cock sprang free, full and heavy against her belly. It felt achingly sensitive, the skin tight.
“Morning,” Clare mumbled, her voice thick with sleep and desire. She didn’t wait for a response. She took the head into her mouth in one smooth, engulfing motion.
Evie gasped, her back arching off the damp mattress. Clare’s mouth was a slick, hot heaven. Her tongue swirled around the crown, probing the slit, before she began a slow, deep rhythm. She took Evie deeper than she ever had before, her throat working around the thick shaft, her nose buried in the dark pink curls at the base. The obscene, wet sounds filled the quiet room. Clare’s eyes were closed in concentration, a faint furrow between her brows.
“Suck it,” Evie heard herself whisper, the words rough and foreign. Her fingers threaded into Clare’s hair, not guiding, just holding on.
Clare redoubled her efforts. She used her hand at the base, twisting in time with the pulls of her mouth, creating a devastating, coordinated friction. Evie could feel the coiling tension in her groin, a building pressure that was both exquisite and terrifying in its intensity so soon after waking.
“I’m gonna come,” Evie choked out, her hips lifting off the bed.
Clare’s eyes snapped open. They locked with Evie’s, a spark of blue fire. She nodded, a quick, eager jerk of her chin, and increased her pace. Her cheeks hollowed. The vibration of her hungry groan traveled straight up Evie’s spine.
It was too much. The climax ripped through Evie with shocking violence. She cried out, her body seizing. Clare held her deep, swallowing convulsively as the hot pulses shot down her throat. Evie watched, dazed, as Clare’s elegant throat worked, taking every drop. When Evie was spent, Clare finally pulled off with a soft, wet pop. She licked her lips, a slow, deliberate swipe, her gaze never leaving Evie’s face. A thin strand of saliva connected her mouth to Evie’s softening cock for a second before breaking.
“Good,” Clare breathed, her voice wrecked. She kissed Evie’s stomach, her hip, her thigh. But her hand was already moving, circling the base of Evie’s cock, which was already beginning to shrink, to soften in the post-orgasm slump.
Evie felt a wave of dull shame. The magnificent tool Clare had just worshipped was deflating, becoming just flesh again. She tried to shift away. “It’s… it’s done, Clare.”
“No, it’s not,” Clare said, her tone leaving no room for argument. She lowered her head again, not to take Evie in her mouth, but to lick and suck at the flaccid shaft with a relentless, tender brutality. Her tongue was everywhere, teasing, coaxing. Her fingers fondled Evie’s balls, rolling the heavy sac in her palm. She was reactivating her, stoking a fire from cooling embers. It felt impossible, and yet, under that determined, worshipping attention, Evie felt a weak throb. Then another. Blood began to flow back into the spongy tissue, a reluctant re-inflation. It was slower this time, a thick, heavy swelling that felt more like an invasion of her own body than a gift.
Clare watched it happen, her breath quickening. When Evie was fully hard again—thicker, it seemed, darker with engorged blood—Clare let out a shaky sigh of triumph.
“See?” she murmured, crawling up Evie’s body. She straddled her hips, her own nakedness slick and ready. She was always ready now. “It just needs the right attention.”
She didn’t lower herself gently. She reached between her legs, guided Evie’s cock to her entrance, and sank down in one devastating, continuous motion. Her cunt stretched, welcoming the renewed fullness with a wet, sucking sound. Clare threw her head back, a silent scream on her lips as she seated herself fully, taking Evie deeper than seemed possible.
She began to ride, a slow, grinding rhythm that seemed designed to feel every millimeter. Her breasts swayed, her nipples hard peaks. She placed Evie’s hands on them, and Evie squeezed, the flesh yielding and firm.
“Fuck, it’s good,” Clare panted, her movements becoming more urgent. “So fucking good.” But her eyes had a distant, calculative look even as her body shuddered with pleasure. She leaned forward, bracing her hands on Evie’s chest, and changed the angle, taking Evie even deeper. A sharp gasp was torn from her.
“Do you feel that?” Clare asked, her voice husky. “Right there… God.” She rocked, her hips making small, desperate circles. “What if…”
She paused, biting her lip. Her internal muscles clenched rhythmically around Evie’s shaft, a pulse of pure bliss that made Evie groan.
“What if what?” Evie managed to ask, her fingers digging into Clare’s hips.
Clare stilled, though she kept Evie buried inside her. She looked down, her expression one of curious, hungry speculation. “What if it was bigger?”
The words hung in the stale air. They weren't whispered. They were spoken clearly, a clinical inquiry laced with lust.
Evie froze. The pleasure curdled, turning cold and sharp in her gut. “What?”
“Just… think about it,” Clare said, beginning to move again, slower now, thoughtful. “This feels… unbelievable. It’s ruined me for anything else.” She clenched down hard, making Evie gasp. “But what if Dr. Sharma could… I don’t know. Make it grow more.”
She said it like she was discussing a kitchen renovation. More counter space. A bigger island.
“It’s not a fucking plant, Clare,” Evie said, the anger surprising her. She tried to pull out, but Clare tightened around her, holding her captive.
“I know what it is,” Clare said, her voice dropping, turning persuasive, intimate. She leaned close, her lips brushing Evie’s ear. “It’s a part of you now. A beautiful, powerful part. And I love it. I worship it.” She ground down again, a deliberate, stimulating roll of her hips. “I’m just wondering how much more of you there could be. How much more… pleasure.” She kissed Evie’s jaw. “For both of us.”
The argument was seductive, coiled in the very act they were performing. Clare’s cunt squeezed her, a velvet fist promising endless, escalating delight. The ghost of Evie’s old insecurity whispered: She wants more. You’re still not enough.
“Could she?” Clare pressed, her breath hot. “I mean, it was an experimental therapy. There must be parameters. Dosage. Something.” She rode Evie with renewed purpose, as if trying to measure the current dimensions against a hypothetical, superior future. “Imagine it. Thicker. Longer. God, the stretch…” She moaned, her eyes fluttering closed in a fantasy that excluded the present Evie entirely.
Evie felt herself hurtling towards another orgasm, fueled now by a confusing vortex of humiliation, anger, and a terrifying, dark curiosity. The image swam in her head: a more monstrous version of herself, a version that could finally, definitively satisfy Clare’s bottomless hunger. She saw herself as a thing, a bespoke dildo, engineered for a specific purpose.
With a ragged cry that was part despair, part surrender, Evie came. It was a weaker orgasm, spilling into Clare’s grasping heat but leaving a hollow echo in its wake. Clare milked her with a series of practiced, eager contractions before collapsing on top of her, spent.
For a long time, they lay tangled in the damp sheets. Clare traced idle patterns on Evie’s chest. The rain had started again, a soft patter against the window.
“I could call her,” Clare said softly, into the quiet. It wasn’t a question. It was the next logical step in a plan she was already formulating. “Just to inquire. No commitment. Just… information.”
Evie stared at the water-stained ceiling. She felt the weight of Clare on her, the sticky evidence of their coupling cooling between her legs. She felt the unfamiliar heft of her own softened cock against her thigh. Clare’s words echoed: More of you.
Who was she now? The woman with pink hair and glasses who hid in sweaters? Or this new, raw anatomy that her lover wanted to enlarge like a prized asset?
She didn’t answer. She just closed her eyes, letting the sound of the rain fill the silence Clare’s ambition had created. The hunger had been named. And it was no longer just for what Evie was, but for what she might become.