Chapter 28: Day 8: Morning
The ache woke me. A deep, throbbing soreness between my legs, the ghost of David’s rough possession hours earlier. I fucking own this cunt now. His words vibrated in my skull, a cruel echo bouncing off the posters of bands I used to love, bands that felt like relics from another lifetime. This blue-walled room, once mine, felt alien, too small for the swollen curves and the raw vulnerability that came with them. My E-cup breasts felt heavy, tender against the thin cotton of the sleep shirt – a man’s shirt I’d stubbornly kept, now absurdly tight across my chest. Ella Knox stared back from the mirror across the room, tan skin, long dark hair fanned on the pillow. Not Taylor. Not anymore. Not really.
Every movement sent a fresh twinge through my pussy. The memory of David pinning me, the brutal claiming… it wasn’t desire that twisted my gut, it was revulsion. Pure, icy disgust. But under it, a terrible, pragmatic calculation started to form. They wanted this. All three of them. David’s guilt hadn’t stopped him. Mark’s casual aggression was a constant threat. Chris… Chris watched, hungry. They saw Ella. They wanted Ella’s body. Taylor’s mind screaming inside it was irrelevant noise.
A revolting idea slithered into my exhausted thoughts. What if… what if I just… got it over with? On my terms. While they were vulnerable. Asleep. No fight, no struggle. Just… efficiency. Let them use the hole I chose. Would it be less painful? Less violating? Or just faster, a transaction completed before dawn? The logic was grotesque, born of desperation and a profound, soul-crushing weariness. Would it make the ache stop? Or just replace one kind of pain with another?
David first. Always David now. The intellectual, the conflicted one. He’d want my mouth. He liked the control of it, forcing my head down onto his cock in his stark room. Fine. He could have it. Less soreness there, probably. Just choke it down. Get it done.
Chris. His room always smelled like stale weed and sweat. Bigger than David. Thicker. My pussy clenched at the thought. David… David had just been there. Hours ago. Could it take another pounding so soon? The soreness pulsed in answer. No. Not the pussy. Anything else. Maybe… maybe his thick cock in my ass? The thought made me shudder, bile rising in my throat. Unprepared, dry… it would tear me apart. Worse than this. Mouth again? Could I even take two? My jaw already ached from David. Chris was… enthusiastic. Brutal. The mouth felt like the lesser agony. Maybe. Hopefully.
Mark. Mark was pure, uncomplicated appetite. He’d want to bury himself in my pussy. Claim it. Like David had. Like he’d been itching to do since the transformation. Let him. If David used my mouth and Chris used my mouth… the pussy would be… rested? Empty? Maybe it wouldn’t feel like being split open again. Or maybe it would. But Mark wouldn’t take an alternative. He’d demand the prize. The cunt. The thought was a lead weight in my stomach.
The plan solidified, cold and sickening. Mouth for David. Mouth for Chris. Pussy for Mark. Efficiency. Control. Minimize the damage. Just get it done. I pushed back the thin blanket, my bare feet hitting the cool floorboards. The air was still, thick with the silence of the sleeping house. My hands trembled as I pulled off the sleep shirt, leaving me naked. Ella’s body, exposed. Taylor’s humiliation, complete. I didn’t bother with a robe. Why pretend? This was the function now. The purpose.
I padded silently across the hall to David’s door. It stood slightly ajar, just like last night. The soft glow from his bedside lamp spilled out, illuminating the minimalist chaos – the unmade bed, the stark window framing the pre-dawn gloom. He lay on his side, facing the door, breathing slow and deep, one hand curled under his pillow. The shape of his cock was already a noticeable bulge under the thin sheet draped low on his hips. He slept hard. Good.
My heart hammered against my ribs, a frantic bird trapped in a cage of flesh. This was it. Choice made. Mouth.
I slipped inside, the floorboards mercifully silent. The scent of him – clean cotton, sleep, and an underlying musk – filled my nostrils, triggering unwanted flashes of last night: his hands on my hips, his cock slamming deep, his guttural claim. I pushed it down, focusing on the mechanics. Get it done. Get it over.
Kneeling beside the bed, my knees protesting on the hard floor, I hesitated for only a second. Then, moving with a detached calm that felt disturbingly alien, I reached for the edge of the sheet covering his hips. My fingers brushed warm skin. He didn’t stir. Slowly, carefully, I pulled the sheet down. His boxers were tented. I hooked my thumbs into the waistband and tugged them down just enough. His cock sprang free, semi-hard, thick and heavy-looking even at rest, nestling in dark curls. It smelled musky, male. Unwashed from sleep. The reality of it hit me, a fresh wave of nausea. Do it.
