Chapter 18: Comparison
The quiet was a living thing, stretching between them on the rumpled sheets. Mark’s fingers traced idle patterns on her hip, over the curve where bone used to be more prominent. Ellie could feel The Hummingbird’s contented purr resonating inside her, a deep, cellular satisfaction. Her cockette lay soft against her thigh, a spent, sensitive thing. But the core of her, the wet, stretched heart of her, still belonged to the artifact.
“Ellie,” Mark murmured, his lips moving against her shoulder. His voice was sleep-rough, but there was a tension in it. A wanting. “Can you… can you take it out?”
Her entire body went still. The Hummingbird’s hum didn’t change, but she felt a subtle internal shift, a coiling attentiveness.
“Why?” she asked, though she knew.
“I want to feel you.” His hand slid around to her stomach, pressing flat over her lower abdomen. “Just you. I want to be inside you. Properly.”
Properly. The word landed with a dull thud. As if what they’d just done, what she’d become, was improper. A hot spike of defiance flared in her chest, mingled with a sudden, aching want of her own. She missed the simple pressure of a cock in her cunt. Not the endless, clever vibrations, but the blunt, human friction. She wanted Mark there. She wanted to feel him lose himself in her.
The Hummingbird stirred. It seemed to consider.
“Uh... I'm not sure,” Ellie whispered, but it was a lie. She felt it begin to move.
It wasn’t her doing. There was no clench of expulsion. It was a slow, deliberate retreat, a silken withdrawal that made her gasp. The Hummingbird clearly seemed to think Mark's suggestion was a good idea. It slid out of her with an obscene, wet sound, inch by impossible inch, a sensation of emptiness opening up in its wake that was both relief and profound loss.
It plopped onto the duvet between her legs with a soft, weighty thump.
Mark made a sound—a sharp inhalation cut short. He pushed himself up on one elbow, his eyes fixed on the bed. His face cycled through expressions: curiosity, surprise, and finally, a dawning, sickened awe.
“What…” he breathed.
Ellie looked down.
The Hummingbird lay on the white cotton, glistening with her fluids. It was no longer the modest, vibrantly carved toy she’d first discovered. Nor was it the thick, filling presence she’d grown accustomed to. This was something else.
It had retracted, yes. But it was still monstrous.
Sleek and tapered, it was longer than any man’s forearm, a twisted root veined with that living silver. Eighteen inches at least. Thick at the base, easily the circumference of a soda can, narrowing to a blunt, bulbous head. It pulsed gently, a faint light moving under its surface like a slow heartbeat.
It had been inside her. All of it. Buried to the hilt in the depths of her belly. The physics of it made her head swim. The anatomy of it should have been impossible.
“Jesus Christ, Ellie,” Mark whispered, his voice hollow. “That was… that was all in you?”
She couldn’t tear her eyes away from it. A perverse pride swelled in her, hot and dark. She had taken that. Her body had opened for it, had been remade by it. The ache between her legs was a testament. “Yeah,” she said, her own voice strange. “It was.”
She reached out, not to take it, but to touch it. Her fingers traced the slick, warm surface. It hummed under her touch, a greeting. It felt like a part of her, newly severed.
Mark watched her touch it, his arousal visibly warring with a deep-seated revulsion. He shook his head, as if to clear it. “I just… I need you. Now.”
The need in his voice broke the spell. She nodded, pushing the artifact aside with the back of her hand. It rolled, compliant, to rest against her thigh, a silent observer.
She rolled onto her back, spreading her legs. The air felt cool on her slick, open flesh. She felt empty in a way that was desperate, hungry. “Then fuck me, Mark. Please.”
He didn’t need more invitation. He moved between her knees, his hands rough on her thighs, pushing them wider. His cock was hard, jutting from his sweats, flushed and human. Beautifully human. He looked from her face to her weeping cunt, then back to the alien thing lying beside her hip.
“Look at me,” Ellie commanded, grabbing his face. “Just me.”
He nodded, a frantic motion, and positioned himself. The broad head of his cock nudged against her entrance, and she was so wet, so impossibly open from The Hummingbird’s occupation, that he slid in with one smooth, devastating stroke.
“Fuck!” they groaned in unison.
The feeling was exquisite in its simplicity. He was hot, solid, real. He filled the void, but differently—his length was a known quantity, his thickness a familiar stretch. She wrapped her legs around his waist, heels digging into the small of his back, pulling him deeper.
“God,” he panted, already starting to move. “So fucking open.”
He set a hard, driving pace, each thrust punching a soft grunt from her lungs. This was rutting, pure and simple. The bed rocked against the wall with a rhythmic thud. Ellie met him thrust for thrust, her nails scoring his shoulders. She could feel every ridge, every vein of him. It was glorious.
But it wasn’t enough.
The ghost of The Hummingbird’s vibrations still danced in her nerves. The memory of its total fullness haunted her. As Mark fucked her, her hand strayed to the side, her fingers closing around the warm, pulsing base of the discarded artifact.
Mark saw. His rhythm faltered. “Ellie…”
“Don’t stop,” she gasped, tightening her legs around him. “Just fuck me.”
She brought The Hummingbird’s head to her lips. She didn’t think about it; she was operating on a deeper, hungry instinct. She licked it, tasting herself, tasting its strange, electric sweetness. Then she took the bulbous tip into her mouth.
A low, metallic hum vibrated through her skull, down her spine. It was submitting to her. Letting her use it.
Mark watched, his hips stuttering, his cock buried inside her, as she began to suck on the magical dildo. Her cheeks hollowed, her tongue working along its unnatural length. The obscenity of it, the raw filth, seemed to electrify him. A choked sound escaped him, and he started moving again, harder, faster, his thrusts becoming brutal, punishing.
“You filthy girl,” he rasped, his voice breaking. “Sucking that thing while I’m in you…”
She felt her orgasm approaching, a tidal wave gathering force from two different seas. She released The Hummingbird from her mouth with a wet pop, crying out. “I’m gonna come! Mark, make me come!”
He slammed into her, once, twice, three times, and then his whole body went rigid. A hoarse shout was torn from his throat as he came, hot jets flooding her, his cock pulsing deep inside her womb.
The feeling of his climax, so human, so vulnerable, triggered her own. Her back arched off the bed, a silent scream stretching her lips. Her cunt clamped down on him in rhythmic, milking spasms, and The Hummingbird, still in her hand, erupted into a frantic, buzzing crescendo, as if sharing her peak, amplifying it, sending shocks through her pelvis that made her vision gray at the edges.
It seemed to last forever.
When it ended, Mark collapsed onto her, spent, his softening cock slipping from her with a gush of spent fluid. The Hummingbird fell silent in her slack hand.
They lay there, a tangle of limbs and sweat and come. The only sound was their ragged breathing.
Mark turned his head. His eyes were on The Hummingbird, now lying inert between them. His expression was no longer one of awe or revulsion, but of something colder. A kind of grim understanding.
“It’s not just a toy, is it?” he said quietly.
Ellie followed his gaze. The artifact looked innocuous now, just a strange, oversized silicone shape. But she could still feel the echo of its will in her muscles, the memory of its taste on her tongue. She felt more claimed than ever.
“No,” she whispered to the darkened ceiling. “It’s not.”
And in the silence, she felt it watching them. Waiting.