Chapter 10: The Price

There was only wind all the way back.

A few classmates greeted him and asked what was wrong, but he shook them off and kept going.

By the time Xiaowei came crashing into the dormitory building like a madman, a cold gust brushed over his skin, and only then did he realize he was drenched in sweat from head to toe.

A wave of stabbing pain rolled through his lower abdomen, and exhaustion surged up through his whole body like a tide. Grinding his teeth, he staggered step by step to the dorm room door and shoved hard, only to find it locked from the inside.

At last, as if surrendering to fate, he closed his eyes in pain. His body swayed and he nearly dropped to the floor.

Dizzy, Xiaowei opened his eyes again. The iron-gray door still stood there, unmoved, not yielding a fraction to the turmoil in his heart, not softening in the least to the dry, empty lake inside him.

Strangely enough, he was actually grateful to his roommates for being cautious, because it meant he did not have to see the scene already forming in his mind right away.

Voices were coming from inside the room, as if someone were talking. He laboriously lifted a hand and, using the momentum of the drop, slapped the door twice.

"Who is it?"

The noise inside cut off at once. A few seconds later, Fatty's slightly muffled voice came through.

"Open up."

Xiaowei panted twice, then answered hoarsely through his dry throat.

The moment the lock was pulled, one thought suddenly flashed through his mind:

How was he supposed to face these roommates?

Or rather, how was he supposed to explain any of this?

But before he could think it through, the metal door was yanked open.

"Holy shit! Brother Wei!"

A thick, rank stench rushed out through the widening crack in the door. Fatty's greasy face quickly filled Xiaowei's vision. "You finally came back!"

Yes. I finally came back...

Xiaowei stepped into the dorm and looked at the liquid splashed all over the floor, his heart turning bitter.

"You hid something this good from us and never said a word. What the fuck kind of friend are you?"

Fatty locked the door again and, laughing and swearing at the same time, punched Xiaowei in the chest.

All three roommates had their lower bodies bare. As Fatty moved, a glossy, half-soft cock hung and swayed among the matted hair, making Xiaowei feel sick.

Glasses was sitting on the bed, one hand braced behind his ass, the other holding two tissues. He was slowly wiping the ring of white muck off the cock, which stood out even more because of its dark color. His expression was tired, but satisfied.

Noticing Xiaowei's stare, Fatty explained smugly from the side, "This dumbass tried to steal my spot for the second round... but no luck! Haha!"

Xiaowei pressed his lips together hard and ignored him, moving his gaze forward to the huge figure in front of him.

Dapao was standing on the floor beside the drawn curtains. His legs were spread, and the stroker that should have belonged to Xiaowei was now strapped between his hips, held in one big hand.

Half a black-blue dragon was buried inside it, pushing the dark red sleeve outward into a clear shape.

When he saw Xiaowei come in, he grinned, but his hand never stopped moving.

Amid the filthy "gluck, gluck" sounds, a ring of pink flesh was constantly being pulled out, and the wildly pumping slick sprayed everywhere as if it had gone out of control.

"This thing feels even better than a real pussy!"

He kept stroking while making his evaluation.

"So slippery!"

The cock suddenly pulled out a little way, dragging out a spray of glittering juice. The dense black hair was already soaked through, and everything from his lower belly to his thighs was sticky and wet, disgusting to look at.

"So tight!"

The black dragon slammed back into the sex. The swollen bulge in the middle, tumor-like, forced up an even bigger rounded mass near the opening, making the dark red surface of the stroker seem paler.

"It even moves on its own!"

The stroker visibly shuddered twice, veins bulging all over it as though it was struggling to clamp down on the foreign thing inside the channel.

A huge gush of liquid squeezed out through the tight seam between cock and opening, thick as asphalt, dropping in clumps onto the floor and mixing with the broad wet patch underfoot to form a dark puddle.

Was that the sex spasming in orgasm?

No. That was the mother screaming in pain.

A fire suddenly flared in Xiaowei's chest. The veins in his neck throbbed violently, pulling the muscles in his face into twitch after twitch.

"Is that a mold?"

Fatty's ill-timed voice rang out again. "Damn, that's amazing! It's still warm!"

He chuckled, "Hey! Why the hell can it spray by itself?"