Leaning forward, I pushed my long hair back behind my shoulders. I opened my mouth, my tongue feeling thick and useless. I took a breath, steeling myself, smelling the intimate scent of him. Then, I lowered my head, bypassing the shaft, and took the head of his cock between my lips.
He stirred instantly, a low groan rumbling in his chest. His hips twitched upwards reflexively, pushing his cock deeper into my mouth. My lips stretched wide to accommodate the girth. Fuck, he’s thick even soft. I sucked gently, trying to coax him fully awake, fully hard. I needed him to come fast. I didn’t want this drawn out.
“Mmmph…” David mumbled, his eyes fluttering open, heavy with sleep. He blinked, confused for a moment. His gaze focused downward, landing on my face, my lips stretched obscenely around his cock. His eyes widened. Shock. Then, like a switch flipping, recognition and a dark, dawning hunger. “Taylor?” His voice was rough with sleep and sudden arousal. He didn’t pull away. He pushed his hips up again, sliding another inch down my throat. His hand came down, not to stop me, but to tangle roughly in my hair. “Fuck… what are you doing?” His tone wasn’t rejection. It was disbelief mixed with burgeoning lust. He gripped tighter. “Oh fuck…”
He was hardening fast in my mouth, swelling to fill the space, pressing insistently against the back of my throat. I gagged, tears springing to my eyes. I tried to pull back, but his hand in my hair held me firm, guiding me onto him.
“That’s it,” he grunted, his voice thick. “Take it. Take my cock, you fucking slut.” The intellectual facade shattered. The guilt vanished, replaced by pure, possessive need. He bucked his hips, fucking my mouth shallowly. “Just like that. Such a good little cocksucker. Gagging on it…” My throat convulsed. Spit dripped down my chin. I focused on breathing through my nose, my jaw screaming. Efficiency. Get him off. I sucked harder, hollowing my cheeks, swirling my tongue around the swollen head when he gave me a fraction of an inch.
He groaned, a deep, animal sound. “Yeah… fuck, your mouth… so fucking hot…” He thrust deeper, hitting my gag reflex again. Tears streamed down my face. His grip on my hair was punishing, holding me in place as he started a relentless rhythm. “Gonna fill that slutty mouth… gonna make you swallow every fucking drop…” His hips pistoned, slamming his cock into my throat over and over. I choked, spluttered, saliva coating his shaft, dripping onto the floor and his thighs. My eyes watered, blurred. The sounds were obscene – wet sucking, guttural grunts, my own choked gasps. He wasn’t conflicted now. He owned this too. He owned my mouth.
It didn’t take long. The brutal pace, the tightness of my throat… he was already primed. His body tensed, his thrusts becoming erratic, brutal shoves. “Fuck! Fuck! Gonna… gonna come!” he snarled, burying himself to the root. His cock pulsed violently, jetting thick, hot ropes of cum straight down my throat. I gagged violently, trying to swallow reflexively, but it was too much, too fast. Some went down, salty and thick. Most spilled out around his shaft as he kept pumping, coating my lips, my chin, dripping onto my bare chest. He held me impaled, grinding against my face until the last tremor passed.
Finally, he collapsed back with a shuddering sigh, his cock softening slightly but still lodged deep. He released my hair. I pulled back instantly, gasping for air, coughing, strings of cum connecting my lips to his glistening cock. I wiped frantically at my mouth with the back of my hand, the taste bitter and thick on my tongue.
He looked down at me, panting, his expression dazed but satisfied. Possessive. “Holy shit, Taylor…” he breathed, a lazy smile playing on his lips. He reached down, tracing a sticky strand of cum on my chin with his thumb. “Could get used to wake-up calls like that.”
I didn’t speak. Couldn’t. Revulsion warred with a grim sense of accomplishment. One down. I pushed myself up on shaky legs, ignoring the sticky mess on my chin and chest. I turned and walked out of his room without a backward glance, leaving him lying there amidst the smell of sex and sleep. My heart was still racing, my throat raw. But the plan was in motion.
The hallway felt colder now. The air tasted like David’s release. Chris’s door was next. My jaw ached fiercely. The thought of taking another cock, bigger than David’s, into my already abused mouth made my stomach clench. But the alternative… my pussy throbbed dully, a reminder of David’s earlier conquest. Mouth. It had to be. Efficiency.
