Chapter 41: Theft
The apartment smelled of stale wine and nervous sweat. Evie was gone, had left an hour earlier for a freelance design job with a mumbled excuse about deadlines, but Clare knew the truth. Evie couldn’t stand to look at her, not after what they’d seen in the lab. The memory of that gaping, empty feeling, that cavern inside her that no ordinary cock could ever hope to fill, was a physical ache. Clare paced, naked, her heavy cock swinging with each step, a constant, taunting reminder.
The buzzer shocked her out of her reverie.
She grabbed a silk robe, not bothering to tie it, and pressed the intercom. “Yeah?”
“Clare? It’s Sophie. You left your case notes at the firm. I was in the neighborhood.” The voice was bright, melodic.
Sophie. The associate from work with the fiery red hair and the quick, suggestive smile. The one Clare had joked about with Evie, back when joking was possible. “Come up,” Clare said, her thumb pressing the door release before her mind could catch up.
When she opened the apartment door, Sophie’s eyes went wide, then dark. She was holding a manila folder, but her gaze was locked lower, on the obvious bulge straining against the dark blue silk of Clare’s robe. The robe had fallen open, revealing a slice of Clare’s stomach and the thick base of her shaft.
“Holy shit, Clare,” Sophie breathed, a slow smile spreading across her face. She stepped inside, letting the door swing shut behind her. “You weren’t kidding.”
“I don’t kid,” Clare said, her voice rough. She took the folder and tossed it on a cluttered table. Her heart hammered against her ribs. This was stupid. Reckless. Evie could come back. She didn’t care.
Sophie’s eyes raked over her. “It looks… bigger than last time. In the copy room.” Her tongue darted out, wetting her lips. “Can I?”
Clare didn’t answer. She just untied the robe and let it slide from her shoulders. It pooled at her feet. She stood there, exposed, the cool air of the apartment raising goosebumps on her skin. Her cock, already semi-hard, thickened under Sophie’s unwavering stare.
“Fuck,” Sophie whispered. She reached out, her fingers trembling slightly, and wrapped them around Clare’s girth. Her hand couldn’t fully close. “Jesus, Clare. It’s grown.”
“It does that,” Clare murmured, watching Sophie’s face. The awe there was a balm, a drug.
Sophie sank to her knees, her red hair a brilliant cascade over her shoulders. She nuzzled the length, inhaling deeply. “God, you smell so good.” She took the head into her mouth without hesitation, her lips stretching into a perfect, pink ‘O’. She sucked, her tongue swirling around the flared ridge.
Clare’s head fell back. A groan tore from her throat. This was simple. Primal. No monitors, no cold metal, just wet heat and a willing mouth. She threaded her fingers through Sophie’s hair, not guiding, just holding on. Sophie took more, her throat working, gagging slightly before relaxing, taking her deeper. Clare watched, mesmerized, as her cock disappeared into the redhead’s mouth, down her throat.
After a few minutes, Sophie pulled off with a wet pop, gasping for air. Her lips were slick and swollen. “I want it inside me,” she said, her voice husky. “I’ve been dreaming about it. I need to feel you split me open again.”
They stumbled into the bedroom, falling onto the unmade bed. Sophie was a frenzy of movement, pulling off her dress, her underwear a scrap of lace discarded on the floor. She was petite, all sharp hips and small, perfect breasts. She sprawled back on the pillows, her legs spread, her cunt already glistening. “Come on, Clare. Fuck me. I want all of it.”
Clare knelt between her thighs. The sight of Sophie’s small, neat opening, pink and fluttering, sent a contradictory thrill through her. It looked so tight. So normal. She pressed the broad head against it, watching it indent the soft flesh. Sophie whimpered, pushing her hips up.
“You’re sure?” Clare asked, though she was already pushing forward.
“Yes! God, yes!”
Clare leaned her weight into it. There was a moment of fierce, delicious resistance. Sophie cried out, her back arching, her nails digging into Clare’s shoulders. Then the head popped inside, and Sophie’s cunt yielded, stretching obscenely around the invading girth. Clare kept pushing, a slow, relentless invasion, feeling every internal fold give way to her. Sophie was panting, her eyes wide, a mixture of pain and ecstasy on her face.
“Oh my god,” Sophie gasped, her body adjusting in shallow tremors. “It’s… deeper. Thicker. I can feel it in my stomach.”
Clare bottomed out, her hips flush against Sophie’s ass. She was buried to the root. She stayed there, letting Sophie feel the full, impossible stretch. “You asked if it could get bigger,” Clare said, her voice a low rumble.
