Chapter 49: The Girl's Second Lesson
The antiseptic sting was the first truth, biting at the inside of her nose. Then the leather, old and stubborn, refusing to be sanitized into something it wasn’t. Maggie lay on the bench, a specimen pinned and displayed.
The pregnancy, a secret still held in blood tests and Ben’s spreadsheets, was a live wire in her veins. It hummed, a constant, low-grade need that turned the sterile air thick. Every nerve felt raw, exposed, begging for a blunt collision.
Ben had sculpted her into a diagram of obscene tension. Thick, rubber-lined clamps bit into the inner folds of her labia, the pain a bright, constant star. From each clamp, a thin chain of stainless steel ran down to a garter strapped high on her thighs, pulling her pussy into a perpetually gasped-open oval. The sphere inside that stretched hole was a familiar fist, but the new, hungry elasticity of her flesh made it feel like a challenge barely met. The plug in her ass was a dense, unyielding anchor, fat enough to make her feel split in two distinct, rounded halves.
Her tits were monstrous orbs, swollen not just with milk but with the tight, intricate binding Ben had perfected. He’d woven figure-eights of stark white bandage around them, forcing the milk-heavy tissue into near-perfect, painful spheres, her areolas dark and puffy against the constraint. A thick leather gag, soaked in her own spit from earlier, filled her mouth. The blindfold was a blessing and a curse—it left her alone with the hurricane of want the pregnancy was brewing.
“Chat is live. Metrics are good. We’re calling this one ‘Protocol Adjustment.’” Ben’s voice was calm, close to her ear. His fingers traced the straining chain between her thighs, a clinical gesture. “Maggie’s early condition is amplifying receptive sensitivity by an estimated three hundred percent. The subject is prepped for deep-throat training. Ella?”
A shuffle of feet on concrete. A soft, eager whimper.
“Subject Ella is suited for optimal service.”
Maggie could picture it from the sounds: the creak of leather, the whisper of buckles. Ben had Ella in a full-body harness of black straps, cinched tight at the waist, between the legs, across the chest. It left her arms bound behind her, her posture forced into a slight, offering arch. Only her head and the long column of her neck were free, vulnerable. Over her face was a sleek bondage mask of shining latex, mouth open in a perfect, dark ‘O’ that was not a hole but a sealed gateway. Ben had fitted a huge, stainless steel ring gag into that opening, its interior diameter a daunting circle of polished metal that kept her jaw perpetually unhinged, her throat a straight, wet chute.
“Before we begin Ella’s practical exam,” Ben said, his voice shifting to a presenter’s smooth cadence, “we’re implementing a subscriber-requested modification. Ella submitted a formal petition, which I have here.”
The rustle of paper. Maggie heard Ella’s breath hitch, a sound of pure anticipation.
“‘I, Ella,’” Ben read, his tone flat, “‘formally request permanent anatomical emphasis to better serve as a visual and tactile complement to Goddess Maggie’s glory. I want my nipples made huge and sensitive, and my clit enlarged and prominent, so it may be abused during service as a reminder of my purpose.’ Signed, witnessed, notarized. So let’s make it official.”
A tray clinked. The smell of alcohol wipes cut through the other scents. Ella mewled behind the ring gag, a sound of desperate consent.
“First, the nipples.”
The sound was a soft, wet pop—a fine-gauge needle piercing flesh. Ella’s strangled cry was muffled by the metal. Ben worked in silence for a minute, the only sounds the tiny clicks of the syringe and Ella’s ragged, nasal breathing. Maggie knew the feeling—the cool rush of saline flooding the tissue, the immediate, aching swell. He did the other one. Ella was panting now, little puffs of air.
“Generous initial infusion,” Ben narrated to the chat. “We’ll see a significant increase in protrusion and tactile response. Now, the clitoral site.”
A different sound. A sharper gasp from Ella, a jerk against her harness that made the straps creak. The needle going into that tiny, sensitive bundle of nerves was a violation of a different order. Ben injected slowly, deliberately. Maggie, in her dark world, felt a sympathetic twinge in her own massive shaft, which stood rigid and weeping against her belly.
“There,” Ben said, a final click onto the tray. “Let’s let that settle. The swelling will be immediate. She’ll feel every vibration, every breeze. Perfect for training.”
He moved to Maggie’s head, his hand rough in her hair, positioning her blindfolded gaze down her own body. “She’s all yours, Magpie. Your new toy. Her throat is the only part of her we need today. Don't tease her, she's a very good girl telling us what she wants. Use it.”
He guided Ella into position, knees on the floor, the ring gag aligned. Maggie felt the cool, polished steel of the ring bump against the head of her clit-cock, twitching in need. Ella’s breath, hot and fast, washed over the sensitized skin.
“Begin.”
Ben’s hand left Maggie’s hair. He gave no signal to Ella. It was Maggie’s to take.
The need, the pregnancy hunger, rose in a black wave. She thrust her hips up from the bench, a harsh, animal drive. The steel ring was cold, unforgiving, but past it was the wet, living heat of Ella’s throat.
She shoved inside.
The ring gag prevented any lips, any tongue. It was just penetration, a brutal piston into a slick, clinging tube. Ella’s gag reflex was a fierce, fluttering spasm around the invading girth, a frantic drumbeat of resistance. Gk-gk-gk-ghhk. The sound echoed in the metal ring, loud and obscene.
Maggie fucked into it. Each drive was a lance of fire straight to her core, amplified by the strain in her holes, the painful pull on her lips, the dense weight in her tits. The pregnancy made the pleasure viscous, overwhelming, a syrup drowning her senses.