I pushed Chris’s door open. The smell hit me instantly – stale beer, old weed, unwashed clothes. His room was a cave, clothes strewn everywhere, empty cans and pizza boxes littering the floor. He lay sprawled on his stomach across the disheveled bed, blankets kicked off, wearing only boxers. His broad back rose and fell steadily. One arm hung off the side of the bed, fingers brushing a discarded banana peel on the floor. Gross. He always slept like the dead.
I moved into the room, stepping carefully over debris. The plan felt even more grotesque here, surrounded by his mess. But I had to keep going. Kneeling beside his bed, the rough carpet biting into my knees, I looked at him. Dark hair plastered to his forehead. Mouth open, snoring softly. Big. So much bigger than David. Panic flared. Could I even get his cock in my mouth? Get it done. Just get him off.
Reaching out, I touched his hip. He didn’t stir. I hooked my fingers into the waistband of his boxers and tugged them down, exposing heavy cheeks and the thick root of his cock pressed against the mattress. He was already half-hard. I tugged harder, pulling the boxers down to mid-thigh. His cock sprang free, thick and uncut, resting heavily on the mattress. It was substantial. Thicker than David’s. Longer. A challenge for my aching jaw.
Taking a shaky breath, bracing myself, I gripped the base and tried to lift it. It was heavy, warm. I leaned down, aiming for the head, opening my mouth as wide as I could. I barely got the tip past my lips before I felt the stretch. I sucked gently, trying to coax him, hoping he’d harden quickly. His cock twitched in my mouth, thickening rapidly. Too fast.
He grunted, shifting his hips. His eyes blinked open, unfocused, then sharpened as he looked down at me. His mouth curved into a slow, leering grin. “Well, fuck me sideways,” he slurred, his voice thick with sleep. “Ella? That you down there?” He didn’t sound surprised. Just thrilled. He didn’t wait for an answer or wonder why. His hand shot down, not to my hair, but to the back of my head, clamping down hard. “Thought I was dreaming. Get to work, bitch. Show me what that mouth can do.” He shoved down.
The force was brutal. His thick cock slammed past my lips, stretching my jaw wide, hitting the back of my throat instantly. I gagged violently, my eyes watering. He didn’t stop. He held my head down, grinding his pelvis up against my face. “Yeah! Like that! Take it all, you greedy little whore!” He started fucking my face in earnest, powerful hips lifting off the bed to drive his cock deep. There was no rhythm, no finesse. Just raw, animalistic thrusting. I couldn’t breathe. My nose was buried in his coarse pubic hair, smelling sweat and musk. The thick length battered my throat, making me retch. Tears streamed freely now, mingling with the drool coating his shaft. My jaw felt like it was being pried apart. He was huge. Too big. Too rough.
He laughed, a harsh, breathless sound. “Fucking love how you choke on it! Look at those tears! You love this dick, don’t you? Admit it!” He slammed harder. My vision blurred. I scrabbled weakly at his thigh, trying to push away, but he was too strong. He pinned my head firmly, using my face as a fuck-hole. His balls slapped against my chin with every brutal thrust. “Gonna paint your fucking throat! Gonna drown you in it!”
He wasn’t gentle like David pretended to be before snapping. Chris was pure, unadulterated greed. He pounded my mouth, grunting and swearing, completely lost in his own pleasure. My throat was on fire, raw and abused. Just when I thought I’d pass out, he roared, his whole body tensing. He shoved himself impossibly deep and held there. His cock pulsed, thick jets of hot cum erupting directly into my gullet. I convulsed, trying desperately to swallow, gagging as the sheer volume overwhelmed me. It kept coming, flooding my mouth, spilling over my lips, running down my neck. He emptied himself with primal satisfaction, grinding against my face until the last spurt subsided.
He finally released my head, collapsing back onto the bed with a satisfied groan. “Fuck… yeah…” he panted, wiping a hand over his sweaty face. He looked down at me, grinning lazily at the mess he’d made. “Damn, Ella. That mouth is fucking magic.”
I slumped back, gasping for air, coughing violently. Cum dripped from my chin, my lips felt bruised and swollen, my throat felt shredded. I wiped my face with a trembling hand, smearing the sticky mess. I couldn’t get enough air. My chest heaved. Two down. The worst part? The mouth part? It was over. But the taste, the sensation of being forcibly stuffed… it clung to me. I pushed myself up, ignoring the ache in my knees and the fire in my throat. I stumbled out of his reeking room, leaving him chuckling softly to himself. I needed water. I needed to scrub my mouth raw. But there was one more.
