Chapter 32: The Breeding Position
The walk from the library to her apartment had been a silent, trembling fever dream. Mark followed, a pace behind, like a dog that had been kicked but couldn’t remember the way home. Ellie led, her ruined slacks swishing with every step, the damp fabric chafing her still-hard cock. The Hummingbird, nestled in her purse, thrummed against her hip with a satisfied, persistent rhythm that seemed to sync with her heartbeat. It had won. It had remade her, and it had remade this moment.
Her apartment door clicked shut, sealing them in the lavender-scented dimness. The bed was as she’d left it, sheets tangled from a restless night haunted by phantom sensations of fullness and stretch. The lamp on the nightstand was on, casting a sickly yellow light over the polished obsidian form of The Hummingbird where it lay on a silk pillow, like a idol on an altar.
Mark stood just inside the door, shoulders hunched. He still smelled of her, a scent clinging to his stubble. He wouldn’t meet her eyes.
“Look at me,” Ellie said. Her voice wasn’t her own. It was lower, resonant with the hum in her veins.
He did. His face was pale, his eyes red-rimmed from choking. But there was a hard bulge in his trousers, undeniable, a traitorous echo of what she carried.
“You want this,” she stated, walking toward him. She saw his gaze drop to her crotch, to the blatant tent.
“Ellie… this isn’t… this isn’t you,” he whispered, his voice shredded.
“It is now.” She reached for his belt. This time, her hands were steady. The brass buckle was cold. She unfastened it, popped the button of his chinos, drew the zipper down. She didn’t ask. She reached in and took him out.
He gasped.
“It’s changing you too,” she breathed, a weird, possessive joy surging through her. She pumped him slowly, watching the skin tighten, watching a prominent vein rise. “It wants you to fit.”
“What wants?” he begged, his hands coming up to grip her shoulders, not to push her away, but to steady himself. “What the fuck is that thing, Ellie?”
She pushed him down onto the messy sheets. He landed with a soft thump, his enlarged cock slapping against his abdomen. She stood over him, and with deliberate, slow movements, she peeled off her ruined blouse, her camisole. Her new breasts, heavy and full with dark, taut nipples, spilled free. She shimmied out of the stained slacks and panties, kicking them into a corner.
She was completely naked. Her own cock, a thick, arrogant curve of flesh, jutted out from a thatch of trimmed auburn hair. Beneath it, her cunt, the lips swollen and parted, gaped slightly—a permanent, wet opening from The Hummingbird’s relentless excavations.
Mark’s expression was pure, unadulterated horror. And beneath it, a hunger so deep it looked like pain. His own transformed cock leaked a clear string of pre-cum onto his stomach.
“I can’t,” he choked out.
“You can.” She climbed onto the bed, straddling his hips, her knees sinking into the mattress on either side of him. She didn’t guide him in. She reached behind herself, took his massive shaft in her hand—it was hot, a living steel cable wrapped in silk—and angled it. The bulbous head, broad and slick, nudged against her open slit.
Then she sank down.
The stretch was immediate, profound, and obscene. Her body, prepped by magic and violation, accepted him, but it was a tight, burning surrender. He was so wide. She felt every ridge, every pulse of him as she impaled herself, taking him inch by brutal inch. Her cunt stretched, a ring of fire around the base of his cock, but deeper inside, that secret pocket The Hummingbird had carved welcomed the invasion, unfolding like a flower made of raw nerve endings.
“Fuck! Ellie, God—” Mark’s head thrashed back, tendons standing out in his neck. His hands flew to her hips, fingers digging into her flesh.
She bottomed out, his pelvis grinding against her ass, his entire monstrous length buried inside her. She was full in a way that bordered on violence. She could feel him, a solid column of flesh, lodged in a place no man was meant to reach. The pressure was immense, a delicious, punishing fullness that made her vision blur.
She began to move.
It wasn’t a rhythm of love. It was a piston stroke, raw and mechanical. She rose, the suck of her wet cunt pulling at him, then slammed back down, taking him all over again. Each descent forced a grunt from Mark’s chest. Her own cock slapped against her stomach, leaving smears of pre-cum on her skin with every jolt.
“Is this what you dreamed about?” she panted, riding him harder, faster. The bedframe started a dull, rhythmic thump against the wall. “Your quiet little librarian friend? Taking her like a fucking animal?”
He didn’t answer. He just stared up at her, transfixed, as she used his body. His hands slid from her hips to her ass, gripping the cheeks, helping her drive down onto him. His participation, his eager, shameful helping, sent a new bolt of power through her.
She leaned forward, bracing her hands on his chest. The new angle made him sink even deeper, brushing something far inside her that made her cry out—a sharp, bright spark of pleasure-pain. Her swinging breasts brushed his chin.
“Suck them,” she demanded, and he did, turning his head to take a nipple into his mouth. He sucked hard, like a starving man, his tongue lashing the stiff peak.
