Chapter 15: The Unholy Union
The walk to Mark’s bookstore was an exercise in surreal humility. Every step sent a deep, internal jolt through Ellie’s permanently occupied cunt. The Hummingbird wasn’t just inside her; it was seemingly a part of her, a thick, vibrating pillar around which her pelvis had reconfigured itself. Its weight was immense, a constant, grounding pull that forced her to walk with her feet slightly wider, a slow, rolling gait that felt both obscene and powerfully stable. Her jeans, the only pair that didn’t constrict the new, slight fullness of her lower belly, were already damp at the crotch. A slow, continuous seep of lubricant kept her inner thighs slick.
She pushed open the bookstore’s heavy oak door, the bell jingling a quaint, normal sound that clashed violently with the hum in her bones.
The smell of old paper, dust, and sandalwood incense hit her. It was a smell that had always meant safety, quiet, Mark’s kind smile. Now, it felt like a museum exhibit of a life she’d outgrown.
“Ellie?” His voice came from behind a stack of art history folios. He emerged, wiping his hands on a cloth, his glasses slightly askew. His smile was warm, genuine. Then it faltered. His eyes, quick and observant, scanned her. They didn’t go to her chest or her face, but seemed to take in her posture, the new heaviness in her hips, the flushed sheen on her skin. “You look… different. Are you okay?”
“Yeah,” she said, her voice lower than she intended. “Just… trying out some new clothes.” The understatement hung in the air, thick and ludicrous.
As his gaze fully met hers, The Hummingbird reacted.
It wasn’t a pulse. It was a convulsion. A violent, deep-throated vibration that slammed through her fused channel, making her knees buckle. She grabbed the edge of a bookshelf, her knuckles white. A fresh, hot gush of slick flooded her panties, soaking through the denim. She felt her cockette, trapped and straining, throb painfully against its confines.
Mark’s eyes widened. “Whoa. You sure you’re okay? You just went white.”
He took a step closer, concern overriding his natural caution. The vibration intensified into a demanding, possessive buzz. It recognized him. It wanted him. It was using her body as a targeting system.
“Fine,” she gasped, the word tight. The hum was translating into a desperate, physical ache. Her transformed cunt, so perfectly molded to the toy inside, was now clenching around it, begging for friction, for use, for something other. The hollow feeling, the phantom emptiness, was back with a vengeance, directed squarely at the man in front of her. “Just… felt dizzy.”
“Sit down,” he said, guiding her by the elbow toward a threadbare armchair in the poetry section. His touch was electric. The hum became a snarl. Her cunt dripped.
She sank into the chair, the position driving the base of The Hummingbird even deeper. She bit back a moan. Mark pulled a wooden stool over, sitting close, his knee almost brushing hers.
“You’ve been avoiding me,” he said gently, not accusatory. “I’ve been worried.”
“I’ve been… busy,” Ellie breathed, her mind fogging with need. She could smell him—soap, paper, a hint of coffee. It was clean. Human. It made the thing inside her scream with hunger. Her confidence, usually a hidden flame, was now a visible, predatory glow. She looked at him, really looked, seeing the delicate skin of his throat, the way his Adam’s apple bobbed when he was nervous. She saw a man, not just Mark.
“Busy with what?” he asked, a faint, hopeful smile touching his lips. “New hobby?”
“You could say that.” She leaned forward, the movement intentional. The neckline of her shirt gaped. She saw his eyes flicker down, then back to her face, a blush creeping up his neck. The Hummingbird purred its approval. “It’s a hands-on kind of hobby. Very… immersive.”
He blinked, thrown by her tone. This wasn’t shy Ellie. This was someone with a secret, and the secret was throbbing between her legs. “Yeah? Like pottery?”
She let out a short, sharp laugh. “No. Not like pottery.” She held his gaze, her own unblinking. “It’s about remodeling. About making space for something that fits perfectly.”
Her hand, seemingly of its own volition, came to rest on her own lower belly, pressing down. She saw his gaze follow it, saw the confusion and dawning, bewildered arousal in his face. He could smell her now, she realized. The lavender was gone, burned away by the musk of her endless, magical arousal.
“Ellie, what’s going on?” he whispered, his voice husky.
“I want to show you,” she said, the decision crystalizing in the furnace of her need. She stood up, the movement fluid, powerful. She took his hand. His skin was warm, slightly rough. “In the back room.”
“The back room is a mess, I—” he started, but she was already leading him, pulling him with a strength that surprised them both. The hum was a guide now, a compass needle pointing toward conquest.
She pushed open the door to the cluttered storage room. Fluorescent light flickered over boxes of unsorted paperbacks. In the center was a heavy wooden table, littered with catalogues and a dusty, unplugged typewriter. She released his hand, turned to face him, and leaned back against the table’s edge.
“Lock the door,” she said.
He stared, paralyzed by desire and shock. “Ellie, I don’t think—”
“Lock the fucking door, Mark.”
The command, filthy and absolute, broke his hesitation. He fumbled with the bolt, the click echoing in the sudden silence. When he turned back, she was unbuttoning her jeans.
She pushed them down over her hips, along with her soaked panties. The cool air hit her, but did nothing to quell the heat. She stood before him, naked from the waist down. Her public hair was glistening. Her new cockette stood rigid, angry red, dripping steadily onto the floor. Below, her cunt was a gaping, slick opening, the obsidian base of The Hummingbird visibly seated within her, fused to her swollen, dark pink flesh.
Mark made a sound, a choked-off gasp. He wasn’t repulsed. He was mesmerized. His eyes were huge behind his glasses, his mouth slack. “What… what is that?” he finally managed, pointing a trembling finger.