Mark.
The hallway felt longer now, darker. My legs trembled. My body felt hollowed out, used. My pussy throbbed, a dull counterpoint to the agony in my throat. The soreness David had left was still there, a painful reminder. But Mark would want my pussy. He’d demand it. The plan was set. Pussy for Mark. It was the only hole left that wasn’t already screaming. Maybe… maybe it would be quick.
I stopped outside Mark’s door. It felt like walking towards a firing squad. His room was different. Neater, but aggressive. Band posters on the walls, weights in the corner. A hunting knife on the dresser. A handgun on the nightstand, visible in the dim moonlight filtering through the blinds. He lay on his back, sheet pulled up to his waist, arms folded across his bare chest. Even asleep, he looked coiled, dangerous. His jaw was set firm.
My breath hitched. Every instinct screamed to run. Back to my blue room. Hide. But the plan… the efficiency
The knob felt cold under my trembling fingers. Mark’s door. Efficiency warred with primal terror. David’s guilt had shattered, Chris’s greed was predictable, but Mark? Mark was pure, volatile force. His room smelled faintly of gun oil and cheap aftershave. He lay motionless, a dark shape under the thin sheet, one powerful arm flung above his head. The moonlight glinted off the pistol on his nightstand. My pussy throbbed, a sickening echo of David’s brutal claiming hours ago. Just get it done. Pussy. He wants the pussy. Let him have it. Fast.
I crept inside, the floorboards silent beneath my bare feet. The air was thick, still. My heart hammered against my ribs like a trapped bird. Every instinct screamed run. My jaw ached savagely from David and Chris, my throat raw and tasting of stale cum. My chest was sticky. But the plan. Mouth for David. Mouth for Chris. Pussy for Mark. The logic was perverse armor. Kneeling beside his bed, the rough carpet scraped my knees. His breathing was deep, even. Too even? Panic flared. Is he awake? I froze, listening. Only the slow rhythm of sleep. Do it. Now.
My hand shook as I reached for the sheet pooled at his waist. My fingers brushed warm skin. He didn’t stir. I gripped the thin fabric, pulling it slowly down. His boxers were tented obscenely. The outline was thick, heavy. Thicker than David’s? Thicker than Chris’s? My stomach roiled. I hooked my thumbs into the waistband, tugging them down just enough. His cock sprang free, fully hard even in sleep, thick and veined, resting heavily against his stomach. Uncut. The head glistened faintly in the gloom. The sheer size, the latent power coiled in his stillness, stole my breath. Fuck. He’s huge. Efficiency evaporated. Only dread remained. Get it done.
I leaned forward, pushing my tangled hair back. The musky scent of him, sleep and male heat, filled my nostrils. My lips felt bruised, swollen. Not the mouth. Not again. The plan. I positioned myself over him, my knees sinking deeper into the carpet. My sore pussy pulsed. Just lower down. Take it. Let him fuck it. Get it over. I braced one hand on the mattress beside his hip, the other guiding his thick cock. The hot, hard tip pressed against my slick opening. I was wet. Fucking traitorous body. I took a shuddering breath, steeling myself. Now.
I sank down slowly, forcing myself onto him. The stretch was immediate, intense. A low whimper escaped me as his thick head pushed past my tender entrance. David’s earlier violation screamed in protest. Too soon. Too big. I clenched my teeth, forcing myself lower, inch by agonizing inch. My inner walls burned, stretched impossibly wide around his invading girth. He felt like he was splitting me apart. Tears pricked my eyes. Just… get… him… in.
His eyes snapped open.
Not groggy. Not confused. Instantly alert, dark and predatory in the dim light. Locked directly onto mine. A slow, terrifying smile spread across his face. No shock. No questions. Only pure, feral triumph. "Well, well," he rumbled, his voice thick with sleep and instant arousal. "Look what crawled into my bed." His hands shot out, not to push me away, but to clamp onto my hips like iron vices. His grip crushed. "Been dreaming about this cunt since the pill kicked in." He bucked his hips upwards sharply, driving himself deeper into me without warning.
I cried out, the sudden brutal invasion tearing through me. He was buried to the hilt in one savage thrust. "Fuck!" I gasped, arching back instinctively, trying to escape the overwhelming fullness, the tearing burn. His hands held me impaled, forcing me down onto his entire length. "Get off! Please!"
