Chapter 23: Genetic Rewriting
The silence stretched, thin and brittle. Mark’s shuddering breaths were the only sound. He remained curled on his side, one hand clutched protectively over his ass, the other gripping his own hair as if to anchor himself to reality. The come on his stomach had begun to cool, sticky and foul.
Ellie stared at the toy in her hand. It felt inert, a mere curiosity. But the proof of its power lay trembling before her. Her own body hummed with residual energy, a phantom echo of the orgasm that had torn through her. She looked at Mark’s changed body—the obscene, flaccid length of him, the raw, stretched ring of muscle—and a hot, shameful thrill coiled in her gut alongside the nausea.
“Mark,” she whispered again. She reached out, her fingers brushing his shoulder.
He flinched violently, scrambling backwards on the mattress until his back hit the wall. “Don’t touch me.” His voice was a shattered thing. “Just… don’t.”
“I’m sorry,” she said, and the words felt pathetically small.
“Sorry?” He let out a broken laugh, his eyes wide and wet. “Look at me, Ellie. Look at what it did. What you let it do.” His gaze dropped to his own cock, resting heavily on his thigh. It was still monstrous, a permanent souvenir. “What the fuck is this?”
“It… it adapts,” she said lamely, pulling her cardigan from the floor and wrapping it around herself, a pointless gesture of modesty. “It gives you what you… what it thinks you want.”
“I didn’t want this!” he shouted, the sound raw in the quiet room. He gestured wildly at himself. “This isn’t me! This is some… some fucking cartoon!”
But even as he said it, a change occurred. A low, sympathetic thrum began to pulse from The Hummingbird where it lay on the rumpled sheets. Not the violent whine from before, but a deep, inviting purr. Mark’s eyes shot toward it. And as Ellie watched, horror and fascination knotting in her throat, his new cock twitched.
It wasn’t a subtle movement. It was a distinct, venous pulse. Then another. The soft flesh began to stiffen, to rise from his thigh, thickening and lengthening with each heartbeat. The foreskin, already tight, stretched further, pulling back to reveal a swollen, purplish head that wept a clear bead of fluid.
“No,” Mark moaned, but his hand wasn’t pushing it down. It was hovering near it, trembling. His face was a mask of conflict—revulsion and a dark, undeniable hunger. “Make it stop.”
“I don’t know how,” Ellie admitted, although she wasn't sure she would, even if she could.
The Hummingbird’s purr deepened, becoming a physical vibration they could feel in the mattress springs. Mark’s cock reached full, terrifying erection, a thick, veined pillar of flesh that stood a full ten inches from his body. It looked heavy. Painful. Impossible.
A hungry emptiness yawned open inside Ellie. Her own transformed cock, which had softened, began to stiffen in response. Her cunt, the deep, slack channel the toy had carved inside her, clenched around nothing, aching to be filled. The sight of his helpless, monstrous arousal was the most potent aphrodisiac she’d ever known.
“Ellie,” Mark gasped, his eyes pleading, but his hips gave a tiny, involuntary jerk.
That tiny motion broke her. The guilt evaporated, burned away by a fresh wave of pure, desperate lust. She crawled toward him, the cardigan falling open. “It wants you to use it,” she breathed, her voice husky. “Let me… let me feel it.”
“This is insane,” he choked out, but his hands came up to her hips as she straddled his lap. They weren’t pushing her away.
The heat of his cock pressed against the wet seam of her labia. Even without penetration, the feeling was electric. She was so open, so profoundly reshaped, that she could feel every ridge, every pulsing vein against her sensitive, outer flesh. She reached between them, her fingers wrapping around the base of him. He was hot, and so thick her fingers couldn’t close all the way.
“Jesus Christ,” Mark hissed, his head thumping back against the wall.
Guiding him was unnecessary. Her body was now made for this. She lifted her hips slightly and then sank down.
There was no resistance. No tightness. His massive head slipped past her labia and into her opening with a wet, sucking sound. She kept sinking, the sensation one of overwhelming fullness without the sharp edge of pain. Her internal walls, stretched and remolded by The Hummingbird, rippled around the invading girth, accommodating him with obscene ease.
“Fuck,” Mark breathed, his eyes rolling back. “You’re… you’re so deep.”
