Chapter 19: The Milking
The silence after Mark’s question was thicker than the humidity clinging to their skin. Ellie didn’t answer. She just watched the pulsing silver veins beneath The Hummingbird’s surface, a silent confession.
Mark shifted, pulling away from her slightly. The distance, only inches, felt like a chasm. He sat up, running a hand through his hair. The moonlight caught the sweat on his chest, the scratch marks she’d left.
“We should... talk about this, Ellie.”
“I know,” she said, but her voice was distant. Her focus was internal, tracing the strange, satisfied emptiness inside her. Then, a new sensation began—a faint, gathering tension at the base of her clit, which now felt swollen, more pronounced than ever.
“It’s changing you,” Mark pressed, his voice low. “Look at you. You’re… glowing. And that thing—” He gestured vaguely toward the artifact. “It’s like it's fucking alive, and you’re letting it live in you.”
“It’s not like that,” she started, but the gathering tension suddenly crested. It was an urge, an undeniable pressure, utterly foreign. Her hand flew between her legs, not to her cunt, but to the small, hardness of her cockette. It was throbbing, hot and urgent against her fingers.
“Ellie? What’s wrong?”
“I don’t… I don’t know,” she gasped. Her back arched. It wasn’t pleasure, not exactly. It was a primal need to expel. Her fingers curled around the tiny shaft, and with a choked cry, her hips jerked.
A thin, pearlescent rope of fluid shot from the tip, landing with a warm splash on her own sternum.
Mark froze.
Another spurt followed, then another, striping her breasts and stomach with sticky cum. It wasn’t like Mark’s. It was clearer, shimmering faintly in the low light, and it carried that same ozone-electric scent that now permanently haunted her bedroom.
The final contraction of her cockette coincided with a deeper, more profound opening below. Ellie cried out, her legs falling wide apart as a powerful, involuntary relaxation seized her pelvic floor. Her labia, flushed and slick, seemed to swell and then part, not just open, but bloom—the inner lips unfurling, exposing the dark, glistening red of her vaginal canal in a way that was obscenely flower-like. It gaped, pulsing gently, an undeniable, wet invitation.
The Hummingbird on the sheets beside her began to vibrate, a low, eager frequency that resonated in her bones.
Ellie, her mind hazy with instinct, reached for it. Her tits were painted with her own spend, her cunt was airing itself open for penetration, and all she wanted was to be filled again, to have that perfect, understanding shape back inside the hollow Mark had left.
“No.”
Mark’s hand closed around her wrist, tight. His touch wasn’t gentle.
“Look at me,” he demanded, his voice rough.
“Mark, I need—”
He didn’t ask. He moved, pushing her hand with The Hummingbird aside and leveraging himself over her. His knees shoved her thighs wider. He didn’t bother with preamble. He aimed the thick head of his cock at her exposed, weeping entrance and drove in.
“Fuck! Yes!” Ellie screamed, the sudden fullness scattering her thoughts.
He seemed bigger than he’d been minutes before, or perhaps she was just more sensitized, more animal. He fucked her with a single-minded intensity, each thrust a claiming. His eyes were locked on where they joined, watching the shiny evidence of her own transformation get smeared between them.
He leaned down, capturing one of her nipples in his mouth, licking her own strange cum from her skin. The taste made him groan, a dark, hungry sound that vibrated through her. His pace became erratic, punishing. The bedframe protested with a sharp crack.
Ellie could feel The Hummingbird humming against her hip, a persistent, ignored alarm. She turned her head and saw it. It had grown again, subtly. The veins seemed agitated. As Mark pistoned into her, the artifact began to slowly, deliberately, inch its way across the rumpled sheet toward her splayed hand.
Mark was close. She could feel the telltale twitch deep inside her, the tightening of his balls against her ass.
“Gonna fill you up,” he panted against her throat.
His orgasm hit him, and he buried himself to the hilt, his body locking as he emptied into her with a guttural roar. The heat of his release flooded her, a stark contrast to the cool, electric feel of her own.
The moment he stilled, spent, Ellie’s free hand closed around The Hummingbird. It was hot to the touch, almost vibrating out of its skin.
Mark, breathing heavily, began to soften inside her. He made to pull out.
“Don’t,” Ellie whispered, her free hand clamping on his hip, nails biting. Her other hand tightened around The Hummingbird. Its vibration travelled up her arm, a feverish buzz.
Mark froze, half-withdrawn, his cock slick and glistening. “Ellie?” Confusion warred with the exhaustion in his voice.
She guided his shoulder, pressing him down. “I want your mouth. Now.”
A slow, surprised smile touched his lips, the possessive anger from moments before melting into eager hunger. “Gladly.” He didn’t need telling twice. He shifted, his body slithering down the bed, the scent of their mingled sweat and sex rising around him.
His hands hooked behind her knees, spreading her wider, holding her open. The sight of her, glistening with his own spend and her own strange fluid, made him groan. “Look at you,” he breathed, the words hot against her inner thigh.
Then his tongue was on her, a broad, wet stroke from her perineum up through her soaked folds. He licked into her with a desperate, focused intensity, his nose nudging her small, sensitive cockette. The vibrations from the artifact in her fist seemed to sync with the rhythm of his tongue.
“Oh, god, right there,” Ellie gasped, her hips rolling. His mouth was voracious, sucking her engorged labia, tracing the pulsing entrance of her vagina with deliberate, teasing flicks.
The Hummingbird grew hotter. Its hum pitched higher, a sound felt in her teeth. As Mark’s tongue speared deep inside her, lapping at the combined mess they’d made, the pressure within Ellie coiled into something impossible to contain.
“It’s… Mark, I’m gonna…”
A gush of warm, copious fluid suddenly flooded his mouth, more than arousal, a silken torrent that tasted of minerals and lightning. He coughed, then swallowed greedily, his throat working as he drank her down, his tongue still working frantically to draw out more.
Above him, Ellie’s cockette began to change. It thickened, lengthening against her pubic bone, swelling as it gained another inch of flesh.
Mark pulled back, panting, his lips and chin soaked. He stared, transfixed, at the undeniable anatomy standing firm above her weeping cunt. “Fuck, Ellie. What is it doing?”
“It doesn’t matter,” she moaned, her hand still clenched around the throbbing artifact. “Just don’t stop.”