Ella took it. Her body, held rigid by the harness, could only accept. Tears streamed from beneath the latex mask, cutting shiny tracks. Her newly-injected nipples, already swelling into dark, taut peaks, brushed against Maggie’s thigh with each forward thrust. Her own swollen clit, a tiny, angry pearl now, rubbed raw against the leather strap between her legs.
Ben watched, timing them. “Deeper,” he said, his voice empty of everything but observation. “The anterior wall is resisting. Again.”
Maggie obeyed, slamming harder. The head of her shaft battered a place deep in Ella’s throat, a place that made the girl’s eyes roll back in ecstatic suffocation.
“Good. Hold.”
Maggie held, buried to the root, feeling the convulsive swallow that fought to happen around her. Ella’s throat was learning the shape of her, molding itself in real time.
“Withdraw. Slow.”
She pulled back, a slick, shining withdrawal. Ella gasped, a wet, sucking inhale through her nose.
“Now again. Faster.”
It became a rhythm, a drill. Ben orchestrated it, his commands laconic. Depth. Speed. Angle. Each adjustment made Maggie’s world tighten to a point of unsustainable pressure. The clamps bit. The sphere threatened to pop free. Her bound tits ached with a dull, heavy throb.
“She’s adapting,” Ben noted, almost to himself. Then, to the chat: “The subject’s epiglottis is showing remarkable plasticity. And you can see the requested modifications are already providing secondary stimulus. Look at that clit. Begging for a flogger already.”
He said it with a smile, then turned to fetch it from the wall. The flogger was a simple thing, a dozen falls of black suede, each tip weighted with a single lead bead. He tested the weight in his hand, a soft whisk through the air.
Maggie groaned behind her gag, a thick, yearning sound that vibrated in her stuffed mouth. The sound was for everything: the flogger, the raw ache in her holes, the relentless, swollen hunger nesting in her womb. It was a single note of pure, undifferentiated need.
The first fall landed not on her, but on Ella’s newly-swollen clit. It wasn’t a full swing, just a sharp, precise flick of Ben’s wrist.
The suede tips, with their cruel little beads, snapped against the hyper-sensitive nub.
Ella shrieked into the ring gag, a sound that turned into a wet choke as her body convulsed. Her throat clamped down on Maggie’s shaft in a vicious, unexpected spasm, a ring of muscle contracting like a fist. The sudden, brutal tightness was a lightning strike up Maggie’s spine. Her own cry was lost inside her, her body bowing against the straps.
“Interesting,” Ben remarked, his voice fascinated. “Direct clitoral stimulus triggers an involuntary swallowing reflex. Useful.”
He did it again. Flick.
Another shriek-choke, another breathtaking contraction. Maggie saw stars behind the blindfold. Each contraction milked her, pulling at the root buried deep in Ella’s throat, which was now a twitching, reactive canal. Precum leaked in a steady stream, slicking the metal ring.
“Please,” Ella begged, the word mangled around the flesh filling her mouth. “More, please, I can’t—it’s too—”
“You requested the modification,” Ben reminded her gently, almost kindly. He ran the falls over her tortured nipples, now the size of fat grapes, dark and impossibly erect. “You wanted to feel it all. This is feeling it."
This is feeling it.”
He dropped the flogger. It hit the concrete with a soft, final thud. His hands, dry and cool, went to either side of Ella’s latex-sheathed head. Her eyes, visible through the mask’s slits, were glassy pools of overwhelmed devotion, tracking his movement.
“Enough science. Time for the main event.” His voice lost its lecture-hall cadence, dropping into something quieter, more intimate. “She loves the stretch, Magpie. You feel that? She’s praying for it.”
Ella whimpered around the shaft, a sound of affirmation.
“But her body’s a coward. It hits a wall.” His fingers tightened in her hair, not cruelly, but with absolute certainty. “Nine inches. That’s her panic line. Her throat just… seizes. We need to rewrite that panic. Make it mean something else.”
He looked down at Maggie, though she couldn’t see it. “You’re getting desperate. I can smell it on you. That new… depth.” He meant the pregnancy. The word hung in the air, unspoken but palpable, a third presence in the room.
Maggie moaned, a long, ragged sound of agreement that ended in a shudder. She was desperate. The hunger was a live thing, chewing at her from the inside, demanding to be fed violence and fullness.
“Let’s help our girl,” Ben murmured.
He didn’t guide. He forced. In one smooth, brutal motion, he shoved Ella’s head down the length of Maggie’s shaft. The metal ring gag provided no cushion, no give. It was a piston slide into wet, clenching heat.
Six inches. Seven. Ella’s breath hitched, a frantic nasal snort.
Eight.
Her body went rigid, a statue of resistance. A tight, muscular ring in her throat clamped shut, a biological barricade. The head of Maggie’s clit-cock pressed against it, a bulging, insistent pressure. It wouldn’t yield.
Gkkkhh—! The gag was a wet sound of pure obstruction.
“There it is,” Ben said, almost fondly. He held the pressure, letting Ella struggle against the impossibility in her throat, letting Maggie feel the frustrating, tantalizing blockade. “See? Her mind wants it. Her body’s terrified. We have to persuade it.”
He pulled her off, a slick, sobbing release. Ella dragged in a wet, ragged breath, her shoulders heaving. “I’m sorry,” she blubbered, drool and precum coating her chin. “I want to, I do, I just—”
“I know,” Ben soothed. His hand slid down between her bound legs, finding the tiny, swollen node of her clitoris, now protruded and throbbing from the saline injections. He didn’t fondle it. He pinched it, hard, between his thumb and forefinger, a sharp, shocking tweak.
Ella screamed, her body arcing.
As she screamed, her throat opened in a reflexive, guttural cry.
