I awoke the next morning, an uncomfortable pressure on my bladder - more than usual. I felt sore all over, my body cramped and stiff. At first, I wasn't sure where I was, and it took a long time to become awake enough to take stock of my situation. I reached down to massage my groin, which felt uncomfortable. There was a growing sense of discomfort, and then pain.

A mad whoosh of awareness swept over me, and I tried to sit up in order to better look at the lower half of my body. Unfortunately, when my stomach muscles contracted to allow me to do so, they were blocked by an intruder. Another sharp pain erupted from my midsection. Unable to cope, I flew back down on the bed, eyes staring at the ceiling as I tried to ride through the agony.

My hand finally found the embedded dildo emerging from my cunt. To my utter amazement, there was remarkably little remaining outside my body. I hadn't quite taken it all, but it was damn close enough to scare me.

I tried pulling on the dildo and instantly regretted it. Unlike the previous night, I wasn't lubricated at all, and it felt stuck. Even slight tugs felt like it was going to pull my insides straight out of my body. I couldn't quite get the grip or the leverage that I needed lying flat on my back, so I tried to sit up again more slowly.

It was no good. I felt the pain almost immediately and had to take almost a full minute to catch my breath. I began to wonder if I was in serious trouble, and whether I should call for help. My heart pounded as I ran through the scenarios in my head.

Dad! Can you come in here for a minute? I need your help!

What's wrong, Shannon?

Oh, nothing much, I just have your dick stuck in my vagina. I should have known you would be too big for me.

Ha ha, oh, Shannon, you are such a goof.

Well, you know me, Dad. Anything for a laugh.

Well, let's get you to the hospital so that they can take that out of you.

The hospital?

Of course. They see this kind of thing all the time.

They do?

Well, you may be the first one they've seen with your father's cock-based toy stuffed up your chimney, but once it's done, everyone will have a good laugh.

I felt tears begin to well up in my eyes as Team Morality decided it was a good time for an "I told you so" play. You are such a slut, TM told me. Look at you now. Sleeping with your father's girlfriend, and now lying on the bed with his cock in your cunt, unable to move. This is your punishment; you deserve this.

I had only been awake for a couple of minutes, and wasn't much of a morning person to begin with. I felt ridiculous, impaled by a silicone dong and unable to move. It really did feel like I deserved my fate.

I've never been able to cope with emotions like this, and was one of the reasons why I had always been very shy and never took risks or chances. Because this kind of thing could happen. Well, I would never have actually guessed or anticipated exactly this, but all the more reason why I tended to like to play it safe.

Without thinking, I managed to roll onto my side and started to pull up my legs into a fetal position. To my surprise, that seemed to work. The dildo began to push downward, and I could reach behind me and get a better grip on it. I suddenly had a moment of hope that I wouldn't have to go to the hospital after all, or even better, call for help from my father.

The difference between being turned on and not being turned on was like the difference between skating on ice and skating on sandpaper. Unable to help myself, I tried to intellectualize myself out of the situation. After all, I got it in, why was it so difficult to get it out? My body seemed like it couldn't make up its mind. I wanted to get rid of it, but the muscles in my womb and stomach didn't seem to want to relax enough to let it go. Worse, my vaginal walls were so dry it felt like last night's lubrication had turned into cement.

I began to wonder if there had been some sort of vacuum created inside of me, preventing it from loosening. I began to have mental images of pulling it out, along with all my intestines and organs and everything I never paid attention to in anatomy class. I tried slight movements, trying to get a little farther each time, but this wasn't going to be easy.

Well, at least Simone couldn't take as much as you did, Team Shutupandfuckme said, snarkily. She probably got stuck a lot sooner.

I couldn't help it. I rolled my eyes at my own crazy thoughts. Why the hell would I be thinking of Simone at this very moment? And yet, I couldn't help the visual from stepping up, front and center.

In my mind's eye, I imagined Simone in some upper-class bedroom with frilly pink things and perfectly set up thanks to the imaginary live-in maid, trying to shove the fake cock into her pussy. Bound and determined to fuck it, she kept aiming at her hole, tongue slipped between her lips at the corner of her mouth like some deranged, obsessed cartoon. I found myself smiling at the image.