Strangely, the voice clearly came from beside him, but Xiaowei felt as if it were far away, impossible to hear clearly.

He forced out a smile that looked more like crying and answered stiffly, "Yeah... we added a little black tech."

"It's just a little short..."

Dapao kept commenting. Without caring that the sex was still climaxing, he thrust seven or eight more times on his own, forcing out another puddle of slick. His thick cock rammed all the way to the end, pushing the stroker into a sharp bulge.

The next second, under Xiaowei's suddenly widening eyes, a vicious grin spread across Dapao's face. Gripping the stroker, he twisted hard counterclockwise:

"...but the elasticity is great!"

Dapao pressed the glans tightly against the fleshy ring at the end of the channel and treated the stroker beneath him like it was a real toy.

Bulging his forearm muscles, he clamped down on the body of the cup with his right hand and twisted it back and forth. The cock inside made a hissing friction sound as it was frantically gripped by the flesh of the sex, and the bulge at the tip of the cup kept growing larger.

"Pop!"

After a tiny wet sound, the stroker grew a length in midair.

The newly formed flesh was no longer the same dark red as before. It was a faint pink, not nearly as thick as the original, and it clung tightly like a membrane around the front of the cock inside. Together with the suddenly jutting veins on the dark red body of the cup, it locked the whole black dragon in place.

"Fuck, it bites too!"

Dapao's expression twisted. It looked as if the stroker's sudden burst of force had squeezed his lower body painfully, but that only made him fiercer.

He raised his left hand, gripped the stroker together with his right, and with a muffled roar, drove force through both arms and actually yanked the cock out!

The pink fleshy strip at the tip of the cup slowly withdrew, and the huge bulge in the middle retreated along with it. The black dragon withdrew from the channel with an almost unyielding determination, dragging out a thick layer of flesh as though it wanted to turn the whole sex inside out.

"Fuck!"

Only when the sex seemed to have been sucked dry, the suction inside the channel reaching its peak, did Dapao shout and slam the cock he had pulled out most of the way back in again.

The once-soft little mouth seemed to have lost all barriers, letting the glans pierce clean through the channel and forcing out another long stretch of pink membrane. The clear spherical outline surfaced again on the stroker, sliding from the opening all the way to the middle like a marker buoy showing the route the cock had taken.

Xiaowei could almost hear his mother letting out a shriek of agony.

He watched the stroker tremble violently, the veins knotted together like it was convulsing, and before he realized it, his fist had clenched so hard that his nails dug into his palm, sending a sharp burst of pain through him that he barely even noticed.

"Where'd you buy it? Send me the address, bro?"

Fatty was still rattling on beside him, but Xiaowei heard nothing. All that remained in his ears was the fierce pounding of his own heart.

His body shaking slightly, his face deathly pale, Xiaowei stared wide-eyed, his lips moving as if he were muttering to himself or begging under his breath: "Don't fuck it anymore..."

"Fuck! Fuck!"

Dapao started chanting like a drill sergeant. He bent slightly at the waist, his hips thrusting up and down with it, as if there really were a woman bent over beneath him, trapped between his hands while he hammered into her at will.

The pink membrane kept stretching and snapping back under the thrusts. The dark red sphere slid rapidly across the surface. Inside the stroker, it was as if a ferocious monster was madly roaring and struggling, trying to reshape the sex completely into its own form.

Xiaowei's breathing grew more and more rapid, and the trembling in his body became more pronounced. His vision blurred, and only the shifting red shape at the center of focus remained clear.

"Don't fuck it anymore."

He said it almost like a moan, a little louder than before, but it was still easily drowned out by Dapao's increasingly savage yelling.

Fatty, though, seemed to hear something. "What'd you say?"

"Fuck! Fuck! Fuck!"

Dapao's chant never stopped, and neither did the black dragon under him.

In that brutal, frenzied pumping, his cock grew larger and larger. Every thrust was accompanied by the sex's moans, and the flesh that kept turning over and over spat out slick, becoming streaks that ran down between his thighs.

The stroker seemed like it was about to give out under the relentless fucking. The pink channel retracted more and more slowly, often not even having time to return to its original shape before the next impact shoved it back to its limit again.

The veins bulging up on the cup's surface seemed to writhe constantly, and even the dark red base gradually became brighter, as if the violent thrusting and rubbing inside had heated it up, giving off a more lurid, uncanny color overall.