Ben used that moment. He slammed her head back down.
This time, the head popped past the ring. Nine inches. The resistance was ferocious, a rippling, muscular choke, but she was in. The invasion triggered another wave of gagging, which made her clench, which made the penetration feel even tighter, more impossible.
Maggie cried out into her own gag, the sensation a brilliant, torturous paradox—a barrier being fucked open. Her hips churned air, trying to meet it, to bury herself in that struggling, living knot.
Ben pulled her off again before she could adjust. “Good. That’s the trick. Attention here,” he flicked Ella’s protruding clit again, making her sob, “opens the gate here.” He tapped the latex over her throat.
He forced her down a third time. Nine inches. The gagging was louder, messier. Tears ran in rivers. “You love the fullness, don’t you, Ella?” he asked, conversational.
“Y-yes!” she strangled out.
“Then take more.”
He spanked her clit. Not a flick, but a flat, open-palmed slap directly on the hyper-injected flesh.
The sound was a small, sharp crack. Ella’s world dissolved into a white nova of pain-pleasure. Her throat surrendered completely in a spasming, open-moaned cry.
Ben drove her down to ten inches. Then eleven.
Maggie was unraveling. The desperation was a crescendo in her blood, syncopated by the wet, rhythmic choking below her and the aching void in her stretched cunt. The sphere inside her felt simultaneously too big and not enough. She needed something to meet this new, deep worship.
Ben watched Maggie’s body, reading its tremors like a seismograph. He slowed his rhythm, holding Ella at eleven inches, letting the girl’s constant, submissive gagging be the only sound.
“Maggie,” he said, his voice cutting through the haze. It wasn’t loud. It was a probe. “This hunger in you… it’s changing the shape of you. I can see it.” He paused, letting the choked sounds fill the space. “Does it make you want stranger things?”
She groaned, a helpless, affirmative sound.
“That spread, pregnant pussy of yours,” he continued, his tone dipping into a dark, curious warmth. “Clenching on that huge sphere. Working it. It’s a beautiful sight. But I wonder.” He leaned closer, his breath near her ear. “It needs to be spanked. Make it puffy and tight like a virgin's. Your pregnant pussy, all tight and clenching, trying to close on that fat sphere. Imagine a huge cock popping your cherry for the first time, and this fat clit-cock raping Ella's throat.
Ella grunted through the gag, drooling, her clit thrusting helplessly into the air. Ben spanked her grape-sized nipple. "Yeah? You need your throat clit-stuffed, baby? Training you to be a good sleeve means we rape your throat until it gives. You gonna open up?"
Girl juices puddled underneath Ella as her arousal spiked. He rubbed them into her hyperprominent clit. "That's what I thought. Breaking your throat open is our goal. You be a good girl and take it.
Over Ella’s relentless gagging, Maggie groaned, long and deep, and nodded her blindfolded head frantically. Yes. God, yes.
Ben smiled. She couldn’t see it, but she felt it in the air.
“She wants it,” he said, to Ella, to the room, to the watching chat. “They both do.” He released Ella’s head, letting her stay impaled at eleven inches, a living, choking monument. “And I love seeing her spread, helpless, begging.”
His hand moved from Ella’s head, down the length of Maggie’s trembling belly, coming to rest just above the steel chains that pulled her labia wide. His fingertips brushed the swollen, exposed lips, glistening around the sphere’s curve.
“Let’s give her what she needs.”
His palm cracked down on her exposed, swollen lips.
The sound was different here—a wet, meaty slap that echoed the tight choke of Ella’s throat around her shaft. Maggie’s entire consciousness narrowed to the brilliant, blooming sting. It wasn’t the clean pain of the clamps or the deep ache of the plug. This was a superficial, fiery branding that resonated into the deep, hungry cavity of her.
“See that?” Ben’s voice was a low murmur of fascination. He watched the red flush blossom across the delicate, stretched skin. “The tissue is already more vascular. The response is immediate.”
He spanked her again, a precise, measured blow an inch lower.
Ella gagged in time with it, a perfect, wet syncopation.
Maggie screamed into her gag, her hips twisting against the chains. The pain was a key, turning in a lock deep in her womb. It didn’t quell the hunger. It refined it, sharpened it into a single, pointed need: more of this specific, devastating fullness.
“You want it tighter, don’t you?” Ben asked, not waiting for her muffled, frantic moan as answer. He spanked her a third time, then a fourth, a rapid one-two that made her juices seep around the sphere in a hot gush. “All this expensive silicone inside you, and what you really crave is the feeling of being too small for it. Of being forced.”
His hand rubbed the heated, smarting flesh, his touch almost clinical in its assessment. “We can arrange that.”
“We can arrange that.”
He picked up the flogger again. This time he didn’t test it. He simply let the falls, with their little lead beads, drape across Maggie’s trembling belly. The suede was cool. Then he drew his arm back and brought it down in a smooth, professional arc.
The impact wasn’t a slap. It was a simultaneous, stinging rain across her entire exposed cunt, a dozen tiny, precise blows landing on swollen lips, the sensitive skin of her inner thighs, the taut$ chain links. The pain was diffuse and sharp all at once. Maggie’s cry was a muffled shriek, her body straining so hard the bench groaned.
“That’s one,” Ben said, his voice flat.
He didn’t wait for her to settle. The flogger rose and fell again, a soft whisk followed by that same brutal, spreading sting. The sphere inside her felt hotter, larger, as the flesh around it began to protest, to swell.
“Two.”
Ella gagged beneath her, a constant, wet counterpoint. Each blow made Maggie jerk, which shoved her shaft deeper into that struggling throat, which made Ella choke harder, a perfect, vicious circuit of stimulus.
