Chapter 3: Suck
The stale clinic air still clung to Sam’s clothes, a cheap perfume over the deeper, more insistent thrum vibrating his bones. He shut Sara’s apartment door, leaning against it for a second, the familiar aromas of coffee and jasmine momentarily drowned by the internal buzz. Sunlight streamed through the windows, illuminating dust motes dancing above the now-permanent dumbbell station in the corner of the living room.
Sara wasn’t on the sofa. She wasn’t lifting. She stood facing the gallery wall, but not admiring the art. Her back was to him, shirtless, muscular shoulders taut, one hand pressed flat against her lower abdomen, just above the waistband of her loose joggers. Her other hand held something small, metallic. Sunlight glinted off it.
Sam’s breath hitched. He knew that glint. The disposable injector pen. His supply. Or what was left of it, after Dr. Anders’ increasingly frantic warnings. "Sara?" His voice was sandpaper.
She turned, slow, deliberate. Her face was flushed, pupils wide and dark, a sheen of sweat on her upper lip. Not from exertion. From exhilaration. She held the pen up, the empty cartridge visible. A drop of clear liquid clung to the needle tip. "Took the last one," she stated, her voice lower than usual, thick with something primal. "Found your stash. The weak shit you’ve been hoarding."
Panic, cold and sharp, sliced through the thrum. "That’s mine! You can’t—" He took a step forward.
Her free hand shot out, palm flat, stopping him dead. The gesture was effortless, commanding. Her arm, newly defined, didn’t tremble. "Can’t?" she snorted, a harsh, unfamiliar sound. She tossed the spent injector onto the coffee table with a dismissive clatter. "Watch me." She rolled her shoulders, a ripple of muscle moving under smooth skin. "Felt it hit. Like lightning. Right here." Her palm pressed harder into her abdomen, just below her navel. She closed her eyes for a second, a shudder running through her. Not pain. Bliss. "God, the buzz… it’s better. Cleaner. Stronger than yours ever was." Her eyes snapped open, locking onto his. "Guess your pathetic little dose wasn't cutting it anymore. Needed the real fuel."
Sam felt sick. The violation wasn’t just about the stolen drug; it was about her stealing the last vestige of his desperate, doomed control. His thrum spiked, a frantic counterpoint to his rising nausea. "Why? You’re already…" He gestured helplessly at her, at the sheer physical presence dominating the sunny room. "Anders said it’s toxic! My liver—"
"Your liver?" Sara laughed, a genuine, dark chuckle that held no warmth. "Your problem, Sammy. Not mine." She stretched, arms high overhead, back arching. The muscles in her abdomen stood out in stark relief, the bulge in her joggers undeniably thicker, straining the fabric visibly. "Feels different. Like… pure potential." She dropped her arms, fixing him with that predatory stare. "Wanna see what happens next?"
He didn’t. He desperately did. The thrum demanded it. He nodded, mute.
She didn’t lead him to the bedroom. She pushed him down onto the deep velvet sofa, bathed in afternoon light. The casual command was absolute. She didn’t strip slowly this time. She hooked her thumbs into the waistband of her joggers and underwear, shoving them down her powerful thighs in one rough motion. Kicked them aside.
Sam’s eyes widened. It wasn't just thicker. It had grown. Substantially. Six inches, maybe seven, thick and proud, a ruddy column of flesh standing rigidly from the dark thatch of curls. The head was larger, more pronounced. Veins snaked visibly beneath the skin. It looked heavy. Powerful. Utterly alien on the otherwise familiar planes of her body. The musky scent emanating from her was stronger too, an earthy, pungent perfume that filled his nostrils, warring with the thrum inside him.
"See?" Sara purred, stepping closer. She wrapped her fingers around the base, giving it a slow, possessive stroke. Her breath hitched, a low groan escaping her. "Fuck, that feels good. The sensitivity… it’s insane now." She looked down at him sprawled on the sofa, a queen surveying her subject. "Your turn."
Sam scrambled, fumbling with his jeans, hands shaking. Humiliation warred with the violent, drug-fueled need thrumming through him. He was exposed in seconds, his own unchanged inadequacy painfully obvious in the sunlight.
