Chapter 34: Rude awakening
Clare woke to a dull, persistent ache, a deep throb that pulsed in time with her heartbeat. It wasn’t the sharp, tearing pain from last night, but a heavy, stretched feeling, as if her pelvis was packed with wet sand. She shifted under the twisted sheets, and something shifted with her—a weight between her legs that was unfamiliar in its heft.
She threw the covers back.
The morning light, gray and unforgiving, fell across her naked body and the thing that had sprouted from it. Her breath caught. It hadn’t receded overnight. It had… consolidated. While she slept, some autonomous process had continued. The length was still there, arcing up from her groin, but it was thicker now, significantly so. The veins were more pronounced, a roadmap of raised blue lines under pale skin. And it was longer. The tip, a dark, flushed purple, rested against her lower abdomen. She had to lift her head to see all of it.
A hysterical bubble of laughter rose in her throat. It was almost comical. A ludicrous, obscene flesh cartoon. She reached down, her fingers curling around it. The heat was immense, a furnace-heat. The girth filled her hand completely, with a solid, dense weight that was both alien and deeply, terrifyingly hers.
Across the bed, Evie stirred, mumbling something into her pillow. She turned, blinked sleep-crusted eyes open, and focused on Clare’s hand, wrapped around the monstrous new reality.
“Oh, fuck no,” Evie breathed, the sleep vanishing from her voice instantly. She pushed herself up on her elbows, her pink hair sticking out in wild tufts. “Clare. What did you do?”
“I didn’t do anything,” Clare said, her voice husky with sleep and awe. She began to stroke, a slow, experimental pull from root to tip. The skin moved smoothly over the rigid core beneath. The sensation was less about direct pleasure and more about the sheer, overwhelming fact of it. “It just… happened. While I was out.”
“Things don’t ‘just happen’ with this anymore!” Evie’s voice climbed, frayed at the edges. “You proved that last night. You fucking willed it. Your subconscious must have been playing architect.”
Clare ignored her, mesmerized by the motion of her own hand. But as she stroked, a separate, hollow ache made itself known. A deep, yearning emptiness from her vagina, ignored and aching. The focus on the external had left the internal neglected. The contrast was acute: the heavy, proud fullness above, and the desperate, clenching vacancy below.
“I need you,” Clare said, her gaze shifting from her cock to Evie’s horrified face. “Not like last night. Not my… this.” She gave her shaft a slight, contemptuous shake. “I need you inside me. The other way. The normal way.”
Evie stared. “That?” she said, pointing a trembling finger at Clare’s impressive erection. “That is the least normal thing I have ever seen. There is no ‘normal way’ anymore, Clare.”
“Evie. Please.” The word was stripped of its usual command. It was raw, almost plaintive. The ache between her legs was deepening into a throbbing need. “I feel… empty. I need to be filled. By you. Use what you have. Fuck me with it. Properly.”
The shift was disorienting. From cold, experimental dominator to a woman begging to be penetrated. Evie looked from Clare’s desperate eyes to the monstrous cock standing at attention, a stark symbol of distorted power, and then to the soft, wet cleft beneath it, glistening with obvious, untouched need.
Her own body responded traitorously. A slick warmth gathered between her legs. The memory of being inside Clare, of that devastating, perfect tightness, surged back, cutting through the horror. Her own cock, which had softened overnight, began to thicken and rise, a heavy, answering call.
“I don’t know if…” Evie started.
“Now,” Clare cut in, the plea hardening back into demand. She rolled onto her back, spreading her legs. The gesture was a grotesque parody of invitation. Her impressive shaft lay along her stomach, a daunting barrier. Beneath it, her sex glistened, pink and swollen and utterly exposed.
Evie moved, driven by a cocktail of dread, desire, and a deep-seated need to connect. She crawled over Clare, her own substantial weight now a familiar burden. She positioned herself between Clare’s thighs, her thick tip nudging against Clare’s entrance. Clare’s own cock pressed against Evie’s abdomen, a hot, rigid line separating them.