She was. She could feel him sliding deeper than any man ever had, deeper than was anatomically possible. The head of his cock pressed against, and then into, the special pocket The Hummingbird had crafted behind her cervix—a secret space for inhuman penetration. A sharp, bright pleasure-pain lit up her core. She moaned, dropping her full weight onto him, taking him to the hilt.
His pubic bone ground against her clit-cock, sending sparks across her vision. She began to ride him, a slow, deep, fucking motion. Each withdrawal dragged his thick shaft along sensitized, rubbery flesh. Each downward plunge sent him knifing into that deep pocket, a strike against a hidden, erogenous wall she hadn’t known existed.
The Hummingbird, forgotten beside them, began to vibrate in earnest. Not inside either of them, but against the sheets, making the whole bed shudder. Its noise was a frantic counter-rhythm to their ragged breathing.
“Harder,” Ellie demanded, her nails digging into his shoulders. Her own cock bounced, slapping against his stomach with wet, meaty sounds. “Fuck me like you mean it, Mark. Use what it gave you.”
A switch flipped behind his eyes. The fear and confusion were still there, but they were drowned now by a primal, fuck-drunk desperation. His hands clamped on her ass, fingers biting into her flesh. He lifted her and slammed her back down, driving himself up into her with a force that shook the headboard.
“Is this what you wanted?” he grunted, his voice rough with strain and a fury that was also desire. “This… this fucking freak show?”
“Yes!” she screamed, her head thrown back. Each brutal thrust smashed into her deepest part. She could feel his cock swelling further inside her, the veins pulsing, as if responding to the violent use. “God, yes! Don’t stop!”
The bed became a violent, noisy beast. The slap of skin, their guttural cries, the relentless buzz of The Hummingbird, the creak of the wooden frame. Ellie felt another orgasm building, a tsunami from that deep, tapped well. Mark’s face was a grotesque mask of pleasure and agony, his transformed body being used as the toy’s engine.
“I’m gonna come,” he snarled, his rhythm fracturing into desperate, pounding jabs.
The permission, the filthy acknowledgement of her altered anatomy, was the final trigger. Ellie’s world dissolved into white-hot sensation. Her cunt convulsed in long, milking waves around the monstrous length splitting her open. Her own cock jerked, spilling nothing but clear, slick fluid across his abdomen.
Mark’s roar was almost inhuman. His body locked, his back arching off the wall. She felt the hot, violent pulse of his release directly into her deepest pocket, jet after jet filling a space meant for unimaginable penetration. It seemed to go on forever, a flood triggered by unnatural stimulus.
As the last pulses faded, the violent vibration from The Hummingbird ceased abruptly.
The sudden silence was louder than the noise had been.
They collapsed together, a tangled mess of sweat and come and spent limbs. Mark’s grotesque cock, still semi-hard, slipped from her with a thick, wet sigh. She felt utterly gaping, hollowed out and filled at the same time.
She felt utterly gaping, hollowed out and filled at the same time. Her breaths came in ragged hitches that did nothing to calm the frantic drum of her heart. The room’s scent had shifted, lavender drowned under salty sweat and the pungent, metallic tang of sex.
Mark was a statue beside her, his chest heaving. The silence between them was a physical weight. Ellie turned her head on the damp pillow, her eyes tracing the line of his body in the low lamplight. They found his cock, now freed from her cunt.
It lay rigid against his thigh, no longer the ten-inch instrument previously observed. It was a perfect column of flesh, as thick as her wrist and at least thirteen or fourteen inches long, a pale, veined monolith glistening with their combined fluids. It was easily twice as large as her own transformed cock now, though not as impossibly long as The Hummingbird had been inside her previously. The sheer, quiet permanence of it stole her breath.
“Mark,” she whispered, her voice scraped raw.
His hand moved first, not to cover himself, but to touch it. His fingers, trembling, brushed the obscene length from base to tip, as if confirming it was attached to him. He made a sound, a low whimper caught in his throat. “It won’t go down,” he said, the words flat with dread. “It doesn’t feel… it doesn’t feel like mine.”
