Chapter 37: The Unwelcome Hunger
The key scraped in the lock, a frail sound against the weight pressing down on Ellie’s chest. She pushed the door open, the familiar sight of her living room feeling like a crime scene. The rumpled sheets, the discarded lace panties from a desperate, lonely session two nights ago, the faint but persistent scent of her own arousal layered with that strange, electric ozone. And on the coffee table, The Hummingbird.
It sat inert, a carved, vibrant paperweight. Yet the air around it shimmered, a heat haze on a desert highway. It was waiting.
Ellie dropped her bag, the sensible leather thudding against the floor. She hadn’t worn a cardigan. The simple black dress was a silent pact with the person she was becoming. She approached the table, her hand hovering over the toy. It wasn’t warm. It was hungry. A deep, sub-audible thrum traveled up her arm, making the new, heavy weight of her breasts tingle.
The knock at the door was so sudden it felt like a gunshot.
Her heart seized. Mona? She wasn’t ready. Ellie straightened, smoothing the dress. “Coming!”
She opened the door, and the world tilted.
It was Mark.
But not her Mark. Not the gentle, slightly rumpled bookseller with kind eyes and hesitant smiles. This man filled the doorway, his shoulders straining against his simple cotton shirt. His posture was different—a coiled, predatory grace that made the hallway seem narrow. And his eyes… they held none of their usual warmth. They were dark, intent, and fixed on her with a recognition that had nothing to do with friendship.
“Ellie.” His voice was a low rumble, deeper than she remembered.
“Mark? What are you—” she began, stepping back instinctively.
He moved forward, crossing the threshold, and the door swung shut behind him with a definitive click. His gaze swept over her, the black dress, the visible swell of her cleavage, the lack of a cardigan. A muscle twitched in his jaw.
“I can feel it,” he said, his voice taut. “That thing. It’s like a fuckin’ tinnitus in my bones. Drove me right here.”
“Mark, please, you’re scaring me,” she whispered, retreating until the back of her knees hit the arm of the couch.
“You should be scared,” he said, but there was no threat in it, only a bleak honesty. He looked down at his own hands, then back at her. “I woke up this morning… different. And I knew. I knew it was because of you. Because of that goddamn thing.”
He took another step. The Hummingbird on the table let out a soft, audible pulse, a visible wave of light rippling through its carved channels. Ellie gasped, her cunt clenching hard around nothing, a slick gush of arousal immediately soaking through her thin underwear. Her own cock, trapped against her belly, stiffened to full, aching attention.
Mark saw it. His eyes dropped to the blatant tent in her dress. A brutal, humorless smile touched his lips. “Yeah. That.”
His hands—rougher than she remembered—closed on her shoulders and he shoved her backwards. She fell onto the couch, the breath leaving her lungs in a whoosh. He followed her down, his weight pinning her, a knee forcing her legs apart. The fabric of her cardigan was no barrier. He gripped the neckline and tore it down the front with a single, brutal yank. Buttons pinged against the floorboards.
She cried out, but it melted into a moan. The exposure, the violence of it, sent a lightning bolt of pure, devouring need straight to her core.
He didn’t pause. His hands went to the waistband of her simple cotton slacks. He tore them open, the zipper giving way with a sharp rasp. He yanked them, and her soaked panties, down to her thighs, baring her completely.
The cool air hit her exposed flesh. Her cock stood thick and leaking against her stomach. And below it, her cunt—the transformed, open, deeply hungry entrance—glistened, pink and swollen, pulsing in time with The Hummingbird.
Mark stared. His breath hitched. “Jesus Christ, Ellie,” he breathed, all anger momentarily swamped by awe and horror. “What did you do?”
From the table, The Hummingbird hummed, a rising, encouraging note.
“It… it wasn’t just me,” she gasped, her hips lifting involuntarily, seeking friction, seeking fill. “You… you feel it too.”
In answer, Mark fumbled with his own jeans. He shoved them down just enough to free himself. And Ellie saw it.
It was obscene. A monstrous, throbbing length of flesh that defied anatomy. Twenty inches of thick, veined cock, already weeping a steady stream of pre-cum that dripped onto her bare thigh. It was a tool of pure, animal fucking, born from his hidden desires and amplified by the magic now coursing through her apartment.