Sara’s gaze flicked dismissively downward. That slow, taunting smile returned. "Still just playing catch-up, huh?" She stepped forward, placing one knee on the sofa cushion beside his hip. Her cock, huge and intimidating, hung heavy and close to his face. The scent was overwhelming now, primal and demanding. "Touch it," she commanded, her voice dropping to a husky rasp. "Feel what the real dose does."
Helpless, Sam reached up. His fingers brushed the hot, velvety skin. It pulsed with life, radiating heat. Sara hissed, her hips jerking forward slightly. "Yeah," she breathed. "Like that. Now… put it in your mouth." Not a request. An order.
He obeyed. The taste flooded his senses – salt, musk, something uniquely her now amplified. It was too big. He struggled to take the head, gagging slightly. Sara chuckled, a low, dark sound. "Relax, Sammy. Open wider. You wanted bigger, right?" Her hand tangled in his hair, not painfully, but with absolute control, guiding him, forcing him to take more. "There. See? You can handle it." Her grip tightened, holding him in place as she began a shallow, rhythmic thrust against his mouth. Her groans deepened, vibrating through her body and into his. "God… yes… so much better…"
Sam’s own arousal was a frantic, trapped thing, his small cock straining uselessly against his stomach. He was an object, a tool for her mounting pleasure. He focused on the thrum, on the overwhelming sensory input – taste, smell, the sheer physicality of her – trying to find some scrap of twisted satisfaction. Her movements grew faster, more urgent. Her grip on his hair tightened. "Fuck… Sammy… gonna cum…"
She didn’t warn him. She shoved deep, holding him there as her body tensed, muscles standing out like cables. A guttural cry tore from her throat, raw and powerful. He felt the pulse, the hot rush flooding his mouth, thick and strangely sweet. He swallowed reflexively, choking slightly.
Then, it hit him. Not just the taste. A jolt. Like a live wire touched to his spine. The thrum exploded. His vision swam. A searing heat bloomed deep in his groin, a sudden, intense pressure, a stretching sensation unlike anything he’d ever felt. He gasped, pulling back from her, doubling over on the sofa, clutching himself. "Oh god… what…?"
He looked down. Disbelief warred with a surge of terrified elation. He was hard. Painfully, impossibly hard. And… and longer? Thicker? He frantically measured with trembling fingers. Four inches? Maybe four and a half? Actual, undeniable growth! A choked sob escaped him – relief? Hope?
Sara’s laughter cut through the moment. Sharp. Mocking. She stepped back, wiping her glistening cock with the back of her hand, watching him with amusement. "Look at you," she sneered. "Like a kid on Christmas morning." She planted her feet wide, hands on her hips, radiating dominance. "Cute."
Sam looked up, hope still flickering. "It… it worked? Your… your cum? It made me—"
"Made you what?" Sara interrupted, her voice dripping with contempt. "Grow a whole extra inch?" She gave her own cock a lazy stroke. It was still rock-hard. And undeniably… bigger. Thicker through the shaft. The head more prominent. Easily pushing eight inches now, maybe more. The growth was visible, accelerated by her climax.
The smug triumph on her face was absolute. "That?" She gestured dismissively at his trembling, slightly larger erection. "That’s pathetic. A consolation prize." She took a step closer, the sheer size of her looming over him on the sofa, blocking the sun. Her shadow engulfed him. "See this?" She gripped herself firmly, giving it a slow, possessive pump. The muscle in her forearm flexed. "This is what real growth looks like. Thanks for the appetizer, Sammy." She leaned down, her face inches from his, her breath hot on his skin, smelling of her own musk and victory. "My turn for the main course. And you’re going to watch." She straightened up, her hand still working slowly. "Get comfortable. This might take a while. I feel… powerful." Her grin was feral. "Like I could grow forever."
