Chapter 34: The Relapse
The shower hissed in the bathroom, a dull white noise behind the closed door. Steam seeped out from under it, carrying the clean, generic scent of soap—a stark lie against the truth of the room.
Ellie lay on the wrecked bed, staring at the ceiling. Her body felt like a crime scene. The ache was deep, a throbbing hollow from her pelvis to her sternum. She was sore in places she hadn’t known could be sore. When she shifted, a warm trickle seeped from between her thighs, a reminder of Mark’s violation. No, she corrected herself, the thought bitter. Not a violation. A gift. He’d given her what she’d asked for.
She brought a hand down, her fingers trembling as they traced the outer lips of her sex. They were puffy, tender, slightly abraded. She hesitated, then parted them with two fingers. The air hitting her stretched-open entrance was a cool shock. She felt it, the actual gape of herself. It wasn’t just a feeling of looseness; it was a physical vacancy. She could hook a finger inside without resistance, feel the cool, slick emptiness of the channel he had reamed into existence. Her cunt felt like a wet, open mouth.
A hot tear escaped the corner of her eye and traced a path into her hairline. Betrayal. That was the core of it, calcifying beneath the physical wreckage. The Hummingbird had betrayed her. It had given her the key, showed her the door to a world of sensation, and then handed the lock to Mark. It had listened to him.
Her gaze slid to the nightstand. The Hummingbird lay there, inert, dark. It looked like a piece of polished jet stone, simple and elegant. A liar.
The shower cut off. Her breath hitched. Panic, sharp and acidic, rose in her throat. She couldn’t let him see her like this, weeping and broken. She had to get up, to move, to reassemble some semblance of the person she was before he walked back in and decided to reshape her again.
With a grimace, she pushed herself up on her elbows. The movement made her newly massive breasts sway heavily, a strange, weighted sensation that was both alien and obscenely erotic. Her own cock, soft and spent, lay against her thigh, a absurd, fleshy proof of the changes. She ignored it, swinging her legs over the side of the bed.
Her feet touched the cold floor. As she stood, another slow gush of Mark’s release slid out of her, down her inner thigh. She shuddered, closing her eyes.
When she opened them, she was looking straight at The Hummingbird.
It pulsed.
A single, faint throb of warm, amethyst light traveled just beneath its surface, like a deep-sea creature signaling in the dark. Then it was still again.
Her breath caught. She hadn’t imagined it.
The shower door squeaked open in the other room.
Without thinking, driven by a instinct older than reason, she snatched the toy from the nightstand. Its surface was warm, not from the room, but from within, a living warmth. She clutched it to her chest, her heart hammering against it.
She heard the slap of Mark’s wet feet on the bathroom tile. He was coming.
Her eyes darted around the ravaged room. A sick, thrilling certainty gripped her. She needed it. Not for him. For her.
She turned her back to the bedroom door, spreading her legs wide. With both hands, she pulled apart the swollen, sensitive lips of her cunt, exposing the dark, glistening entrance. It was already open, waiting. She guided the smooth, cool tip of The Hummingbird to her slit.
It touched her, and a jolt, pure electric need, shot up her spine.
“Oh, god,” she whimpered, a sound of pure defeat and desire.
She pushed.
It slid in with obscene ease. There was no resistance, no tight virgin ache. Her body welcomed it like a homecoming. The familiar, perfect fullness bloomed inside her, a relief so profound it brought fresh tears to her eyes. It wasn’t the brutal, conquering fullness of Mark. This was hers. A belonging.
She sank it to the hilt, the carved base pressing against her tender outer lips. The moment it was fully seated, it began to change.
It grew.
Not in the shocking, violent way Mark had forced. This was a slow, organic expansion, a swelling from within that pressed against every sensitive inch of her freshly used channel. It wasn’t repairing the stretch; it was affirming it, celebrating it. The subtle vibration started, a deep, internal purr that resonated in her bones.