“Three.”
The skin was glowing now, a warm, angry pink. The sphere, once a clear presence, was becoming obscured by the puffiness of her labia. They were swelling shut around the toy, trying to swallow it, making the stretch feel newer, tighter.
“Four.”
Ben paused. He set the flogger down and used both hands to spread her lips, examining his work with a critic’s eye. His thumbs pressed into the heated, protesting flesh. “Look at that,” he murmured, almost to himself. “It’s closing up around it like a virgin. Beautiful. Chat’s losing their minds.”
He picked the flogger up again. “Let’s make it perfect.”
The next blows were more focused, concentrating on the upper mound and the very edges of her slit. Five. Six. Seven. Each strike made her jerk and sob. The puffiness was becoming pronounced, the lips thickening, engulfing the sphere until only a sliver of the dark silicone was visible, nestled in a tight, red seam of swollen flesh. It looked violated and impossibly tight.
“There,” Ben said, satisfied. He ran a finger along the hot, puffy seam. It was fiercely warm. “Now it looks like it’s never been touched. Now it looks like it needs to be split wide open.”
Maggie whimpered, the sound drenched in agreement. The new, constricting tightness was a different kind of fullness, a promise of rupture that made the deep hunger in her womb clench with anticipation.
Beneath her, the rhythm changed. Ella’s gagging had become weak, erratic. She was tiring, her throat weary, the constant invasion hitting that stubborn panic line and rebounding.
“Getting lazy, sweetheart?” Ben’s tone shifted, dropping into a crude, affectionate coo. He abandoned the flogger and moved to Ella’s head, crouching beside her. He wiped a string of drool from her chin with his thumb. “We had a deal, baby. You were gonna take it all. You promised me you’d try.”
“I… am…” Ella slurred around the flesh, her eyes dazed.
“Nah. That’s just maintenance. I need you to take it.” He gripped the back of the latex hood, his other hand circling the base of Maggie’s shaft. “You love this big, fat clit-cock, don’t you? You love how it ruins your throat.”
“Love it,” Ella breathed, her voice wrecked.
“Then show me.”
He didn’t guide her. He shoved. Using his hand on Maggie as an anchor, he drove Ella’s head down with sudden, brutal force. The metal ring slammed against Maggie’s pubic bone. Ella’s nose mashed into skin. The choking sound was a wet, truncated shriek.
She was at twelve inches. A new depth. Her body went rigid, then limp, accepting the violation in a wave of trembling surrender.
“That’s my girl,” Ben crooned, holding her there. He released her head, letting her wear the full length like a collar. “Just let it sit. Feel how deep it is. That’s your home now.”
He turned his attention to her body. His fingers found her injected nipples, dark and protruding like ripe berries. He didn’t play. He pinched one, hard, and twisted.
Ella screamed, a raw, open sound that vibrated beautifully through Maggie. Her throat convulsed in rhythmic pulses.
“Yeah, scream for it,” Ben growled, his crude affection laced with ownership. He moved to her clit, that hyper-sensitive, swollen pearl. He didn’t flick it. He pressed his thumb against it, a grinding, merciless pressure. “This little thing begged for attention. Now it’s gonna get it. Every time you choke, I’m gonna abuse this cute little clit. Make it your choke-button.”
He pressed harder, circling. Ella’s screams turned into sobbing, gurgling pleas. Her hips bucked uselessly in the harness. A fresh flood of her own arousal soaked the leather strap between her legs, dripping onto the concrete with a steady pat-pat-pat.
The chat counter on the tablet, forgotten on a stool, was a blur of emojis and donor alerts, a silent, digital roar.
“See that, Maggie?” Ben said, looking up at her blindfolded face. “She’s soaks her pussy just from taking you. Just from the pain. You do that to her. You’re all she needs.”
He gave Ella’s clit a final, vicious pinch. Then he grabbed her head again. “One more. For the promise. Take it all, baby. Every last inch.”
He pulled her off until just the tip remained, a glistening connection. Then, with a final, loving grunt of effort, he forced her down.
Thirteen inches.
The sound stopped. For a second, there was perfect, suffocating silence. Ella’s throat had taken the entire shaft. Her face was buried. Her body was utterly still, a statue of complete penetration.
Then, a long, shuddering, nasal exhale of pure completion. Her eyes closed. She swallowed, a slow, deliberate, accepting convulsion that traveled the entire length of Maggie’s flesh.
Maggie felt it. The total encompassment. The final surrender. The tight, hot, living sheath that now contained her completely.
The orgasm that tore through her was silent, absolute, and infinitely deep. It had no peak, only a devastating, endless plateau of fulfillment that echoed the new, tight clasp of her own beaten, swollen pussy around the sphere, and the silent, sopping evidence of Ella’ worship beneath her.
The aftershocks rolled through her in slow waves, each one a small, helpless clench around the sphere buried in her cunt. Maggie hung in the straps, ruined and humming, her breath whistling through the spit-soaked gag. Beneath her, Ella stayed impaled, throat wrapped around the root of her shaft, a warm, living collar.
Ben washed his hands at the sink. The water ran pink off the flogger's handle where he'd set it down. He came back drying his fingers on a white towel, unhurried, a man between tasks.
"Beautiful," he said, looking at the tablet. "Chat's still climbing. Two hundred new subs in ten minutes." He tilted the screen so the camera caught it, a waterfall of hearts and dollar amounts. "They're saying her orgasm made the hole flutter. They want a closer look."
He rolled the stool to the foot of the bench and sat, knees almost touching Maggie's chained-open thighs. A small mechanical whir. The overhead camera arm swung down, its lens settling inches from her crotch. On the wall monitor, her own pussy bloomed into a giant, glistening image: the puffy, flogged lips swollen shut around the sliver of silicone, the steel chains pulling her open, everything flushed dark red and dripping.