The feral grin on Sara’s face was a promise Sam didn’t want kept. Her shadow, massive and imposing, felt like a physical weight pinning him to the velvet sofa. "Watch?" he echoed, voice cracking. His own pathetic half-inch of growth felt cold and insignificant now, dwarfed by the sheer, intimidating presence of her. "Sara, please... we need to talk about this. The drug—"
"Talk later." Her voice cut through his protest, flat and final, already turning away towards the dumbbells gleaming in the sunlit corner. "Need to move. Feels like… electricity under my skin." She stretched again, a long, sinuous movement that made her back muscles ripple like water. The bulge in her joggers was unmistakably larger, straining the fabric near the hip flexor. Eight inches? Nine? It was impossible to tell, but it was monstrous compared to anything he’d ever known.
She didn’t bother putting the weights away. Instead, she grabbed two heavy dumbbells, the metal clanking as she hefted them, testing their weight. She settled into a wide squat stance, her powerful thighs bunching. The downward motion pulled the fabric of her joggers taut across her groin, outlining the impossible shape beneath. Sam couldn’t look away. Humiliation warred with a sickening, drug-fueled fascination. He saw the strain, the cords in her neck standing out. Saw the sheer power coiling in her legs. Saw the undeniable, obscene swell pushing harder against the worn cotton.
"Count," she grunted from the bottom of the squat, her voice thick with effort and something else – a raw, primal energy. "Ten reps."
He flinched. "Sara—"
"Count!" The command snapped out like a whip, echoing in the suddenly too-quiet apartment. The jazz record had ended. Only her harsh breathing and the clank of weights filled the air, thick with the smell of exertion and her potent musk.
"O-one," Sam stammered, watching her drive upwards, muscles screaming definition. Her cock pulsed visibly with the effort.
Two. Three. Each upward thrust of her body sent a corresponding throb through the straining fabric. She finished the set, dropping the weights with a heavy thud that vibrated through the floorboards. Sweat slicked her brow, her chest heaving. But her eyes, when they found his, weren’t tired. They were blazing. Hungry. "Good," she rasped, striding towards him. Not even out of breath. "Now, payment."
Sam scrambled back against the sofa cushions, panic overriding the persistent thrum. "Payment? What the hell—"
Her hand clamped down on his shoulder like a vice, effortlessly halting his retreat. "For the show." She pulled him off the sofa with terrifying ease, spinning him around. Before he could protest, she shoved him face-down onto the cool velvet, his cheek pressed against the fabric. He felt her knee press hard between his shoulder blades, pinning him."Stay."
He gasped, struggling uselessly. "Sara! Stop! This is insane!"
"Insane is thinking your tiny prick could ever satisfy anything," she retorted, her voice dripping disdain. He heard the rustle of fabric, the sound of her pulling the drawstring from her joggers. Then, rough twine bit into his wrists, pulled tight behind his back. He yelped, twisting, but her knee held him immobile. Another length of twine snaked around his ankles, binding them together. The knots were efficient, brutal. She flipped him onto his back. His bound legs were pulled up, knees bent and spread wide, his exposed, slightly enlarged cock jutting pathetically.
Sara stood over him, silhouetted against the window. She shed her joggers and underwear completely now, standing naked and towering. Her cock, fully erect, was a thick, obscene pillar easily nine inches long, the head swollen and dark. Veins stood out like ropes beneath the flushed skin. It looked heavy. Alien. Arousing in a way that made Sam want to vomit. "Better view like this," she stated, her gaze raking over his helpless form. She gave her cock a slow, possessive stroke, hissing as her thumb rubbed over the slick head. "See what you helped make?"
Fear choked him. "Please, don't..."
She ignored him. Stepped forward. Gripped her cock firmly at the base, guiding the huge, slick head towards his exposed entrance. He squeezed his eyes shut, bracing. The pressure was immense, impossible. He felt stretched beyond capacity, a sharp, burning pain tearing through him. A choked scream escaped his lips.
"Relax," Sara commanded, pushing forward relentlessly. "It’ll feel good. Eventually." Her voice held no warmth, only a detached curiosity. She seated herself fully with a grunt of satisfaction, her hips pressing flush against his bound thighs. The sheer, overwhelming fullness was agony. Sam gasped, tears springing to his eyes. "See?" she murmured, grinding slowly against him, watching his face contort. "Fits just fine."