“Look at me,” Clare commanded, her blue eyes blazing. “While you do it.”
Evie met her gaze. She pushed forward.
The initial stretch was breathtaking. Clare was tight, desperately so, but slick with her own arousal and the residual, milky fluid from the night before. Evie sank in with a slow, inexorable pressure, a groan torn from both of them. Clare’s back arched off the bed, her head digging into the pillow.
“Yes,” Clare hissed, her nails digging into Evie’s shoulders. “God, yes. All of it. Give me all of it.”
Evie obeyed, sheathing herself completely until their bodies were pressed together, Clare’s absurd length trapped between their stomachs, pulsing with each beat of her heart. Clare felt fantastically, impossibly full. The deep ache was being answered, stretched wide, dominated by the familiar, beloved intrusion of her girlfriend. It was a paradox: being powerfully fucked while in possession of the tool to do the fucking.
“Move,” Clare begged, her composure shattered. “Just fuck me. Hard.”
Evie began to thrust. It was an awkward rhythm at first, the presence of Clare’s own cock between them a strange, lumpy obstacle. But soon, the sheer, physical truth of it took over. The slap of skin, the wet, sucking sounds, the creak of the bedsprings. Evie’s thrusts grew harder, deeper, spurred on by Clare’s ragged, encouraging curses.
“Deeper, you fucking pussy, deeper!” Clare cried, her hips bucking to meet each stroke. “Make me feel it in my throat!”
Evie leaned down, capturing Clare’s mouth in a brutal, biting kiss. She pistoned into her, each drive knocking a gasp from Clare’s lips. The bed frame slammed against the wall in a steady, punishing rhythm. Clare’s hands scrabbled down Evie’s back, grabbing her ass, pulling her deeper, forcing her closer.
The pleasure was a tsunami, building from that deep, filled emptiness. It wasn’t localized; it radiated from her core, suffusing her belly, her thighs, her breasts. Her own cock, smashed between them, throbbed with a sympathetic, frantic energy. The sensations blurred—the stretch of Evie inside her, the pressure of Evie’s body on her own shaft, the biting kisses, the scent of sweat and sex and that faint, ever-present metal.
Clare felt the coil within her winding tighter, impossibly tight. Her cries became broken, wordless sounds. Her heels dug into the small of Evie’s back. “I’m gonna… fuck, Evie, I’m gonna…”
Her orgasm wasn’t a cresting wave. It was a detonation.
It erupted from her vagina first, a series of violent, clenching spasms around Evie’s driving cock. But almost simultaneously, her own swollen shaft twitched, then jerked violently against Evie’s stomach. And then, just like the night before, a gush of warm, thick, opaque fluid surged from her—not from the tip of her cock, but from her vagina, around Evie’s pistoning length. It was a copious, sudden flood, soaking Evie’s thighs and the sheets beneath them with its strange, milky emission.
Evie cried out, the sensation of the hot liquid spill triggering her own climax. She buried herself to the hilt, pulsing deep inside Clare as Clare’s body continued to shudder and drip.
For a long minute, there was only the sound of their heaving breaths and the slow drip of fluid onto the mattress.
Clare lay ruined, boneless, staring at the water stain on the ceiling. The heavy weight on her stomach was already softening, shrinking slightly, but it was still there, a permanent-seeming fact. The empty ache was gone, replaced by a sore, satisfied fullness. And a sticky, cooling wetness everywhere.
Evie collapsed beside her, her own body trembling with aftershocks. She stared at the opaque, pearlescent mess on her thigh.
She propped herself up on an elbow, looking down at Evie’s spent body, at her own softening, but still alarmingly large, cock. “You made me come so hard,” she said, almost to herself. Then her eyes flicked to Evie’s own considerable equipment. “Do you think… could you do it? Could you make yours grow, like I can?”