"Look at that," Ben murmured, to the chat as much as to her. "Fourteen orgasms today and it still looks brand new. Because I beat it back into shape. Look at those lips. Puffy little virgin slit. Nobody would guess this hole takes a fist for breakfast."
His fingertip touched her just above the sphere, tracing the taut, swollen seam where her lips met the toy. Slow. Deliberate. The contact was featherlight and it still made her whole body flinch, a convulsive ripple the camera caught in perfect detail.
"Ooh," Ben said softly, reading the screen. "'She's clutching it.' Yeah. She is. Look." He pressed his thumb gently against the puffed-out rim of her hole, where the silicone disappeared into flesh. The muscle beneath answered him, gripping the sphere in a desperate, rippling clamp, trying to drag it deeper, trying to keep it. "See that? That's not a reflex. That's want. This hungry little pregnant pussy is holding on for dear life. It knows I might take it away."
He drew his finger down the seam, slow, splitting the swollen lips open around the toy's curve. The camera lingered. On the monitor, the pink interior flesh came into view, slick and quivering, stretched glossy around the sphere's girth.
"There it is," he breathed. "Look how it stretches. Thin as paper in spots, and it just keeps taking it. Beautiful. Chat agrees. I've got forty comments in the last thirty seconds and they all say the same thing."
He read them aloud, his voice a low, lazy narration. "'Needs a real cock.' Yeah. 'Tease it, don't feed it.' She does, doesn't she, Magpie?" His finger circled the straining rim without entering, feathering the hot, puffed tissue, making it jump and flutter. "'Wreck her on something huge.' Patience, friends. Patience."
Maggie moaned into the gag, a thick, begging sound. Her hips tilted toward his hand, an instinct she couldn't stop, offering the hole up.
"Look at that," Ben said, delighted. "She's presenting. Can't even see me and she's shoving her cunt at my finger like a cat in heat." He pulled his hand back and let her strain for it, empty air against swollen flesh. The chat counter ticked wildly. "That's the money shot, right there. A hole that's been flogged shut, begging to be split back open."
He let one fingertip rest against the very edge of her stretched opening, right where silicone met skin, and pressed. Not in. Just a firm, maddening pressure on the taut ring of flesh.
"Feel that, Magpie? That's all you get. One finger. This virginal hole needs to be fucked pretty, does it?" He worked it in alongside the sphere's curve, a shallow, curling hook, rubbing the inner wall just past the rim. Her whole body shuddered. "There we go. Feel that flutter? Her cunt is trying to suck my finger in. Desperate little thing. It's got a fist-sized ball in it and it wants more."
The chat scrolled faster. Ben angled the camera down until the frame was nothing but her hole: the swollen lips, the thin shine of stretched flesh, his single finger hooked inside, the sphere's dark curve. He zoomed.
"Comments are pouring in, let me read you some." He scrolled with his free hand. "'Fist her.'" He chuckled. "Already done, twice. She wants worse. This one says, 'Pregnant cunts need huge cock, breed her and fill her.' She's already bred, my friend. This one, oh, this one's popular: 'The way it grips the ball. She's in love with it.' She is in love with it. Aren't you, Magpie?"
Maggie nodded, blind and frantic, drool slipping down her chin.
"Her pussy loves it and it hates it. That's the sweet spot." Ben slowly dragged his finger out, taking a thick string of slick with it, watching it stretch and break on the monitor. "Look at that juice. She's soaked. Everything down here is just weeping for it."
He set two fingertips against her hole now, just the pads, resting on the swollen rim on either side of the sphere. Then, achingly slow, he pulled them apart, widening the already-stretched opening a few millimeters further. The camera caught it all: the tissue thinning, paling under the stretch, the inner walls coming into view, pink and soft and convulsing.
"Ohh, look at that," he whispered. "Gorgeous. Just gorgeous. Chat, tell me I'm wrong. The way it opens. The way it just keeps giving. There's nothing this hole won't take if you're patient with it." He held the stretch, letting the lens drink it in. "'Most beautiful pussy on the internet,' says one. Can't argue."
Ella stirred beneath the bench, still stuffed, her gagging reduced to a soft, reverent hum around Maggie's root. The vibration traveled up through Maggie's shaft, and her pussy clamped hard around the sphere in answer.
"Oh, she felt that," Ben said. "Whole system's wired together now. Throat, cunt, ass. One circuit." He tapped the swollen rim again, quick little taps, each one answered by a flutter the camera recorded faithfully. "See? Every tap, a squeeze. She's a machine that only runs on teasing."
He read another comment aloud. "'Stop teasing and fuck her already.' Sixty-two upvotes on that one." He smiled, slow. "But that's not what she wants. Is it, Magpie? You don't want it easy. You want it to ache. You want that hole aching and empty and clutching at nothing until I decide to fill it with something too big for it. You want to be impaled on a giant toy. Does my pretty girl need to be stuffed and her big clit trained?"
Maggie's answer was a long, guttural moan, her hips grinding upward, chasing his fingers.
"That's my girl." He drew his fingers away for good this time and sat back, letting the camera hold on her: the puffy, beaten lips clenched tight around the sliver of silicone, the slick shining down her thighs, the hole fluttering around its ball like a mouth trying to speak. "Leave it just like that. Aching. Clutching. Chat's voted, by the way. Ninety percent says she's earned something huge." He stood, wiping his fingers on the towel again, his eyes on the toy wall. "Something that'll make that pretty stretch look small."