The images flipped by like a montage, imaginary-Simone trying every day to stuff her cunt, only to be stymied. Each time she would try, she was determined to get it in further. She couldn't do it, even with all her perfect curves and her perfect breasts (as if they had any say in the matter), her frustration mounting each time. I imagined her finally getting the head in, a cheer of triumph on her lips, but the recognition that she would never be able to take it all in.

I'd never seen Simone naked. I always avoided being trapped in the school shower with her and her minions, but my mind was able to transpose the doppelgänger girl in the video with Simone, not that it mattered very much. I couldn't get a good, clear image of Simone naked in my head, but this fantasy was all about the idea of her, anyway.

I imagined her pulling on the cock, almost trying to rip herself in two, and failing. I pictured her trying to "own" me by fucking herself with the dildo, only to be blocked by her own body. Her mad, deranged desire to hate me so much - for whatever reason - had poisoned her brain. This was about as much about humiliating me as it was satisfying her pride. As her frustration mounted, my joy at her predicament did as well. As imaginary-Simone floundered on the bed, desperate for some release, I felt an increasing desire to keep the fantasy going.

With a start, I realized that the pain wasn't there anymore. In fact, it hadn't been there for a while. My fingers from one hand were playing with my clit, while the other was fucking myself with the dildo in small, quick movements. I had begun to grow wetter, and now the dildo moved back and forth with greater fluidity (yes, pun intended again). I was pretty sure that I could remove it now.

Don't you dare! Team Shutupandfuckme screamed in my head. Team Morality simply threw its metaphorical hands into the air and gave up.

My hatred for Simone began to turn the fantasy into something darker, more terrible. Hands and arms that were attached to no bodies reached for her and held her down. One hand covered her mouth, her eyes widening with shock and comprehension. Another hand reached for the dildo, others pinned her arms and legs to her gorgeous four-poster bed in her pristine, girly-girly, immaculate everything-a-rich-bitch-could-ever-want bedroom.

Here, let us help you, a voice said to imaginary-Simone, an impossible dark voice that was neither male nor female. The hand holding the cock twisted it like a door knob, rotating the head inside of her cunt. Her eyes rolled back in her head.

The disembodied voice scoffed. So you want to torment Shannon, but you can't even take it yourself.

Simone made noises through the hand, but they were unintelligible. The cock turned back the other way, and her head lolled back onto the pillow, her muffled words dying in an agonizing moan.

Look at you, the voice said. Pathetic. Trying to be the Queen Bitch, and you can't even take more than this. The head was at its apex at her pussy lips, creating the farthest possible spread of her body. It glistened with her wetness. She tried to move her hips, and I imagined that she was trying to take more of it in but couldn't.

The hand pushed the dildo a little, and she screamed into the hand in pain, then whimpered in frustration. She wanted more, but just couldn't take it.

Oh, too bad, the voice mocked. The little Queen Bitch is more of a court Jester. Tears began to form in her eyes.

The cock seemed to twist a little, and the hand moved it just a little in and out of her hole, but never quite allowing it to sink inside. It seemed to promise satisfaction of being fucked and completely entered, but then it denied that relief. Simone's perfect body writhed on the bed, held down by all of those ghostly, powerful hands and arms. She wasn't struggling to get free now, only to get some sort of relief. She was being kept on a knife's edge, but not allowed to feel the cut.

Even so, her body was reacting to it. Her breathing was erratic, long slow breaths followed by very short and quick gasps. She was getting close, even if she couldn't get the flare of the cock past the point of no return. It was building, building.

So desperate, the voice said, disgusted. Tears streamed down her face, but I couldn't tell if it was because of desperation or humiliation. Or both. You are getting closer and closer, and you just can't come, can you?

Imaginary-Simone shook her head violently. She wanted to come, needed to do so. She was raising her hips to meet the hand with the dildo, but couldn't quite get it to go inside. She wanted to fuck so badly that it was driving her insane.

A red flush began to cover her body, and her eyes opened wide. She was feeling the onslaught of an orgasm, the mad tidal wave rush of pleasure cresting over that final hurdle, about to wash over her in a flood of ecstasy. She was ready for it, and prepared herself to let it happen to her.