She began to move. Slow, deep thrusts that felt like being split open. The pain was intense, mingling with a horrifying, unwanted sensation deep inside – a raw, bruised kind of pleasure sparked by the incessant, demanding thrum of the drug. He bit his lip, tasting blood, trying to stifle the moan that threatened to escape. Sara’s gaze remained fixed on him, observing his struggle, a cruel amusement in her eyes. She picked up the pace, each thrust deeper, harder, rocking his bound body on the sofa. Her breathing grew ragged, her own moans deeper, more guttural. She leaned over him, her sweat dripping onto his chest, one hand braced on the sofa beside his head. "Feel it," she panted. "Feel me growing inside you."
And he did. With each powerful inward thrust, the thickness pressing into him felt… different. More. Tighter. Fuller. It wasn't just friction; it was active expansion. Her cock pulsed, hot and alive, seeming to swell incrementally with every movement. The pressure intensified, the stretching sensation returning, deeper this time. Terror warred with the drug’s compulsion. "You're... getting bigger," he gasped, horrified.
"Am I?" she rasped, a feral smile curling her lips. She slammed into him hard, making him cry out. "Good." She fucked him with increasing ferocity, her thrusts becoming brutal, piston-like. Her muscles strained, sweat sheening her entire body. Her cock felt like a battering ram, impossibly thick, stretching him to a breaking point he hadn't known existed. The heat radiating from it was intense. She threw her head back and roared, a raw, animal sound, as her body locked, buried deep inside him. He felt the violent pulse, the hot, thick flood that wasn't just ejaculate – it carried that familiar, terrifying jolt, like concentrated lightning hitting his core.
The thrum inside Sam exploded into a supernova. His own small cock jerked violently against his stomach, untouched, as a weak, pathetic spurt of cum shot from him. Simultaneously, a searing heat blossomed deep in his groin, an intense pressure, a sudden, violent stretching. He screamed, arching against his bonds. When he looked down, past the monstrous intrusion still buried inside him, he saw his own cock. It was visibly engorged, thicker, longer – pushing five inches, maybe five and a half. Real, undeniable growth. But it was nothing. Less than nothing.
Sara withdrew slowly, her softening cock glistening, slick with her own release and his blood. It slid out, leaving him gaping, burning. She stood, towering over him, breathing heavily. Sam stared, eyes wide with horror and awe. She was bigger. Her shoulders broader, her thighs thicker, her biceps more defined. And her cock, even semi-flaccid now, hung heavy and thick – easily ten, maybe eleven inches, swinging obscenely between her powerful legs. It looked heavier. More substantial. Veins pulsed beneath the skin.
She looked down at her own body, flexing her arms, running a hand over the new swell of muscle on her abdomen. A low hum of pure satisfaction vibrated in her chest. She glanced at Sam’s newly enlarged, still trembling cock, then met his terrified eyes. Her smile was triumphant, predatory. "See, Sammy?" she purred, stepping towards the dumbbells again, her gait powerful, assured. "Told you it’d feel good." She hefted the weights, settling back into her squat stance. Her gaze locked onto his, burning with insatiable hunger. "Now, rest up. Need you ready for the next set."
The words hung in the air, thick as the scent of sweat and sex and something metallic. Next set. Sam trembled, the raw ache between his legs competing with the frantic buzz under his skin. His own cock, now five inches, pulsed uselessly against his stomach, a cruel mockery of the monstrous thing swinging between Sara's thighs. It looked heavier than before, thicker, the veins beneath flushed skin like dark rivers. Ten inches? Eleven? Each time she came, it seemed to gain substance.
"Don't just lie there," Sara snapped, already racking the dumbbells with a sharp clank. Her movements were fluid, powerful. She grabbed heavier weights this time, her biceps knotting with the strain. "Get those legs untied. We're wasting time." She didn't look at him as she settled back into her wide squat stance, the powerful muscles in her thighs and ass bunching under the strain. The sheer mass of her, even just standing there coiled, was terrifying. A predator waiting to spring.