Then, just as Dapao roared and rammed the cock into the sex with full force, the base grinding brutally against the opening, the stroker suddenly contracted and expanded like a beating heart. The channel full of lust-flesh seemed to turn into a pipe with its valve ripped out. Countless streams of slick mixed with milky semen surged wildly out, forcing apart the flesh that had been clenching the cock so tightly and blasting out in sprays that scattered everywhere.

On the pink membrane wrapped around the glans, a little bump suddenly appeared at the tip. It had barely retracted for a second before it bulged up again. Once, twice, seven or eight times in all, until the black dragon inside finally spat out the last of its essence and went still.

Xiaowei's eyes were practically splitting open. There seemed to be fire jumping in his pupils.

He took a deep breath but did not let it out, holding it in and standing absolutely still. He kept that way until his face turned red, and his brain began to go hazy from lack of oxygen. Then he suddenly roared:

"Don't fuck it anymore!"

Before his roommates could react, he sprinted the few steps to Dapao and slammed a fist straight into his face.

Caught completely off guard, Dapao was knocked flat onto his ass. Just as anger and shock flashed in his eyes, he felt a sudden chill in his lower body.

The stroker was yanked out by Xiaowei in one motion, yet it seemed to have been stimulated even more strongly, because the slick from inside the sex poured out like a breached flood, instantly gushing down.

The rich pink flesh at the opening suddenly swelled and exposed the black, gaping pee hole in the middle. At the same time, a pale yellow stream shot out, turning the entire cup mouth into an overflowing riverbed.

On the body of the cup, the gradually brightening dark red suddenly flashed and turned into a blinding blood-red.

Xiaowei froze for an instant, then was swallowed by rage again. He shoved the stroker into his arms, letting the splashing liquid soak his clothes, and turned to charge for the door.

The other two roommates rushed to block him, only for him to crash straight through them without mercy. Fatty stumbled back several steps, and Glasses was knocked right over onto the floor, his head cracking against the ground with a dull thud.

Xiaowei didn't even look at them. He stormed straight out the door.

...

Run. He ran without a destination.

Only after the anger had drained away, replaced by surging waves of exhaustion, did Xiaowei finally lose his strength and sit down on the ground, gasping.

This was a corner of the campus, and it was still lunchtime. There wasn't another person in sight.

The fury had already faded, but the fire in his chest only burned hotter.

Fear, panic, regret, confusion, all of it became firewood.

Suddenly, he wanted to shout at the top of his lungs, to howl his grief out in this lonely, out-of-the-way place.

But then he suddenly thought of his mother.

Xiaowei fumbled wildly over his body. Only when he searched from his chest down to his waist and belly did he realize the phone was still untouched in his pocket.

His clothes were almost completely soaked through, and the phone screen was damp with sweat. He scrubbed at it for a long time with a dry patch at the cuff of his sleeve before finally hitting his mother's number.

Three times in a row, there was no answer.

A thick unease cloaked Xiaowei, as if a hand had closed around his heart, making it hard for him to breathe.

He panted hard, his fingers shaking as he dialed again and again, but he still could not hear that familiar voice.

"Pick up! Answer the phone!"

He was so anxious it felt like he might cry, but the only thing in the receiver was the automated message saying no one had answered.

To him, that message felt more like mockery, a cheap judgment on the shameful things he had done these past days without any restraint at all.

But the more this happened, the more urgently he wanted to know what was going on with his mother. It felt as though this was the only thing he could still do to make up for it, as though only if that woman answered the phone could he find redemption in it.

He pressed his mother's number again and lifted the phone to his ear. Just like all the attempts before, he listened to the ring in torment, waiting in unease for the voicemail prompt that seemed destined to come.

The annoying buzzing was almost over, and Xiaowei's heart was sinking back into the abyss when, just as he was about to lower the phone and try again, the call suddenly connected.

Xiaowei's eyes flew wide open. He was just about to speak when his mother's anxious voice already came through the line: "What's wrong, son?"

Her voice was terrifyingly hoarse, like a night owl's cry, but her words came out very fast, and such intense concern seemed ready to spill from the receiver.

Xiaowei suddenly choked up. That hoarse voice, so hoarse it was almost unfamiliar, stabbed straight into his heart like a blade.