Evie followed her gaze to her own flesh, now limp and heavy. The thought of consciously urging it to become even larger, even more monstrous, made her stomach turn. “I don’t want to,” she whispered.
“That’s not what I asked,” Clare said, her tone sharpening. “I asked if you could.”
“I don’t know!” Evie snapped, pulling the stained sheet over herself. “And I don’t fucking care! Look at you, Clare!” She gestured wildly at Clare’s groin. “How are you going to put a suit on over that? How are you going to walk into court? What happens when you get a hard-on during a deposition?”
Clare’s face went still. The euphoria of the orgasm and the thrill of discovery evaporated, leaving the cold, sharp reality of the world outside their contaminated bedroom. She looked down at herself. The softened length was still the size of a respectable, flaccid penis. It wouldn’t tuck away. It wouldn’t hide. It would bulge obscenely against any trousers. A sudden, vivid image flashed in her mind: standing before a judge, her custom-tailored suit pants tenting prominently, unmistakably.
A bolt of pure, unadulterated terror, the first genuine fear she’d felt since this began, shot through her. It wasn’t fear of the thing itself, but of its consequences. Of the world seeing.
Her hand went to it protectively, not with pride this time, but with a frantic need to conceal. “I… I can control it,” she said, but her voice lacked all conviction. “I made it grow. I can make it shrink.”
She closed her eyes, focusing all her will, all her mental energy, on the image of receding, of drawing back, of becoming small and hidden and flat. She pushed with her mind, straining.
Nothing happened.
She tried again, her brow furrowed in intense concentration. The soft weight in her hand remained. Unchanged.
Her eyes flew open, meeting Evie’s. In Evie’s face, she saw her own dawning panic reflected back, magnified.
“Oh, god,” Clare breathed. The horror was no longer abstract. It had a shape, a weight, and a very real, very immediate deadline: her 9:30 AM meeting with the firm’s partners. Her head swam, a dizzy cocktail of adrenaline and dread. She looked at the clock on the nightstand: 7:47 AM.
“I can’t go like this,” she whispered, her voice brittle. Her gaze darted around the ruined room as if searching for a sartorial solution among the used condoms and empty lube bottles. A hysterical thought bubbled up: a very, very loose skirt. But even then, the weight, the movement…
“Maybe…” Evie began, hesitant, pushing her own panic down. “Maybe you call in sick? A migraine?”
“I have a prima facie hearing today, Evie. I can’t.” Clare’s mind, that brilliant, analytical engine, was clicking through possibilities at a terrifying speed. Her eyes landed on her own body, on the pendulous, softened flesh between her legs. Then they dropped lower, to the wet, aching entrance just beneath it. A terrible, salacious idea took root. It was obscene. It was absolutely insane.
It was also the only logical solution she could see.
“Help me up,” Clare said, her voice suddenly devoid of all emotion.
Evie, confused, took her hand and helped her stand. Clare’s legs were unsteady. The unfamiliar mass swung heavily, a grotesque pendulum. She looked down at it, then at her own vagina. “It needs to go somewhere,” she stated, as if discussing a misplaced file. “If it won’t shrink, it needs to be… stored.”
“Stored?” Evie’s voice was a squeak. “Clare, what are you talking about?”
Instead of answering, Clare reached down. With a surgeon’s cold focus, she took her own softened, but still substantial, cock in her hand. She guided the flaccid tip toward her own vaginal opening, glistening from their earlier sex. Evie’s breath caught in her throat, a choked-off sound of disbelief.
Clare pushed. The head, broad and soft, pressed against her own slick entrance. There was resistance, a tight, shocking pressure. She bore down, a low grunt escaping her lips. With a wet, intimate sound, the head of her own cock began to disappear into her body. She watched, mesmerized, as she fed herself into herself. It was a deeply wrong act of self-penetration, a folding of a mutant anatomy that defied all sense.