"Shut the fuck up," he growled, his smile vanishing, replaced by cold command. He lifted his hips again, grinding deep, making my cervix ache. "You came here. You spread your legs. You took my cock." His fingers dug into my flesh, bruising deep. "This is mine now. Say it." He thrust up again, hard, jarring my whole body. "Say 'My pussy belongs to Mark'."
The words choked me. Revulsion warred with the terrifying, undeniable stretch filling me. "N-no..."
He slammed upwards again, a punishing piston stroke that stole my breath. "SAY IT!" he roared, his eyes blazing. One hand released my hip, snaking up to grab a fistful of my hair, yanking my head back sharply. Pain lanced through my scalp. "Tell me who owns this tight little fuckhole!"
Tears streamed down my face. The pain, the humiliation, the sheer force of him… it broke something. "Y-you!" I gasped, the admission ripped from me. "You own it! My pussy… belongs to Mark!" The words tasted like ash.
His grin returned, wider, crueler. "Damn right it does." He released my hair, grabbing my other hip again. "Now ride it, slut. Show me how much you love my cock splitting you open." He started moving beneath me, powerful hips lifting, driving himself deep with relentless, rhythmic thrusts. "Fuck yourself on me. Harder!"
I had no choice. His hands guided me, forced me up and down his monstrous shaft. The friction was brutal, igniting the raw soreness David had left. Every downward plunge stretched me obscenely wide; every upward retreat dragged his thick length along oversensitive flesh. It hurt. God, it hurt. But beneath the pain, buried under layers of disgust and terror, a treacherous pulse of heat began to spread. My traitorous body responded, slickness easing the slide despite the agony. No! Stop! But my hips moved, compelled by his iron grip, grinding down onto him as he pistoned upwards. The wet, slapping sounds filled the room – flesh on flesh, my choked whimpers, his guttural grunts.
"Yeah," he snarled, watching my breasts bounce with each jarring thrust. "Take it all, you fucking whore. Feel how deep I go?" He angled his hips, driving upwards with renewed force, hitting a spot that sent a jolt of unwanted, electric pleasure straight through my core. A sharp gasp tore from my lips. His eyes gleamed. "There it is. Knew you'd love it. Knew this cunt was begging for a real cock." He increased his pace, hammering into that spot relentlessly. "Come on, slut. Come on my dick. Show me how much you love being owned."
The conflicting sensations were torture. The deep, aching stretch, the raw friction, the sharp bursts of pain… mingling horrifyingly with the insistent, building pressure of pleasure radiating from where his cockhead battered my cervix. My breath came in ragged gasps. My thighs trembled. I tried to fight it, to clamp down, but my body betrayed me, convulsing around his invading thickness. "Oh god…" I moaned, the sound involuntary, thick with shame.
"Fuck yes," Mark growled, his thrusts becoming frenzied, brutal. "That's it! Milk my cock with that greedy cunt! Squeeze it!" He slammed into me, over and over, the bed frame creaking violently. His grip on my hips was bruising, holding me captive on his pounding shaft. The unwanted pleasure surged, undeniable now, coiling tight in my belly despite my screaming mind. "Gonna fill this slutty hole," he panted, his voice rough. "Gonna pump you full of my fucking seed. Mark it inside you." His rhythm faltered, his thrusts turning deep, grinding shoves. His body tensed beneath me, a cord pulled taut. "FUCK! TAKE IT! TAKE MY FUCKING CUM!"
He roared, burying himself to the hilt, his cock pulsing violently inside me. Thick, hot jets of cum erupted deep in my womb, flooding me. The sensation – the shocking heat, the pulsing thickness – triggered my own traitorous climax. My body seized, clamping down hard on his spurting cock in a wave of agonizing, shameful ecstasy that ripped through me. I cried out, a sound of pure despair mingled with involuntary release, my hips grinding helplessly against him as he emptied himself deep inside my claimed pussy.
He held me there, impaled, shuddering, grinding his still-pulsing cock against my spasming walls until the last tremor subsided. His grip on my hips loosened slightly, but he didn't pull out. He lay panting, staring up at me with dark, possessive satisfaction. Sweat gleamed on his chest. "Fuck," he breathed, a lazy smirk spreading. "Knew this pussy was made for me." He reached up, tracing a finger over my trembling lower lip, sticky with dried spit and tears. "Best wake-up call ever, Ella." His hand slid down, possessively cupping my ass, keeping me seated on his softening cock. "Get used to it. This cunt sleeps in my bed now."