Chapter 9: Devour Me
The silence in the dressing room was no longer hushed. It was thick, electric, a held breath shared between three bodies where there had only been two. Elara stared at her own transformed flesh, her hands still hovering, disbelieving. The pale, elegant fingers traced the new shape of herself—the undeniable solid weight of her cock, the familiar wet heat between her legs now neighbored by this impossible addition.
“Cold,” she whispered again, her voice marvelling at the sensation. “It feels everything so… acutely.”
Bree’s grin was pure, predatory delight. She reached out and ran a single fingernail lightly up the underside of Elara’s new length. Elara jolted as if shocked, a sharp gasp ripping from her throat. Her back arched, pressing her bare ass against the velvet curtain.
“Sensitive, too,” Bree observed, her tone clinical and thrilled. She looked down at Maddy, still on her knees, her face a canvas of awe and terror. “Your magic is potent, sweetheart. Now be a good girl and finish what you started.”
Maddy’s mouth was dry. The taste of Elara—salt, clean skin, a faint hint of lavender soap—still lingered on her lips. She looked at the cock standing rigid before her, glistening at the tip. It was a fact. An undeniable, surreal fact. She had done this. Her breath, her touch, the weird residue of the genie’s power churning inside her… it had rewritten this woman.
“I don’t…” Maddy started, her voice small.
“You do,” Bree said, her voice softening into a dangerous caress. She placed a hand on the back of Maddy’s head, fingers tangling in her hair. Not forcing, but guiding. Insisting. “Taste it. See what you made.”
Elara’s chest rose and fell rapidly. Her eyes, now brighter in her younger face, were wide with a frantic plea. Not for Maddy to stop, but to continue. This was her secret, shop-worn fantasy, pulled from the shadows and made gloriously, terrifyingly real. She gave a tiny, almost imperceptible nod.
Maddy leaned forward. The scent was different now, muskier, alive. She opened her mouth.
The moment her lips made contact, Elara cried out—a short, sharp sound she immediately stifled by biting her own knuckle. The skin was silken and hot. Maddy let her tongue explore the head, tasting the faint, clean bead of fluid there. It was unfamiliar, but not unpleasant. A low thrum of power, dark and sweet, pulsed in her own veins in response. She took more of Elara into her mouth, the act feeling less like submission and more like a claiming.
“Yes,” Bree hissed from above, her own excitement palpable. She ground her own erection against the curve of Maddy’s ass, the denim rough through the thin silk of the stockings. “Just like that. Use your fingers, too. Don’t be shy.”
Maddy obeyed, her mind blanking into a haze of sensation and instruction. One hand came up to cradle Elara’s balls, newly formed and tight. The other slipped lower, through the coarse thatch of hair, finding the slick, familiar folds beneath. Elara was drenched. Maddy pushed two fingers inside, and the older woman’s knees buckled. Only the curtain and Bree’s sudden steadying hand on her shoulder kept her upright.
“Oh, god,” Elara choked, her head falling back. “Oh, that’s… it’s too much. Don’t stop.”
Maddy worked her, her mouth moving in a slow, tentative rhythm on Elara’s cock while her fingers curled and stroked inside her. The duality was mesmerizing—feeling Elara clench around her fingers while also feeling her stiffen and thrust shallowly into her mouth. She was giving pleasure on two fronts, orchestrating a feedback loop of gasps and tremors. The power of it was intoxicating, a heady counterpoint to her own vertigo.
Bree watched, her green eyes blazing. She rocked against Maddy, her breathing growing ragged. “Look at you,” she murmured, her voice thick with pride. “My beautiful, magical wife. Making dreams come true.” She leaned down, her lips against Maddy’s ear. “Now make her come. I want to see it.”
Maddy doubled her efforts, losing her hesitation in the mechanics of the task. She sucked harder, her fingers finding a rhythm that made Elara’s thighs quiver. The older woman was muttering a stream of broken, half-formed words—“please,” “yes,” “there,” “impossible”—her hands now clutching Maddy’s head not to guide, but simply to hold on.
Elara’s orgasm didn’t crest like a wave. It detonated. Her body locked, a rigid arch of ecstatic shock. A raw, guttural sound tore from her throat, muffled by her own arm. Her cock pulsed in Maddy’s mouth, and Maddy tasted the sudden, bitter-salty spill of her. Simultaneously, Elara’s pussy clenched viscously around Maddy’s fingers, a hot flood of release following the pulse. She shuddered through it, a series of violent, beautiful tremors, before collapsing back against the curtain, her body sliding down until she was half-sitting, half-sprawled on the carpet, breath coming in shattered sobs.
Maddy pulled back, wiping her mouth with the back of her hand. She looked from her own glistening fingers to Elara’s blissfully ruined face. A strange, fierce pride surged in her chest.
Bree didn’t hesitate. She stepped over Elara’s splayed legs, gripped Maddy by the corset, and hauled her to her feet. She spun Maddy to face the three-way mirror. The reflection was a debauched masterpiece: Elara, a puddle of spent, transformed grace on the floor; Maddy, her lipstick smeared, her eyes wide and dark with confused power; Bree, her face flushed with vicarious triumph.
“See?” Bree growled, her hands on Maddy’s hips. “Look at what you are. Look at what you do.”