Pathetic, the voice said, dismissive. In an instant, all hands disappeared and Simone was left clinging to the anticipation of an orgasm that was ripped from her just before crossing the finish line.

Instead, I got the orgasm that she had craved. I had robbed it from her, taken it as my own. My hips bucked against the dildo, feeling it from a completely different perspective while on my side. I felt everything that Simone could not, absorbed the girth of the cock in my body in a way that she would never know. I got the added satisfaction of appreciating her body's betrayal on top of the glorious climax that should have been hers.

As I felt the cock slide freely inside of me, my mind played out the finality of Simone's torture. I imagined her struggling to stuff the dildo in with her hands, frantically trying to capture the orgasm that almost-was, but each flustered attempt simply pushing it further and further away. The dark, dangerous voice began a rumbling laughter, and Simone covered her ears with her hands in order to escape the torment. It was futile for her, and I luxuriated in her torture.

As the fantasy began to fade out of my imagination, I started to push out the enormous cock from my body. It wasn't effortless, but I felt it slide more consistently and easily, until the head finally caught against my pubic bone. A slight rotation of my hips, and the cock fell out of my body and I could now hold it freely in my hand.

Slowly, I raised the dildo so that I could see it better, and marveled at it. About two inches above the base was a ragged, hand-drawn half-circle in red around the shaft. At first I was confused, until I started to realize that I had seen that color before. I gawked at the dildo once I finally figured it out - it was the same color as Tracy's lipstick. She had apparently come back and marked the dildo while I had been passed out.

Was this as much as I could get in me? I wondered. Just yesterday I could barely fit the head in my mouth, and now this?

When people use the term "awe," it's almost never in the right way. They overuse "awesome" as if were the same as "neat," or "cool," or even "that's amazing." Awe, on the other hand, is an emotion that practically defies description. The dictionary defines the term as "an emotion variously combining dread, veneration, and wonder that is inspired by authority or by the sacred or sublime."

I was in awe. It was the first time in my entire life where I felt what the word was supposed to mean. This... thing... was inside my body up to there? To me, it certainly felt sacred and sublime.

Exhaustion hit me like a ton of bricks, and I wanted to go back to sleep. My body was covered in sweat, the dildo was covered in me. I needed to shower, and the dildo needed to be cleaned. At the same time, I felt... empty. Only a few moments ago I was desperately afraid that I would have had it stuck in me, and now it felt like I was missing a limb. My god, what was wrong with me?

I got off the bed and took the dildo with me, gently flopping in my hand. I stuffed it in my bag, picked it up and grabbed a towel to wrap around me, and then dashed into the bathroom.

This time, the shower didn't involve any self-hanky panky, just a normal washing. I enjoyed the hot water falling on my body, soothing some very aching muscles. I was already halfway through washing the dildo when I realized that I was no longer afraid of it. In fact, I actually stopped what I was doing to deal with the fact that it wasn't a shock at all. I was shocked that I wasn't shocked!

I guess when you push yourself so far past a boundary, suddenly earlier obstacles don't seem so daunting any more.

I turned it around and over in my hand, looking at it with a new pair of eyes. I had taken most of the monstrous thing inside my body. I could still see the remnants of the lipstick marking my accomplishment, not quite fully cleaned off yet. I couldn't help it - my accomplishment was impressive.

I must have been waking up finally, because I then realized that I was no longer a virgin, either. Tracy had taken my virginity, with this. Holding the cock against my body, I kept the red ring close to the area of my entrance in order to see just how high it went inside me. I gasped and double-checked the positioning, because the giant head went well past my belly button.

"That can't be right," I said to myself. Tracy must have been making a joke. It was just about up inside my rib cage! I shook my head, chalking it up to either my own imagination or Tracy teasing me. Still, the one thing that was incredible was just how I didn't feel like the damn thing possessed me. Instead, I felt as if I possessed it. I had had it inside my pussy, I had fucked it, not the other way around. It felt... empowering.

