Chapter 30: Post-Coital Clarity
The shower beat down, a scalding curtain that did nothing to cleanse the memory. Ellie braced her forearms against the slick tile, head hanging, water streaming through her auburn hair and over the swollen curve of her new breasts. The soapy washcloth in her hand smelled of lavender, but beneath it, clinging to her skin, was the musk of sex and Mona’s unique, electric sweat.
She dragged the cloth over her stomach, watching the suds sluice through the coarse, dark hair that trailed down to her cock. It was soft now, but obscenely large even in its flaccid state—a heavy, foreign weight against her thigh. Easily eight inches of thickened, sensitive flesh that had no business being part of her. Her fingers, trembling slightly, bypassed the cloth and touched it directly.
A jolt, sharp and bright, shot up her spine.
It wasn’t just tactile. It was memory. The feeling of Mona’s incredible tightness, the visceral pulse of her own release, the way her cock had stretched and filled another person. A low groan escaped Ellie’s lips, drowned by the shower’s roar. Her cock twitched, thickening under her tentative touch.
“Fuck,” she whispered to the dripping wall.
She wrapped her hand around it. The sensation was dizzyingly direct. No barrier of latex, no internal separation. This was her nerve endings, her flesh, hot and solid and demanding. She began to stroke, a slow, experimental pump. The water made the glide effortless. Her other hand came up, cupping the full, heavy weight of her breast, thumb brushing over a nipple that was perpetually pebbled and aching now. She pinched it, hard, and the dual sensation made her knees buckle.
The Hummingbird, lying discarded on the shower floor like a strange, carved sea creature, began a soft, questioning hum, vibrating through the shower stall.
Ellie ignored it, chasing the ghost of Mona. She pumped her cock faster, her grip tightening. She thought of Mona’s dark hair fanned out on silk, her intelligent eyes glazing over, her mouth forming that shattered scream. She thought of the feeling of ultimate penetration, of being the one doing the filling. Her hips began to jerk, driving her cock into the tight circle of her own fist.
But it wasn’t enough. The climax building in her balls was a dull throb compared to the cataclysm the toy could orchestrate. It was like comparing a match to a forest fire.
“Fine,” she gasped, as if the thing could hear her. “You want in? Have it.”
She released her cock, which stood rigid and dripping, and bent with a grimace. Picking up The Hummingbird was like picking up a live wire. The hum intensified, the vibrations buzzing up her arm. It was larger now, the carving more pronounced, the material warm and almost pliant. Without ceremony, she turned her back to the spray, leaned against the wall, and guided it to her entrance.
That first inch was still a shock. A full, stretching pressure that made her gasp. But her body had been rewritten for this. Her cunt, once tight and modest, opened for it like a flower bred for deep, devouring pollination. She pushed it deeper, past the point where any normal toy would stop, into that new, profound pocket the magic had carved behind her cervix. A choked cry tore from her throat as it seated itself fully, the base nestling against her swollen clit-cock.
The effect was instantaneous.
The Hummingbird’s vibration didn’t just start; it cascaded. It flooded her pelvis, a rhythmic, drilling pulse that synced perfectly with the frantic beating of her heart. It wasn’t just in her cunt; it felt like it was in her bloodstream, humming in her bones. Her cock jerked violently, a fat bead of clear pre-cum welling at the tip to be washed away by the shower.
“Oh god, yes,” she snarled, her polished librarian’s vocabulary incinerated. She fisted her cock again, and this time the sensation was multiplied, echoing from the depths of her. She fucked her own hand with brutal, driving strokes, while the toy fucked her from the inside with its relentless, intelligent thrum.
The dual assault was overwhelming. Her thoughts scattered. There was only the slam of her hips, the slap of wet skin, the electric buzz saturating her core. She imagined it was Mona again, but more. She imagined being watched. She imagined her old coworkers, her prim neighbors, seeing her like this—a monstrous, cock-swinging creature rutting in the steam, utterly possessed by pleasure.
The fantasy coiled the tension tighter.
“Gonna come,” she grunted, a warning to no one. “Gonna fucking come so hard.”
The Hummingbird seemed to understand. Its vibrations shifted, concentrating into a pinpoint, drilling intensity right into that deep pocket. It was too much. It was perfect.
Ellie’s vision whited out. Her orgasm ripped through her with no grace, no sweetness. It was a violent expulsion. Her cock pulsed in her hand, jetting thick ropes of come that splattered against the tile and swirled down the drain, but that was just the echo. The real climax was internal, a seismic quake emanating from where The Hummingbird lived. Her cunt clenched in ruthless, rhythmic spasms around the toy, milking a pleasure so intense it bordered on pain. Her cries were animal, wordless screams absorbed by the steam.
It seemed to last for minutes. When it finally ebbed, she slid down the wall, boneless, coming to rest half-seated in the tub. The water beat on her chest. The Hummingbird, still softly humming, remained buried inside her. Her cock, slowly softening, lay spent on her thigh.
Slowly, shame and awe crept in at the edges of the numbness. She looked at her body—the oversized breasts, the spent cock, the thing inside her. This wasn’t liberation. This was possession. Mona’s words echoed in her head, cutting through the post-coital fog with clinical precision.
I can still feel it moving.
As the hot water began to run cold, Ellie realized with a dull, cold dread that she could feel it too. Not just the physical object, but a… resonance. A quiet, satisfied awareness in her gut that was not her own. It was still hungry. And it was still in charge.