Evie stood frozen, her hand over her mouth. The sight was more transgressive than anything that had come before. This wasn’t passion or power-play. This was a cold, clinical act of hiding. Clare’s face was a mask of intense concentration, her jaw tight. She worked more of the length inside, her fingers slick with her own fluids. The stretch was immense, a full, blunt pressure that made her vision swim. She could feel the dual sensations: the internal pressure of being filled, and the tactile feeling of her own hand pushing the flesh deeper.
Finally, it was done. The entire length was contained within her. From the outside, she looked almost normal again, save for a profoundly swollen, distended mound and a deep, unnatural fullness that made her stand with her legs slightly apart. She took a cautious step. The weight inside her shifted, a bizarre internal sliding. She took another.It slipped. With a wet, sucking plop, the entire length slid out of her, falling free to slap against her thigh. Clare let out a sharp cry of frustration.
“Fuck!” she hissed, grabbing it before it could swing. Her heart hammered against her ribs. The clock read 8:03. “It’s not… it’s not long enough. Or it’s not… anchored. It just falls out.”
Evie could only stare, her mind refusing to process the visual. “So stop.Just call in sick. This is insane.”
“No,” Clare said, the fear in her eyes hardening into something frantic and determined. She looked at the escaped flesh in her hand, then back at the void it needed to fill. Her own body was the problem, and therefore, her own body was the solution. “It just needs to be longer. To go deeper. To… to stay put.”
“Clare, no, you can’t be—”
Clare wasn’t listening. She closed her eyes, blocking out Evie, blocking out the room, the time, the everything. She focused on the heavy, foreign organ in her grasp. She remembered the mental trigger, the specific internal flex that had summoned growth before. But this time, she didn’t envision it growing outward, proud and external.
She envisioned it growing inward.
She pictured the shaft lengthening, not into the air, but tunneling deeper inside her own body, spearing up through her core, an internal column. She willed it with a frantic, desperate intensity.Go in. Go deep.Anchor.
A tremor started in her lower belly, a deep, muscular clench that was wholly alien. The flesh in her hand began to change. It grew warm, then hot. It hardened rapidly, not with arousal, but with a rigid, purposeful solidity. And then it began to lengthen.
“Oh, Jesus,” Evie whispered, backing up until her legs hit the bed.
Clare guided the growing, hardening length back to her entrance. The new growth, fueled by terrified will, was insistent. She pushed the tip inside, and this time, it didn’t stop. It pushed past the initial ring of muscle and kept going, a relentless, internal invasion of her own making. She fed it into herself, inch by impossible inch. Her breathing became ragged, pained gasps. This was not pleasure. This was a brutal, physiological repurposing.
She could feel it inside her, a solid, growing intrusion displacing her internal organs. It pressed deep, past any depth she’d ever known, a shocking fullness that climbed toward her diaphragm. Her free hand flew to her lower abdomen, where she could feel a firm, column-like shape forming beneath her skin. She looked down, her face pale with shock. A subtle, elongated bulge was now visible on her lower belly.
“It’s… it’s inside me,” Clare gasped, her voice thin with pain and awe. “I can feel it… all the way up.”
Evie watched, mute with horror, as Clare continued to guide the last of the external length into herself. Finally, with a final, nauseating push, the root, the very base of her cock, disappeared inside her labia. From the outside, she appeared to have a vastly swollen, tightly stretched vulva. Nothing protruded. It was all contained, a secret architecture of flesh hidden within.
Clare took a shaky breath. She took a step.Then another. The weight was immense, internal, a staggering feeling of carrying a foreign object in her pelvis. But it didn’t fall out. It was anchored, deep within the cradle of her own bones. The pain was a bright, constant line of fire, but it was hidden.
She looked at Evie, her blue eyes wide with triumph and terror. A sheen of cold sweat coated her skin. “It works,” she breathed. “Now… help me get dressed.”