It also felt sore. My pussy, that is. Come to think of it, my entire midsection felt as if I had done a thousand sit-ups, and when I moved my legs didn't want to seem to stay close together. It was just too uncomfortable.

None of that bothered me, though. I was in a surprisingly good mood, perhaps the best mood I'd been in for weeks. There might be something to all the jokes about "needing a good fucking" after all. I certainly felt more relaxed and, well, like I had actually crossed a finish line after a marathon. I stood in the shower and just allowed myself to feel good, proud of myself even, for the first time in longer than I could remember.

I owed it all to Tracy. There was something about her that just made me feel better about myself. I wasn't in love with her, or anything, just that a growing feeling that she helped push me through some difficult times. The light at the end of the tunnel seemed to be one that Tracy put there, just for me.

Once I was out of the shower and dressed, I hurried downstairs. I had heard noises coming from the kitchen and found myself looking forward to spending time with Tracy and my father. Rounding the corner, I saw that Tracy was in the kitchen, and through the window I could see my father outside in the back garden, pacing, talking animatedly on the phone.

"Good morning!" Tracy smiled broadly as she saw me. She was moving pots and pans around, preparing to make some breakfast.

"Morning!" I said, cheerily. I went up to her to give her a hug and kiss, when she stopped me with a hand on my arm. She glanced briefly out the window at my father, and then looked back at me.

"Oh, honey," she said. "We mustn't give your father any ideas. It's part of a woman's prerogative to have some mysteries of her own." She smiled, but I could tell that she was serious.

"Um, ok," I said. I felt a little dejected, not realizing just how much I had been looking forward to giving her a hug and feeling her pressed against me. Even so, it wasn't enough to break my mood.

I looked out the window. "What's going on?" I said. "He's on the phone early."

Tracy looked at the clock. It was almost 9 a.m. "Well, he's usually up long before now for work, so it's not so early for him."

"Is he working?" I asked. "It's a Sunday."

She glanced at him in between sorting out pans. "I'm not sure," she said. "Apparently someone misplaced something important. He didn't say much."

My father's hand motions were sharp and angry, and his face was growing a more-than-healthy shade of pink. Not in a good way.

"Would you like to help me make pancakes?" Tracy asked.

"Oooh, pancakes!" I squealed, my attention suddenly turning to my growling stomach. "What would you like me to do?"

She handed me a large mixing bowl and some ingredients, and I moved over to the kitchen table to get to work. I had to move a vase of flowers in order to make room, when it struck me that there was a vase of flowers on the kitchen table. My father, the bachelor construction worker, would never think of putting fresh flowers in the house.

"I'm guessing these are your handiwork?" I asked.

Tracy looked at what I was referring to, and nodded. "Oh, yeah," she admitted. "I thought your father's house could use a bit of a woman's touch."

I looked around, and slowly started to see small but subtle differences from the last time I had visited. In addition to the flowers, there were little cute signs on the counter that said, "Home is where the heart is," and "Live, Love, Dream." It was a nice touch, and definitely made the kitchen look less utilitarian.

"What do you think?" she asked.

"It looks nice," I agreed.

"Good, I'm glad," she said. "I had a feeling that you and I might share even more in common."

I felt myself blushing.

"So tell me," she said, abruptly. "That's quite the plaything you've got. Where'd you get him?"

I looked at her and frowned. "Plaything?" I asked, confused.

She placed her hands about a foot apart, and grinned at me. I blushed again. I felt like an idiot. "Um," I stammered. "I got it from a friend from school."

Tracy raised an eyebrow. "A friend, huh?" she said, drawing out the word. "You must be very close."

Looking away, I muttered under my breath, "Not exactly." Louder, I said, "Um, yeah, I guess so."

Almost immediately, I felt guilt splash over me. Only a few hours ago, this woman had given me the best sex of my life, had opened up a whole world for me that I never new existed. Okay, it was the only sex of my life, but it was still the best. And I thank her, repay her, by lying?

I turned to face her, and opened my mouth to tell her everything. I was prepared to launch into a mad rush, explaining how Simone had been tormenting me for weeks for no reason other than the fact that she could, told her about Mr. Rawlins, told her about how spontaneous "gifts" and the embarrassing pity party in class.