“It’s me,” she said simply. “This is me now.” She spread her legs wider, a vulgar, deliberate display. The opening wept. “It’s hungry, Mark. And it wants you.”
He stumbled forward, drawn in by a gravity he couldn’t comprehend. He fell to his knees before her, his face level with her transformed sex. The scent overwhelmed him—musky, sweet, deeply animal. He reached out a shaking hand, then hesitated.
“Can I… touch it?”
“You’d better.”
His fingertips, feather-light, brushed the shaft of her cockette. She hissed, bucking into his touch. He wrapped his hand around it, his grip tentative, then firmer as he felt it pulse. He’d never touched a woman like this. He’d never imagined it. He began to stroke, his movements awkward, then gaining rhythm as he watched her face contort in pleasure.
“Yeah, just like that,” she grunted, her head falling back. “Now taste it.”
He didn’t need to be told twice. He leaned in, his tongue swiping tentatively at the leaking slit. The flavor was complex, salty, addictive. He took the head into his mouth, sucking gently.
The sensation was unreal. It wasn’t like having her clit licked. It was a direct, linear feed of pleasure up into her core. She tangled her hands in his hair, fucking his mouth in short, sharp thrusts. “Deeper, you scholarly fuck. Take it.”
He gagged, then relaxed his throat, letting her slide deeper, his nose buried in her pubic hair. He was hard, painfully so, straining against his chinos.
She pulled his head back by his hair. “Enough. Stand up. Fuck me.”
He rose, fumbling with his belt, his hands clumsy. His cock sprung free, thick and veined, beautifully, normally human. It was nothing compared to The Hummingbird, but it was what her body was screaming for right now—a living, breathing cock.
She turned, bending over the table, sweeping catalogues to the floor with a crash. She presented herself to him, her open, dripping cunt, the alien base of the toy glistening within her. “Now. Do it.”
He stared at the impossible geometry of her — the dark, fused base of The Hummingbird occupied her completely, a polished obsidian plug sealing her cunt.
“Ellie, I can’t…” he stammered, his hips making an aborted thrust. His cock slid along the slick groove between her ass cheeks instead. “Should I… take it out?”
“No!” Her voice was a whip-crack, tense and absolute. The very idea sent a ripple of protective panic through the hum in her core. Removing it was unthinkable, a violation deeper than any fuck. “It stays.” She arched her back further, pushing her ass up into the air. A fresh string of lubricant dribbled from her stuffed cunt down her thigh. “Fuck my ass, Mark.”
The command hung in the dusty air. He paused, his mind reeling at the crude demand, at the sheer logistical filth of it. His eyes traveled from the glistening, monstrous fullness of her pussy to the tight, untouched pucker above it.
He spit into his palm, a rough, wet sound, and slicked himself. He guided his head to her other hole, the pressure blunt and unfamiliar. Ellie’s cockette gave a violent, anticipatory twitch, drooling onto the catalogues below.
“Just push,” she growled, her knuckles white on the table edge. “I’m ready for it.”
He pushed. The resistance was fierce, a tight, hot ring of muscle clenching against the intrusion. He groaned, forcing himself forward with a steady, relentless pressure he didn’t know he possessed. Ellie cried out, a sharp, broken sound that was equal parts pain and triumph.
Her body yielded, accepting him with a sudden, shocking give. He slid inside, buried to the hilt in a single, deep stroke. The sensation was overwhelmingly tight, a scorching, vice-like grip that milked his cock.
“Oh, god,” he panted, stunned by the heat.
For Ellie, the feeling was seismic. The fullness was total, a dual occupancy. The deep, vibrating mass of The Hummingbird in her cunt and the thick, living stretch of Mark in her ass created a pressure so complete it bordered on agony. A sublime, burning agony. She could feel every vein of his cock pressed against the thin wall separating her channels.
“Move,” she choked out.
He pulled back and thrust, setting a slow, deep rhythm. The sound was wet, filthy, a sticky squelch punctuated by his grunts and her ragged breaths. Each drive forward made the toy inside her shift minutely, its vibrations massaging him through her internal walls.
Her cockette, trapped between her belly and the table, throbbed in time with his strokes. Pre-cum pooled beneath her in a sticky puddle. The sheer degenerate rightness, coiled her orgasm tighter.
“You feel that?” she gasped, her voice distorted against the wood. “That’s it… that’s the fucking toy. It’s humming for you.”
He fucked her harder, losing his scholarly caution in a brutal, driving pace. The table scraped across the floor with every thrust. He reached around, his hand finding her leaking cockette, and his rough, calloused fingers wrapped around it.
The dual stimulation shattered her. His hand jerking her raw, alien flesh while his cock plundered her ass was too much. The orgasm tore through her with no warning, a silent, breathless seizure.
Her ass clamped around him in rhythmic, punishing spasms. Her cockette pulsed, and a weak, hot stream shot out, pattering onto the floor. The Hummingbird inside her roared to life, its vibrations escalating into a frantic, celebratory pitch that shook her teeth.
Mark shouted, his own control obliterated by the feeling of her convulsing around him. He came deep inside her ass, his thrusts turning erratic, filling the already-packed channel. He collapsed over her back, spent, his cock still twitching inside her as the last waves of his climax subsided.
Silence, except for their heaving breaths and the relentless, contented hum. He slowly pulled out, a soft, wet sound in the quiet room. He looked down, dazed, at the evidence of their joining on his softening cock.
Ellie stayed bent over, trembling. A slow, slick mixture of their releases and her own magical lubricant began to leak from her used ass. The Hummingbird’s hum softened, a sated purr. She felt more than rearranged; she felt perfectly occupied in every conceivable way. A dark, pleased smile touched her lips. This was just the beginning of what she could take.