“Look what you made me,” he groaned, not with disgust, but with a feral pride. He wrapped a fist around the base, guiding the swollen, plum-colored head towards her waiting entrance. The tip was so large it eclipsed everything.
“Wait, Mark, it’s—“
He didn’t wait. He pushed.
The stretch was immediate, immense, a blinding white burn of penetration that made her scream. Her transformed body, built for this, resisted for only a second before yielding. The incredible, deep pocket behind her cervix, the secret space The Hummingbird had carved, seemed to yawn open, inviting the invasion. He shoved forward, an unrelenting, brutal slide, stuffing her impossibly full.
“Fuck! Oh, fuck, Ellie… your cunt… it’s swallowing me…” Mark grunted, his eyes rolling back. He bottomed out, his hips meeting hers, his monstrous cock buried to the root inside a channel that should not exist.
Ellie could only gasp, her mouth a wide ‘O’ of shock and overwhelming sensation. She was packed, stretched to a mind-breaking fullness. She could feel him in her guts, a hot, relentless presence. The Hummingbird’s hum was a symphonic roar now, vibrating the air, vibrating her very bones.
Mark began to move.
It was not love-making. It was demolition. He pulled back, the drag of his veined shaft against her savagely sensitized walls making her see stars, then slammed back in with a wet, filthy slap of flesh. The couch creaked in protest. Each thrust jarred her entire body, shook the new, heavy weight of her tits, made her own neglected cock bounce and leak.
“Is this what you wanted?” he panted, driving into her with a steady, punishing rhythm. “All those books… all those quiet days… was this fucking monster what you were dreaming about?”
“Yes!” The confession was torn from her, ragged and true. “God, yes! Don’t stop! Fuck me! Ruin me!”
Her words unleashed something in him. His pace became frantic, animalistic. He leaned down, capturing one of her enlarged nipples in his mouth, biting down none-too-gently. The pain was a bright, sharp counterpoint to the deep, grinding pleasure-pain in her cunt. She raked her nails down his back, drawing red welts, pulling him deeper, impossibly deeper.
The room dissolved into a sweat-slicked, grunting, wailing frenzy. The sound of their coupling was raw and wet, a lewd soundtrack to the magical object’s approving drone. Ellie felt a climax building, not from a clit she no longer had, but from the sheer, brutal fullness, from the battering of her deepest, most secret place. It was a tidal wave, pulling from the depths of that unnatural pocket.
“I’m gonna cum! I’m gonna fucking cum in this greedy, magical hole!” Mark roared, his thrusts losing all rhythm, becoming frantic, shallow slams.
That was all it took. The coil in Ellie’s abdomen snapped. Her vision whited out. Her cunt clamped down in a series of violent, rippling spasms around the invading girth, milking it, demanding it. A thin, desperate cry was ripped from her throat.
With a final, choking groan, Mark shoved himself as deep as he could go and erupted. She felt it, a hot, volcanic flood jetting into that deep pocket, filling it, spilling back, impossibly copious. It went on and on, a claiming torrent.
He collapsed on top of her, spent, the both of them slick with sweat and cum and magic. The Hummingbird’s hum subsided to a contented, purring thrum.
Silence, broken only by their ragged breaths. The weight of him, the feel of him still lodged hugely inside her, the cooling stickiness between them—it was too much. Reality seeped back in, cold and sharp.
Mark slowly pulled out. The sensation was a long, slick, overwhelming withdrawal. He rolled onto the floor, staring at the ceiling, his monstrous cock already softening but still terrifying in its proportions.
“What are we?” he whispered, his voice hollow.
Ellie couldn’t answer. She lay ruined on the couch, her body humming with satisfaction and a profound, echoing shame. She looked at the cardigan torn open, at her own obscenely satisfied flesh.
She looked at the cardigan torn open, at her own obscenely satisfied flesh. The silence stretched, thick with the smell of sex and a magic that tasted like copper on the back of her tongue.
From the coffee table, a new sound emerged. Not the approving purr from moments before, but a low, insistent humming. It was a vibration she felt in her teeth. Ellie turned her head, her cheek sticking to the damp couch fabric.
The Hummingbird had grown. It was longer, its carved ridges more pronounced, and it pulsed with a soft, internal hum. It was calling. A magnetic pull tightened deep in her gut, an echo of the hunger Mark had just brutally fed.