Sam fumbled with the rough twine binding his ankles, fingers clumsy. He felt exposed, vulnerable, the velvet sofa scratchy against his raw skin. Every movement sent fresh jolts of pain radiating from his core. He finally got the knots loose, kicking the twine away. His wrists were still bound behind his back. Sara didn't seem to care. She began her descent.
One. The downward motion was controlled, brutal. Sweat beaded on her forehead. Her focus was absolute, inward, on the fire in her muscles. Sam watched, transfixed, as the immense weight pulled her deeper. The sight of her, straining, powerful, the thick length of her cock hanging heavy and obscene… it should repulse him. Instead, the thrum inside him spiked, a treacherous heat pooling low in his gut. Humiliation warred with unwanted arousal.
Two. Three. Her breath hissed out between gritted teeth. Each rep seemed to carve new definition into her body. Her shoulders looked broader, her back wider, a sculpted mass of power. The drug wasn't just affecting that; it was rewriting her entire physique. Fast. Aggressively. Her cock pulsed visibly with the exertion, a dark, demanding presence. "Faster," she growled, not at him, but at herself. "Push!"
Four. Five. She drove upwards explosively, a guttural groan tearing from her throat. The weights slammed together overhead. She held it for a second, trembling, veins standing out on her neck like cords. The bulge at her groin looked impossibly tight, straining. Her gaze, when it flickered to Sam, was feral, blazing with an energy that bordered on madness. "See that?" she panted, dropping the weights with a floor-shaking thud. Sweat streamed down her torso, over the hard planes of her abdomen. "Pure fucking fuel." She stalked towards him, naked, magnificent, terrifying. Her cock was fully hard again, impossibly thick, easily twelve inches now, jutting aggressively. The head was swollen, dark, glistening with pre-cum. "Your turn to feed it." She grabbed his bound wrists, hauling him upright with terrifying ease. "Knees."
He didn't hesitate this time. The thrum demanded obedience. He slid off the sofa onto the worn rug, knees hitting hard. The scent of her, potent musk mixed with clean sweat, filled his nostrils. Her cock loomed before his face, a massive pillar of flesh. He felt dwarfed. Insignificant. "Open," she commanded, her voice rough. He obeyed, tilting his head back. The taste exploded on his tongue as she thrust forward – salt, heat, that unique bitter-sweetness amplified. It was too big. He gagged immediately, tears springing to his eyes.
"Relax your fucking throat," Sara snarled, her fingers tangling in his hair, pulling hard enough to make his scalp burn. She pushed deeper, forcing him to take more. "There. That's it." She began a relentless rhythm, fucking his mouth, shallow at first, then deeper, harder. Her hips pistoned. Her groans were low, animalistic. "Yeah… fuck… suck it." Her grip tightened, holding his head immobile. "Use that tiny tongue."
Sam focused on the thrum, the overwhelming sensory assault, the raw power radiating from her. The pain in his jaw, the struggle to breathe, the sheer degradation… it twisted into something else under the drug’s influence. A perverse submission. A dark current of pleasure sparked deep within him, mirroring the frantic buzz. He moaned around her, the vibration making her shudder. "Oh fuck… Sammy…" Her thrusts became erratic, desperate. "Gonna flood that throat…"
She held him deep, grinding against his face as her body locked. A guttural roar ripped through the apartment as she came. Hot, thick pulses shot down his throat, impossibly voluminous, carrying that familiar electric jolt. He swallowed convulsively, choking, the bitter-sweet fluid burning. The jolt hit his system like a lightning strike. The thrum surged, blinding. Heat exploded in his groin. He felt it – the stretching, the painful, rapid engorgement. He ripped his mouth free, gasping, coughing, looking down. Six inches. Solid. Thick. Real growth. A choked sob escaped him – terror, relief, awe.
Sara staggered back, breathing hard, a satisfied smirk playing on her lips. She looked down at her own cock, still rigid, still impossibly large. And growing. Visibly. Thickening further, lengthening, the veins bulging like cables under flushed skin. Thirteen inches? Fourteen? It looked inhuman. She ran a hand over the slick shaft, her touch possessive. "Not bad," she purred, looking at Sam's new size. "Cute little upgrade." Her gaze lifted, predatory. "Now… weights again. My turn." She grabbed the heaviest dumbbells, muscles screaming as she lifted them. "You rest. Need you strong enough to take more."