He crossed to the rack and his hand rose toward the top shelf, where the largest silhouettes waited in the shadow of the fluorescent light.
His fingers closed on the first silhouette and brought it into the light.
It was a Bad Dragon, a Xenogone in onyx silicone, and it was absurd. Fourteen inches of tapering, ridged shaft, its head a flared, knobby crown that mushroomed wider than a softball, its base fanning out into a knot the size of a grapefruit. He weighed it in one hand and felt the dense sag of it, then turned it slowly for the lens.
"Chat, mute your speakers for a second," he said, and his voice dropped to a murmur, almost a whisper, pitched under the wet, rhythmic choke still rising from between Maggie's thighs. Ella had found her rhythm again, bobbing on her knees, working the full thirteen inches in and out of her ring-gagged throat with slow, reverent strokes. The gk. gk. gk. of it was a metronome. Neither woman could hear him over it.
Ben tilted the toy toward the camera and stroked the camera's own lens with one finger, tracing the ridge line. "Measurements first. Fourteen and a quarter inches insertable. Head circumference, eleven inches. Mid-shaft, nine and a half. The knot," he squeezed it, and the silicone bulged obscene and dark under his grip, "is thirteen around. A baseball bat is seven and change. This is nearly double that. This is a forearm with intentions."
He set it on the steel tray with a heavy clack and went back to the shelf.
The second one came down in both hands. It was longer, a flared equine shape in translucent cherry-red, its shaft striated with soft ribs, the head broad and flat like a shovel. He held it up against his own forearm and it dwarfed him.
"Option two. The Atlas Stallion, large size. Sixteen inches long. Head is ten inches around, and the flare widens as you seat it, so the last three inches are a wedge. It doesn't stretch you so much as it spreads you open progressively, every rib a fresh announcement." He ran his thumb down the ridges, and his voice went warmer, softer, a man admiring a gift he hadn't wrapped yet. "And when she takes it to the root, that flat head sits right against her cervix. Right where the baby is. She'll feel it press on everything."
He laid it beside the first. Then a third, and this one he actually laughed at, low and delighted, a bubble of sound he caught behind his teeth.
The Rex in magma orange. Fifteen inches, knotted twice, the shaft a series of swelling bulges like beads the size of oranges, each knot wider than the last, the final one fourteen inches around. He hefted it and the weight of it pulled his hand down.
"This one is a project," he murmured to the lens. "Each knot pops in and then has to pop back out. So the fun isn't just getting it in. The fun is the birth. You feel every one of those come back through the ring, one at a time, stretching her fresh on the way out. Add that to the sphere she's already holding and she's going to look like she's crowning."
On the bench, Maggie's hips rolled, blind and unknowing, chasing the pressure of the sphere her flogged-shut lips had swallowed. Ella's throat made a long, sloppy slurp as she bottomed out again, drool stringing down onto the leather.
Ben picked up the tablet one-handed, thumbing open a poll template, and narrated as he typed. "Okay. Three candidates. Poll's live. Each of them gets measured on screen, and each of them gets a runtime estimate, because chat likes numbers and I like chat."
The first option populated: XENOGRONE, 14.25 IN, KNOT 13 IN CIRC. He added a line beneath it, tapping thoughtfully. "Weight, six pounds. Suction-cup base, but she won't need it. I'll be holding her down."
The second: ATLAS STALLION, 16 IN, HEAD 10 IN CIRC. "Deep option. For the cervix kissers in the audience. I know who you are."
The third: MAGMA REX, 15 IN, DOUBLE KNOT, MAX 14 IN CIRC. He hesitated over the description field, then typed, slowly, savoring it: has to be born back out.
"There we go," he said softly. "Vote's open. Sixty seconds."
While the counter ticked, he wandered back toward the bench, camera in one hand, and crouched at the foot of it again. He framed the shot low: Maggie's swollen, beaten lips clenched around the sliver of dark silicone, the puffiness of her flogged flesh, the shine of her smeared down the inside of her thighs. Then he tilted the lens upward, just slightly, to catch the column of Ella's throat, bulging faintly with each downstroke.
"Look at the two of them," he breathed. "One hole stuffed shut and aching to birth it. One throat stuffed full and learning to love it. And me, with a tray full of monsters and a girl who says yes to all of them." He pressed a knuckle gently against the puffy seam of Maggie's cunt, one light tap, and watched the flutter ripple through the monitor feed. "That's the best part, chat. She doesn't even know what's coming. She just knows it's going to be too big."
He glanced at the poll. Numbers scrolled.
"Early returns," he whispered. "Xenogone at thirty percent. Stallion at twenty-two. Rex at forty-eight. The birth-fetishists are out in force tonight, I see." His grin showed teeth. "Honestly? Same. Watching that sphere crown out of her swollen little slit, watching her lips fight to close around it, and then feeding her something two inches fatter ten seconds later. That's cinema."
Ella's rhythm stuttered. She pulled off Maggie's shaft entirely for a second, gasping wetly through her nose, and Ben reached over without looking and pinched one of her fat, injected nipples, a hard twist that made her squeal and dive back down, taking the whole thirteen inches in one desperate plunge. The choke was loud enough that Maggie moaned, a thick, gagged sound, her bound tits heaving.
"Shh," Ben murmured, though neither of them could hear him. "Almost time."
The poll timer hit zero. He refreshed it, leaning close to the screen, and the numbers settled. His eyebrows went up, and he huffed a soft, pleased laugh into his fist.
"Final count. Xenogone, twenty-six. Stallion, nineteen. Rex, fifty-five." He looked over at the orange monstrosity on the tray, at its two fat knots, its fourteen-inch crown of a final bulge, and back at Maggie's clenched, swollen, secretly pregnant pussy. "Democracy has spoken, Magpie. You're going to birth that ball for the camera. And the moment your pretty slit closes up tight again, I'm going to split it back open on fifteen inches of magma-orange knots."