The sensation tipped her over the edge. Her orgasm wasn’t a wave; it was a detonation deep in that fabricated pocket, a convulsive, inner milking that clenched around the deepest part of his shaft. Her own cock pulsed, jetting thick, hot ropes of cum across his chest and stomach without a single touch.
She screamed, a raw, tearing sound.
But she didn’t stop. The Hummingbird’s energy, sated and yet insatiable, crackled through her. Her walls kept fluttering, but the hard, aching need remained. She was still hungry. She sat back up, resuming the ride, her cunt making a wet, slapping noise as she worked his length.
Mark’s control shattered. Her climax, the feel of her cum on his skin, the impossible, gripping heat of her—it was too much. His eyes rolled back.
“I’m gonna… Ellie, I’m coming—”
“Do it,” she snarled. “Fill me up.”
His hips bucked off the bed, driving up into her as he came. She felt the punch of it, the hot, internal surge as he emptied himself deep into that magical pocket. It was a flood, a claiming. He shouted, a broken, sobbing sound that might have been her name.
She kept moving, milking him through every last spasm, until he was soft and spent inside her. Only then did she still, gasping, feeling the incredible, sloshing weight of his release inside her. She was dripping, a mixture of their fluids leaking out around the softening plug of his cock.
Slowly, she lifted herself off him. There was a vulgar, wet pop as he slipped out. She knelt, straddling Mark's legs, looking down at the mess they’d made of each other. Mark’s eyes were closed, his chest heaving. He looked ruined.
She looked at The Hummingbird on the pillow. Its surface swirled, silver and obsidian twisting like living smoke. It was pleased. It was more than pleased. It had orchestrated this. It had used Mark as a tool to test her new limits, to fill the space it had made.
It had used Mark as a tool to test her new limits, to fill the space it had made. A slow drip of his come traced a warm path down her inner thigh. She watched it, idly, then lifted her gaze to Mark’s face. His eyes were open now, fixed not on her but on the nightstand, on the source of all this wet noise and broken breathing.
He pushed himself up on his elbows, moving like an old man. His softened cock lay against his leg, glistening and spent, but his attention was laser-focused on the carved obsidian. He didn’t ask. He just reached out, his fingers trembling only slightly, and wrapped his hand around The Hummingbird.
A jolt went through him, straightening his spine.
The toy hummed, a deeper, more resonant frequency than Ellie had ever felt. It wasn’t just vibrating; it was singing a note into the marrow of his bones. The effect on his body was instantaneous. His cock, which had begun to wilt, gave a violent twitch against his thigh. It thickened, lengthened, rising back to a straining, purple-headed erection in seconds.
“Jesus Christ,” Mark whispered, not in fear, but in awe. He turned the thing in his hand, watching the light catch its impossible, shifting surface. The hum traveled up his arm, making the muscle in his bicep flutter.
His other hand moved of its own volition. It reached for Ellie and closed around her own cock. His grip was firm, knowing. He gave one long, smooth stroke from root to tip, his thumb smearing the bead of moisture that had already gathered again at her slit.
The combined sensation—the humming in the room entering her through his touch, the rough warmth of his hand on her most sensitive new flesh—was catastrophic.
“Oh, fuck, Mark—”
Her orgasm ripped through her with zero buildup, a raw, electric snap. Her hips jackknifed into his fist. Cum, less viscous now but no less urgent, shot from her in pulsing streaks, painting his chest and neck with fresh, hot stripes. She shook, her cunt clenching around nothing, dripping their mixed fluids onto the sheets.
Mark watched her come apart, his expression unreadable. He didn’t stop stroking her until the last tremor left her thighs. Then, as if guided by a thought that wasn’t entirely his own, he looked from her softening cock to his own, which was now fully, impossibly hard.
He looked back at The Hummingbird in his hand.
Understanding flickered in his eyes, dark and hungry. He closed his fist tighter around the toy. The hum intensified, becoming a palpable buzz in the air. He wasn’t just holding it. He was communing with it.
He directed his focus downward, to his own gargantuan erection. A low groan escaped his lips, part effort, part unbelievable pleasure. Ellie watched, mesmerized and terrified, as the thick shaft in his lap seemed to… pulse. It wasn’t a throbbing from blood flow. It was a growth spasm.
The skin stretched, taut and shiny. An extra inch of veined, brutal flesh simply manifested, then another. His balls drew up tighter, heavy and full beneath the monstrous pillar of his cock. It gained inches, swelling and jumping with each directed thought from Mark, until it was a truly frightening piece of anatomy, a weapon of flesh that looked capable of splitting her in two.
He let out a ragged breath, releasing The Hummingbird onto the bed between them. It continued to hum, a low, encouraging purr. Mark’s gaze met Ellie’s. The shy bookseller was gone. In his eyes was a reflection of her own newfound hunger, mirrored and amplified.
“I...” he said, his voice rough. “I… directed it.”
He wrapped his hand around his new, impossible girth, giving himself a slow, possessive pump. “You’re not the only one it will respond to.”
He looked at her leaking cunt, then back to his hand, his meaning clear.