She focused. It was a mental clench, a flexing of a muscle she hadn’t known she possessed. Deep inside her, at the base of her spine, something stirred. A familiar, terrifying warmth pooled.
Inside Sophie, Clare’s cock began to swell.
It started as a subtle thickening, then became a pronounced, relentless expansion. Sophie felt it immediately. Her eyes, already glazed, flew open wider. “Fuck! Clare! What…?” Her words dissolved into a high, broken moan as the flesh within her dilated, pushing her wider, filling spaces that had never been filled.
Clare watched her own cock grow, the veins standing out, the shaft darkening to a deep, angry red. It was bigger than it had been in the copy room. Bigger than it had been yesterday. The serum was still working, still rewriting her.
“You like that?” Clare grunted, beginning to move. She pulled back until just the tip remained, then slammed back in, the newly enlarged girth making the thrust a brutal, reshaping force.
Sophie screamed. It was a raw, unfiltered sound of utter surrender. “Yes! More! Can you… can you get even bigger?”
Clare didn’t answer with words. She pushed harder mentally, channeling that hungry, empty void inside her into the flesh between her legs. Her cock swelled again, another half-inch in girth, the head becoming a bulbous, monstrous thing. Sophie’s body strained to contain it. Her petite frame was stretched taut, her belly slightly rounded with the bulk inside her.
Clare fucked her with a punishing, rhythmic intensity. The bed frame slammed against the wall. Sophie was sobbing now, babbling incoherently, her orgasm building not as a wave but as a sustained, sharp peak that seemed to have no end. Clare’s own pleasure was a distant, secondary thing. The main event was the filling, the brutal occupation of another person’s space. But even as she pistoned into Sophie’s willing, wrecked body, that hollow, echoing ache in her own cunt yawned wider. The contrast was torture.
She collapsed forward, her thrusts becoming erratic, animalistic. With a final, deep grind, she came, flooding Sophie’s depths with a hot, pulsing rush. She stayed inside, panting, as the last of her release pumped into the other woman.
After a long minute, she pulled out. The sight was obscene. Sophie’s cunt gaped, red and used, dripping both of their fluids onto the sheets. It didn’t close. It just remained a pulsing, open circle.
Clare rolled onto her back, staring at the ceiling. The emptiness within her was now a screaming void.
“That was… fucking insane,” Sophie panted beside her, touching herself gingerly. “I feel… ruined.” She said it with awe.
“It doesn’t help,” Clare said, the words flat and cold.
“What?”
“This.” Clare gestured vaguely at her own cock, now slowly softening on her thigh. “Fucking you. It feels good. It feels powerful. But it’s like scratching the wrong itch.” She turned her head to look at Sophie. “What that machine did to me… in the lab. It opened something up. I feel empty all the time now. This,” she squeezed her own softening flesh, “doesn’t touch it.”
Sophie propped herself up on an elbow. “The lab? You went back to that doctor?”
“Evie and I went yesterday.” Clare’s voice was distant. “She had this… device. It went so deep. I came harder than I ever have in my life. And when it pulled out, I felt like a part of me was left behind. A part I need back.” She sat up, swinging her legs off the bed. She walked to her closet, moved a stack of boxes, and pulled out a small, insulated metal case.
She opened it on the bed beside Sophie. Inside, nestled in foam, was a single glass vial filled with a viscous, iridescent liquid that seemed to swirl with its own internal light. Next to it lay a sealed, sterile syringe.
Sophie sat up straight. “What is that?”
“I took it from Sharma’s lab. When she was distracted with her readings.” Clare’s voice was calm, stark. “It’s a concentrated precursor. The stuff that started all this.”
“Why?” Sophie whispered, her arousal now fully replaced by a dawning, fearful intrigue.
“Evie’s cock,” Clare said, picking up the vial and watching the light dance within it. “It’s good. It’s sweet. She tries so hard.” Her knuckles whitened around the glass. “But it’s not enough. It can’t fill this hole that bitch doctor opened up in me. I need more. I need her to be more.”
She turned to Sophie, her blue eyes blazing with a desperate conviction. “I need you to help me inject her with this. Tonight. We’ll tell her it’s a booster, something to stabilize us. She’ll believe it. She’s scared. She’ll do anything to fix this.” Clare’s hand, still holding the vial, trembled. “I need her to be big enough to fuck me proper. Big enough to make me feel full. I need her to break me with it. And you’re going to help.”
Sophie stared at the glowing serum, then at Clare’s face, etched with a yearning that bordered on madness. The air in the room, already thick with sex, now tasted of ozone and irreversible choice.