He set the camera down on its arm mount, angled on her hole, and lifted the Rex off the tray.
"Let's wake her up to the news."
Ben set the Rex back on the tray. Maggie could wait; her news could keep. He crossed to the still-impaled girl and crouched, catching her chin, turning her ruined, drooling face toward the camera.
"Change of order, chat. Before my magpie gets her monster, this little sleeve earned something." He thumbed a strand of spit off her chin. "You want your reward now, baby?"
Ella lifted her mouth slowly off Maggie's shaft, the release a long, sloppy slide. "Yes, please, Ben," she rasped. Her voice was gravel and devotion. "I took all of her. Thirteen inches. I took it all."
"You did." He unlaced the harness straps across her chest, peeling the latex back from her small, pale breasts. Her nipples emerged already obscene, fat and dark from the first round of saline, standing stiff off the areolae like thimbles of flesh. "So we're going to make them thicker. Stouter. You asked for permanent. I'm going to keep my promise an inch at a time."
He fetched the syringe kit from the tray. Two slender barrels, clear fluid, needles fine as whiskers. Ella knelt straighter, chin up, trembling with something that wasn't fear.
He swabbed her left nipple, pinched the engorged teat out from her chest, and slid the needle in at the base. Her whole body shivered. He depressed the plunger, slow and steady, and the nipple fattened under his fingers, the skin going taut and shiny, the teat distending longer, jutting from her breast like a small thumb. She moaned, a raw, naked sound, hips grinding on nothing.
"Good girl. Hold still."
The right one next. Needle, plunger, swell. By the time he drew the barrel back she was panting through the ring gag, tears of pure overload sliding down the latex of her mask. He pinched both nipples together and she sobbed, the flesh hot and stiff as cured rubber between his fingertips.
"There," he murmured. "Look at those. Distended, erect, begging to be used. Chat's losing it." He angled the camera at her chest. "Now the clit. This one's the treat."
He reached between her bound legs. Her clit had already swollen from the first injections into a fat, prominent pearl, thrusting obscenely from her hood. He drew it out gently, tucked the needle in beside it, and injected. Ella screamed, a genuine, high, cracking scream that rang off the white walls, and her clit bloomed, fattening between his fingers into a thick, distended nub the size of the tip of his thumb, dark with blood, twitching with each heartbeat.
"Oh, look at that," Ben breathed, genuinely delighted. "It's fighting to get out of my hand." He gave it one slow stroke with a lubed fingertip and she buckled sideways, caught by his grip in her hair, coming apart in a shuddering, dry, full-body spasm. "Not yet, sweetheart. Rewards come with strings."
The strings were rope. He bound her tits next, working in tight, economical bands from the base of each breast up to just beneath the swollen nipples, cinching until the small mounds went hard and purple-red and thrust out from her chest like offerings, the injected teats jutting at their peaks, stiff and enormous. He tied a short lead between the two bindings and ran it up to her collar, so that every motion of her head tugged both tortured breasts.
"There's my girl," he said. "Balloons out, nipples like corks. You look like a reward yourself." He patted her cheek. "Now. Chat voted, and here's the twist. You get to warm up the Stallion before Magpie gets her Rex."
He lifted the cherry-red equine monster from the tray and carried it to the machine bolted at the room's far end, a low-framed thrusting rig on a rolling base, its arm tipped with a locking mount. He seated the toy's flat base into the mount and it stood there, monstrous, sixteen inches of flared head and ribbed shaft gleaming under the fluorescent tube after he slicked it down.
"Kneel on the pad, Ella. Ass up, face down." A pause. "It's going in your ass, baby."
Her head turned. Through the mask's slits her eyes went wide, and her bound breasts heaved. "That's too big, Ben," she whispered. "I've never. My ass can't."
"It can," he said simply. "That's the point. Magpie's ass learned. Yours will too." He guided her onto the padded bar, her knees wide, her weighted, roped tits hanging like fruit beneath her, the lead pulling her nipples taut whenever she dropped her head. Her rosette was small and tight, a perfect pink pucker the camera had never even seen yet.
He positioned the machine behind her, the fat shovel-shaped head nudging between her cheeks, resting against the closed ring. He set the controls to the lowest setting: one slow stroke per three seconds, depth limited, pressure constant.
Then he hit the lever.
The arm pressed forward. Ella's anus dimpled inward, the flat head squashing the little pucker flat, forcing it to spread in an oval, longer and longer, the ring resisting with everything it had. She cried out, a thin, warbling note.
"It's too much, it's too big, oh god, my ass, it's spreading me, it's spreading!"
"Push back," Ben said, calm as a weather report. He watched the ring bloom. "It's barely in. This is the wide part. Breathe."
The machine didn't breathe. It pressed and pressed, a slow hydraulic insistence, and her rosette thinned, paled, widened, the pink ring stretching around the broad flare into an obscene, straining oval that the camera drank in at full zoom. Chat scrolled in a frenzy. Ben pinched her distended clit, one sharp squeeze, and her whole pelvis softened for a second, and the head popped through.
Ella shrieked into the floor padding, her bound tits swinging, the lead yanking both swollen nipples with every jolt of her body. The machine drew back, tugging at the flare, then pressed in again, and now the first ribs began their announcements, one at a time, each one stretching the glistening ring wider as it passed.
"There," Ben said, crouched beside her ear. "Now it's just patience." He checked the rig's dial and moved his thumb to the depth control. "Chat says deeper."