He stayed silent for a long moment, then finally could not hold it back anymore. All the emotions inside him surged out in one bitter, drawn-out cry:

"Mom--!"

The instant the words left his mouth, the phone suddenly jolted and powered off.

Xiaowei turned his head slightly and stared dumbly at the screen in his hand, now dark and dead, then slammed a fist into the ground.

His upper body jerked violently, and something slipped out from under the hem of his shirt, revealing a length of dark red.

Xiaowei lowered his head and stared at it for a long time. Then he took out the stroker and gently rubbed the blue veins on its surface, his face gray and drained of all color.

The veins had already calmed down and were no longer as ferocious as before. The opening had also closed back up, locking away all the semen deep inside the channel. But perhaps because the stimulation had been too intense, thin streams of slick were still seeping out even now, making it look somewhat slippery.

At the tip of the cup, the pink channel that Dapao had forced outward had not fully recovered yet. A short limp strip was still hanging there, like an ugly little hat perched on top of the stroker.

Xiaowei pressed his lips together. A trace of tenderness rose in his eyes, then flipped in an instant into horror.

Right under his eyelids, the stroker suddenly began to squirm like a flesh worm!

The indescribably creepy sensation in his palm made goosebumps break out all over Xiaowei's body. His hand jerked, and he let the stroker drop onto his thigh, where only the layer of clothing between them made it feel a little less horrifying.

He watched the stroker slowly change as it writhed. The pink "hat" on top stood upright like it was filling with air, swelling bigger and harder inch by inch. Its color gradually deepened, and fine blue veins spread outward until they connected with the original dark red body of the cup, becoming indistinguishable from it.

'Is this... the second growth...?'

Xiaowei looked shocked. Still shaken, he studied the now-still stroker and quickly realized that aside from having grown longer, to about seventeen or eighteen centimeters, there was no other change.

The large labia and clitoris he had previously assumed would appear showed no sign of growing this time.

Had he guessed wrong?

Then what did the increase in size mean?

Could it be that his mother's vagina would grow deeper too... no, not vagina...

His heart suddenly sank, and the image of his mother's sex being pierced clean through by Dapao's black dragon immediately surfaced in his mind.

Xiaowei covered the newly grown channel with his palm, feeling the same texture as the original body of the cup, and the gloom in his eyes almost solidified into a mass.

Mom had been breached.

Even the womb cavity had become part of what could be fucked, fixed inside the stroker, turned into a narrow channel that provided extra pleasure to whoever used it.

But what was the reason for the second growth?

Could it be that adding the three roommates' semen happened to meet the requirement for the stroker's second growth?

Or was the trigger for the second growth not related to the amount of semen at all, but something else entirely?

For instance, did it require someone else's semen besides his own?

The sudden guess made Xiaowei's face twitch hard, but he still felt something was off.

The stroker only absorbed bodily fluids at midnight. By rights, the semen that had been shot into it earlier should still be stored inside the channel, not yet digested.

Following that line of thought, Xiaowei gradually overturned every conclusion he had reached before.

Maybe he had been wrong from the very beginning.

The stroker's growth had nothing to do with semen at all.

A blinding blood-red color kept flashing before his eyes, and the terrifying truth was right inside it.

In a daze, he remembered again the night before the stroker's first growth, his mother's shrill, piercing cries and the furious squirting from her pussy.

And then the answer surfaced.

The stroker's true condition for growth was giving his mother stimulation so overwhelming she could not bear it, and orgasms so extreme she had never experienced anything like them before!

If he wanted the stroker to evolve again, then his mother had to be driven toward collapse through one climax after another, driven mad by one scream after another, until she broke through her limit and felt pleasure beyond the threshold of endurance.

And this so-called ultimate pleasure, once experienced, would no longer count as a factor for growth.

In other words, with every evolution of the stroker, the stimulation his mother endured had to be greater than the last time!

What would happen to a normal person under the erosion of pleasure that kept shattering the limits of her senses?

Xiaowei stared fixedly at the opening of the stroker. In the slit where the bright red soft flesh pushed through, the strings of viscous fluid still seeped out. His expression was stiff with fear, as if he were looking at a devil.

He had seen the condition for the stroker's growth.

Would he accept the price?