The cycle continued. Reps. Sweat dripping onto the rug. Sara’s form becoming more monstrously defined with each set, her cock a constant, obscene weight swinging between her legs. Fifteen inches. Then sex. Sam bent over the arm of the sofa, wrists still bound, taking her brutal thrusts that stretched him beyond agony into a terrifying, drugged ecstasy. Each orgasm she ripped from herself sent that electric jolt into him, spurring another fractional, pathetic inch of growth on his part, while hers surged forward, heavier, longer. Sixteen inches. Seventeen. Her shoulders broadened, her back widened, a sculpted titan.
Reps. Lunges now, powerful steps shaking the floor. The sheer mass of her cock bouncing with each movement. Sex. Sam on his back, legs hooked over her impossibly wide shoulders, her massive cock slamming into him with piston force, the head battering deep inside. Each thrust felt like being split wider. Her roars filled the room. Eighteen inches. Closing in on two feet. Thick as his wrist. The rug was soaked with sweat, saliva, cum.
The apartment swam in a haze of exertion, musk, and chemical heat. The vintage record player sat silent, a relic in this arena of flesh and growth. Outside, the sun had long set, the cozy apartment now a shadowed den lit only by the dim city glow filtering through the windows. Sara’s breathing was ragged thunder, her movements slower but no less powerful as she finished another punishing set of overhead presses. Her cock, impossibly huge, swung heavily, almost brushing her knees. Nineteen inches? More? It was a grotesque appendage, a fleshy club. Sam lay on his side on the ruined rug, trembling uncontrollably. His own cock, now a respectable seven inches, felt like a cruel joke. He was raw inside and out, exhausted beyond measure, yet the thrum still vibrated in his bones, a relentless demand.
"Again," Sara slurred, swaying slightly on her feet. Sweat plastered her hair to her skull. Her eyes, though bloodshot, still burned with that insatiable hunger. She stumbled towards him, her massive erection leading the way. "Need your ass. One more time." Her voice was thick, exhausted, but the command was absolute. "Get up."
Sam whimpered, pushing himself onto his hands and knees. Every muscle screamed. He felt bruised, torn, hollowed out. The thought of taking that monstrous thing again was pure terror. Yet his body, traitorously, responded. His seven inches stiffened against his stomach. The thrum pulsed, insistent. He presented himself, head hanging low, awaiting the inevitable violation. Sara’s large, calloused hands gripped his hips. The slick, enormous head pressed against him. She didn't ease in. She pushed with the last of her strength, a low, animal groan escaping her as she breached him. The stretch was beyond anything before. A white-hot agony that stole his breath. She sank deep, her weight collapsing onto his back, pinning him. She began to move, slow, grinding thrusts, her breath hot and ragged against his neck. "Yeah… feel it… growing…" she mumbled, half-delirious. He could feel it too – the relentless, incremental swelling inside him, stretching him impossibly further. Her thrusts became weaker, erratic. "Gonna cum… deep… make you bigger…" Her voice trailed off into incoherent grunts.
He felt the familiar pulse, the electric jolt surging through him as she climaxed weakly inside him, her body shuddering. The thrum inside him flared white-hot one final time. A searing stretch at his groin – another half-inch? He couldn't tell. He couldn't care. Sara slumped fully onto him, her massive weight crushing, her enormous cock still buried deep. Her breathing turned deep, ragged, then settled into the heavy rhythm of unconsciousness. The pressure inside him was immense, unbearable, but he lacked the strength to move her.
Exhaustion hit Sam like a physical blow. The thrum subsided, replaced by a deep, bone-melting fatigue. His vision blurred. The pain, the humiliation, the terrifying growth – it all receded into a numb haze. His limbs felt leaden. His eyes fluttered shut. He remained pinned beneath her, her breath hot on his neck, her impossible weight anchoring him to the sweat-soaked rug, the grotesque appendage connecting them a final, heavy punctuation mark before the darkness swallowed him whole.