He thumbed the dial up one notch. The arm's stroke lengthened, pulling back until the widest flare tugged at her ring, then driving in until the first rib smacked her cheeks. Ella's cry cracked into a sob.
"That's depth," Ben said. "Now your mouth."
He hauled her off the machine's pad by the hair, dragging her knees across the concrete until she knelt at the foot of the bench, the rig's arm still pistoning behind her, the stallion's ribbed shaft sluicing in and out of her stretched ass with a wet, slurping groan. He threaded fresh rope through the D-ring at her collar, then through the bench's footrest bolts, cinching her head down against Maggie's thigh so her mouth hovered an inch from the fat shaft rising there.
"Lock her in," he told the camera. "No slack. She rides the machine and she drinks the cock and neither one cares what she thinks about it."
Ella's whole body shivered. "Yes," she whispered. "Please. Both holes. Fill me."
He pushed her head down. The ring gag stretched wide as he fed her Maggie's shaft, six inches, nine, until she could confront the remainder of the twenty four fucking inches of clit she wanted to suck. Then he tied the rope off short, so short she couldn't lift off if she tried. Her gag reflex fired anyway, a convulsive rippling choke that dragged a groan out of Maggie.
"There's your rhythm," Ben said, tapping the rig's control. "Machine sets the beat. Throat follows."
He nudged the dial again. The stallion's stroke quickened, one thrust per second and a half now, and Ella's whole body rocked with it, forward on the inward thrust, which shoved her mouth down Maggie's shaft, back on the withdrawal, which dragged her lips up over the flared crown. Every push of the cock into her ass fucked her throat deeper onto Maggie. She was a bobbing, choking metronome, drool swinging in strings from her chin, her roped tits jerking beneath her.
Maggie felt it all. The hot, convulsing sheath. The machine-driven motion, tireless, perfectly timed. Her hips began to move without permission, lifting to meet each inward rock, fucking up into that tight, gagging wetness while the sphere in her flogged-shut cunt rolled against the swollen seam of her lips.
"That's it," Ben murmured, watching Maggie's hips. "Use her. She's yours."
Maggie's answer was a guttural moan, and then motion, real motion, her bound body driving upward in short, desperate strokes, burying herself in Ella's gullet on every shove of the stallion. The choke-sounds doubled. Ella's eyes rolled white behind the mask slits and her muffled screams vibrated up the shaft like a hum through a struck bell.
"God, look at her work," Ben breathed.
Then he turned to Maggie, and his face changed. He popped the quick-release on her gag's valve and let the inflatable deflate, drawing the sodden rubber from her teeth. Her jaw ached open, gasping.
"Maggie. Up here."
Her blindfolded head turned toward his voice. He braced one hand behind her neck, tilted her face up, and kissed her. Not soft. His mouth crashed onto hers, lips sliding, and his tongue drove in deep, thick and searching, curling against hers. She moaned into it, into him, her tongue meeting his and tangling, slick and hungry, trading spit that ran warm down both their chins. He kissed her like he was starving. She sucked his lower lip, bit it gently, and he groaned low in his throat and kissed her deeper, his thumb stroking her jaw with a tenderness that sat strangely against everything else in the white room.
"Good girl," he murmured against her mouth, breath hot. "You're doing so well. Both of you."
He kissed her again, slower this time, thorough, his tongue lapping lazy circles against hers while behind them Ella's choking rose to a frantic, wet crescendo, the machine's slap against her ass echoing off the walls.
When he finally pulled back, strings of spit connected them, and he wiped them away with his thumb and pressed it to her lips. She licked it clean without being told.
"My girl," he said softly. "Now hold still. You've got a birth to deliver, and then fifteen inches of orange knots waiting to go in after."
He reached down and gripped the sliver of dark silicone still visible between her puffy, beaten lips. "Ready, Magpie?"
She nodded, whimpering, her cunt already clenching in anticipation.
"Then push."
He pulled. The sphere resisted, huge and slick, her swollen lips clamping down on it, then it began to move, the widest point of it dragging back through her opening, stretching the fresh-flogged tissue wide all over again. Maggie cried out, a raw, loud, un-muted sound, her back arching off the bench. The camera caught every glistening millimeter as the sphere crowned, her lips stretched paper-thin around it, trembling, then popping free in a rush of fluid.
The instant it left, her hole fluttered, gaping briefly, then clenched shut into a tight, puffy, swollen seam. Exactly what he'd beaten it into.
"Beautiful," Ben whispered. "Born clean. Chat, you saw it. Now she's tighter than she was an hour ago, and it's about to get fifteen inches of knots rammed into it."
He lifted the magma-orange Rex from the tray, slicked it with a fresh coat of lube until the knots shone, and pressed its tapered head against the puffy seam of her cunt. The flared tip dimpled the swollen lips inward.
"Big breath, my love."
He pushed. Her lips spread, resisted, spread further, the first knot forcing the tight opening wide in a slow, relentless oval. Maggie screamed, and it wasn't pain, or not only, her body bearing down into the stretch the way the hunger in her womb demanded. The first knot popped through. The second followed, wider, dragging a sobbing moan out of her.
Behind them, Ella's machine hit a new setting, the stallion slamming in to its full sixteen inches with a sound like a fist into wet meat, and the girl's throat, locked short on Maggie's shaft, convulsed in a endless gagging ripple. Maggie's clit-cock throbbed inside it, and she ground up into the choke even as the third, fattest knot stretched her cunt toward its fourteen-inch crown.
Ben watched both girls, his hand steady on the toy's base, his mouth still shining with her spit.
"Happy birthday, Magpie," he said, and pushed pulled the toy back to make her stretch around the knots again. And again.