“I lost myself,” Mark said to the ceiling. His voice was flat, stripped raw. “The other day. When I first… changed. I saw the look in your eyes when you saw it. The fear. And I liked it.” He finally looked at her, his expression pained. “I got hard on the power. This fucking thing… it twists everything.”
Ellie pushed herself up, wincing at the ache between her legs, the strange, full sensation from the volume of his cum inside her. She swung her legs off the couch, her slacks and panties still tangled at her knees. The cool air kissed her wet thighs. She didn’t cover herself.
“You didn’t twist me, Mark.” She stood, her legs trembling, and took the two steps to the coffee table. The humming intensified, a physical pressure against her skin. “You showed me. The fear was part of it. The size… the impossible fucking stretch…” She picked The Hummingbird up. It was warm, almost hot, and it throbbed in her hand like a living heart. “It was exactly what I wanted. What I’d been needing and was too scared to name.”
Mark sat up, watching her. His remorse was palpable, a cloud in the room. His massive, softening cock lay across his thigh, a testament to that power trip. “Look at us. We’re not… we’re not people anymore. We’re just… wanting.”
“Then let’s want,” she whispered. She looked from his face to the incredible, absurd length of him. A reckless, thrilling certainty flooded her. The Hummingbird’s will and her own were a single circuit now, closed and complete.
She tightened her grip on the carved toy and wished.
She didn’t wish for gentle. She didn’t wish for normal. She focused on the thick vein running along the underside of Mark's shaft, the intimidating flare of the head, the sheer animal reality of it. In her mind, she poured every filthy, unspoken fantasy from a decade of quiet librarianship into that image. She wished for more.
The Hummingbird screamed.
It wasn’t a sound of pain, but of pure, vibrational power. The light from it flared, throwing stark, jumping shadows against the walls. A visible wave of energy, like heat distortion, shot from the toy and struck Mark’s cock.
“Ah! Fuck!” he yelled, his hands flying to himself not in pain, but in shock.
The flesh moved. It was a grotesque, mesmerizing growth, cells dividing at a visible rate. The shaft thickened, the veins rising like cords under suddenly tightening skin. The head swelled, becoming a broader, more pronounced mushroom cap of deep crimson. It lengthened, pushing past his knee, the tip now brushing the floor as he sat. It wasn't just bigger. It was denser, heavier, a truly inhuman instrument of penetration.
Ellie dropped The Hummingbird. It clattered onto the table, its light dimming to a satisfied glow. She stared at her work. Her breath came in short, sharp pants. A fresh flood of arousal slicked her inner thighs, dripping down onto the floorboards.
Mark looked down at himself, his face a mask of utter disbelief. He wrapped a hand around the new girth, his fingers barely meeting. A fresh bead of pre-cum welled from the slit, oily and abundant. The regret in his eyes was gone, burned away by a primal, awestruck hunger.
“You…” he breathed.
“Me,” Ellie said, her voice steady now, dominant. She hooked her thumbs into the waistband of her ruined slacks and pushed them and her soaked panties the rest of the way down, stepping out of the puddle of fabric. She stood naked before him, her own cock stiff and eager, her transformed cunt open and glistening. “You feel that power now? It’s not just yours. It's mine. It’s ours.”
She moved towards him, not with shyness, but with ownership. She put a foot on the edge of the coffee table, presenting herself, exposing the profoundly deep, slick channel that awaited him. “You wanted to see what I dreamed about?” she said, her gaze locking with his. “So fuck me with it. All of it. Don’t hold back this time.”
Mark rose from the floor, a giant uncoiling. His new monstrous cock swung heavily, a threatening pendulum of flesh. He closed the distance, his hands gripping her hips, his fingers digging into her soft flesh. The broad, wet head of him nudged against her entrance, already dwarfing anything that had been there before.
“It won’t fit,” he growled, but it was a challenge, not a refusal.
“Yes it will.”
He pushed. The stretch was cataclysmic. A raw, tearing sound escaped her lips as her body, already radically altered, was forced to accept a new, greater diameter. It was a slow, devastating invasion, millimeter by millimeter, stretching her wide, burning sweetly, filling that deep pocket until it strained. She felt her consciousness narrow to the single, screaming point of their joining.
When he was fully sheathed, they were both trembling. He was so deep she felt him in her throat. She was so full she thought her skin would split.
“Move,” she gasped.
He obeyed.