Ellie pushed herself up on one elbow. The movement made a trickle of his spend leak from her onto the sheet. She ignored it, her focus absolute. Her own arousal, which should have been spent, coiled back to life, a hot wire in her gut. She reached out, her smaller hand joining his on his flesh.
It was furnace-hot. The skin was silk over granite, a terrifying biology. She wrapped her fingers around it, her grip incomplete. A fresh bead of pre-come welled from the slit, viscous and clear.
“Don’t,” he said, but his hips lifted minutely, pushing into her hand.
“It’s yours now,” she murmured, and began to stroke him with a firm, slow rhythm. Her thumb smeared the slickness over the bulbous head. “It’s what you are.”
“This isn’t me.” His denial was weaker this time, his eyes glued to her moving hand. “It’s that fucking thing. It’s... in my head.”
The Hummingbird lay dormant on the nightstand. Yet its work was done, carved into their very flesh. Ellie leaned down, her auburn hair curtaining their joined hands. She didn’t kiss him. She opened her mouth and took the aching head of him between her lips.
He cried out, a sharp, broken noise. The taste was clean, salty. She could not hope to take much of his length, but she worked what she could with her tongue and lips, suckling firmly, one hand pumping the monstrous shaft. Her other hand went to her own cock, which had stiffened fully again, and she began to stroke herself in time with her bobbing head.
“Ellie, fuck, stop,” he gasped, but his hands fisted in her hair, not pulling her away, holding her there. “I can’t… I can’t think.”
She released him with a wet pop, looking up the vast plain of his body to his tortured face. “You don’t need to think.” She swung a leg over his hips, positioning herself. “You just need to fuck.”
She didn’t guide him this time. She simply rose up and slammed down, taking the first brutal inches in one stroke. The stretch was apocalyptic, a burn that singed through the leftover numbness. She screamed, a short, punched-out sound, and began to ride him in earnest, a frantic, pistoning motion that was less about pleasure and more about consumption.
“Look at it,” she grunted, looking down between their bodies. His massive cock disappeared into her, her stretched labia straining around the base. “Look what you’re doing to me. Look how deep you go.”
Mark’s eyes were wild, glazed. He watched, hypnotized, as she devoured him. His hands found her hips, his grip bruising, and he took over, driving up into her with a force that lifted her off the bed with each thrust. The wet, slapping noise was animalistic.
“You’re a fucking hole,” he snarled, a dark revelation tearing from him. “It made you a perfect, greedy hole for this.” He punctuated each word with a driving slam of his hips.
“Yes!” she shrieked, her body bowing back. Each impact sent a shockwave through her. Her cock leaked profusely, a steady stream that slicked his stomach. “Use it! Ruin me with it!”
He flipped her onto her back with a violence that knocked the wind from her. He dragged her to the edge of the bed, her ass hanging off, and drove into her standing, his new cock a relentless piston. This angle was deeper, more devastating. Each stroke battered the entrance to that deep, secret pocket, threatening to tear it open wider.
The room dissolved into a blur of sensation and sound. Ellie clawed at the sheets, her curses devolving into mindless, open-mouthed wails. Mark was a machine above her, sweat dripping from his chin onto her heaving breasts, his own language reduced to guttural, primal noises.
She felt her orgasm detonate, a silent, seismic event that locked every muscle in her body. Her cunt spasmed around the invading thickness in ragged, clenching waves. The stimulation tipped Mark over the edge.
He shoved into her one final, brutal time, burying himself to the root, and roared. She felt the hot, violent jetting deep inside her, a flood with no end, filling that unnatural reservoir it had helped create. It went on and on, a drowning tide.
He collapsed forward, his weight crushing her into the mattress, his monstrous cock still pulsing weakly inside her. They lay there, welded together by sweat and come. Seconds bled into minutes. The only sound was their tortured breathing.
Slowly, he softened. She felt the impossible girth shrink, though only slightly, as he slipped from her body with a long, wet gush. He rolled onto his back beside her, an arm thrown over his eyes.
Ellie looked at his cock, now lying spent on his thigh. It was still that impossible length, that terrifying thickness. A perfect column of flesh, forever altered. It would never be normal again.
Neither would they.
On the nightstand, The Hummingbird gave a single, faint pulse of light. It was a soft, satisfied glow. Then it went dark, waiting.