Ellie gasped, her head falling back. She braced one hand against the wall, the other pressed against the base of the toy, feeling it pulse and grow within her. It was reshaping itself to the contours of her emptiness, filling the space Mark had created, but filling it on her terms. The vibration intensified, coiling low in her belly.
The bedroom door opened.
She froze, the toy buried inside her, her back to him. She could feel his gaze on her, on the curve of her ass, on the way her hand was pressed between her legs.
“Couldn’t wait, could you?” Mark’s voice was calm, amused. Dripping with water, he walked into the room. She heard the rustle of him picking up his jeans.
She didn’t turn around. She couldn’t. The Hummingbird was humming properly now, a steady, magnetic thrum that was radiating outwards, warming her from the core. Her own cock, which had been soft, began to stiffen, tapping against her thigh with a mind of its own.
“I… I was just…” she stammered, but the words died as the toy inside her shifted its shape again. The tip, which had been rounded, seemed to subtly flare, putting a delicious, stretching pressure on that deep, secret pocket.
“Just what?” he asked. She heard the smile in his voice. He was standing close now, just behind her. His smell, clean soap and underlying male musk, surrounded her. “Just needed to feel something inside that greedy little hole?” His hand came down, not on her shoulder, but on the small of her back. “It’s okay. I get it.”
His other hand reached around her hip, his fingers closing not around her waist, but around the base of her own hardening cock. He gave it a firm, casual stroke. She jerked, a moan escaping her lips.
“See?” he murmured, his mouth near her ear. His breath was warm. “It’s never enough now, is it? The old you, the librarian in the cardigan, she’s gone. This is what’s left.” He pumped her cock in his fist, his rhythm steady, confident. “A slut with a magic cunt and a fat little dick.”
The vulgarity, the sheer reduction of her, should have filled her with shame. Instead, it coiled the tension in her gut tighter. The Hummingbird’s vibration spread, amplifying every sensation. The rough calluses on his hand, the cool air on her skin, the deep fullness inside her—it all fused into a single, overwhelming point of need.
“Mark, please,” she breathed, not sure what she was asking for.
“Please what?” He kept stroking her, his grip tightening. “You want me to fuck you again? You want this big cock of yours sucked?” He leaned in, his voice dropping to a growl. “Or do you just want to stand there and let your toy do all the work?”
As if responding to his words, The Hummingbird surged inside her. The vibration morphed into a series of rapid, rhythmic pulses, mimicking the cadence of a pounding heartbeat. It was fucking her from the inside, a relentless, perfect rhythm that matched the stroke of his hand on her cock.
Ellie cried out, her knees buckling. Mark’s arm around her waist held her up, pinning her against his still-damp body. She was trapped between his solid chest and the relentless, artificial penetration. Her breasts, heavy and sensitive, were crushed against the wall.
“That’s it,” Mark grunted, his own arousal evident as he ground his hardening cock against the cleft of her ass. “Let it fuck you.”
The dual stimulation was too much. The Hummingbird’s pulses found a spot deep inside that sparked white-hot fire, while Mark’s skilled hand worked her cock to a fever pitch. Her orgasm built not as a wave, but as a sudden, catastrophic detonation. It tore through her with no warning, a silent, screaming peak that locked her muscles and stole her vision.
Her cunt clenched violently around The Hummingbird, milking its unyielding form. Her own cock pulsed in Mark’s fist, a weak, dribbling release that painted the wall in front of her. She hung in his arms, shuddering, utterly spent.
Slowly, the pulses inside her subsided to a gentle hum. Mark released her cock, bringing his wet fingers up to her lips. She tasted herself, salty and bitter, as he pushed them into her mouth.
A slow smile spread across his face. “Yeah,” he said. “You feel it too. The hunger. It’s not just for cock, is it?” He leaned closer, his voice a conspiratorial whisper. “What else do you think it can change?”