she adorns your body with hickeys, low enough to be concealed under your clothes, but incriminating if your spouse ever caught a glimpse while you were changing; she knocks over the framed photograph of your wedding day, letting it fall behind your dresser, abandoned and forgotten, where it rightfully belongs; later, when she’s on top of you, she slips your spouse’s wedding ring onto her finger, telling you to address her as your wife whilst your cock is bruising her cervix; when she knows you’re with your spouse, she floods your phone with depraved nudes of herself clad in your wife’s panties, asking who you think wore them better. she returns the garments to their dresser a few days later, as the fabric is soiled with streaks and globs of her own cum; should jinx feel ignored or secondary to your spouse, she’ll threaten you with a sulky, petulant pout, “i guess i’ll just have to give your wife a call, fill her in on our relationship. i’m sure she’s curious to know why you’ve been walking funny.”

the solemn thrum of pain began days ago: starting as a persistent pressure that threaded through the canals of her pussy, followed by something prickly and piercing—as if she was slowly, meticulously being carved from the inside out. ellie was none the wiser, attributing the bleeding and slicing agony to her period, until it eventually passed.

now, with you between her legs, slurping on her clit, the memory of the unusual pain she endured is a distant, irrelevant thing. ellie is blatantly needier than usual, blubbering a litany of nonsensical gibberish, which only encourages you to lap at her pussy with further reverence. 

“f-fuck, mmghh—you’re so good at that,” she gasps.

you trace her slit, her clit, the folds of her labia, savoring the ambrosial nectar that coats your taste buds. ellie unceremoniously bucks against your face, until you have to anchor the lean curve of her hips to the mattress, delving deeper. your tongue dips inside her entrance, only slightly, but even then you’re able to feel it immediately; something solid, shapely, a bristly scrape against the underside of your tongue. 

you pause, pulling back a fraction to glance up at ellie. her lip is caught between her teeth, eyes fluttering, blissfully unaware.

”don’t stop,” she pants, forcing your head deeper between her thighs. “please, i need, ugh—i need more…”

how could you ever refuse her?—especially when she asks so sweetly, when she has such a tenacious, possessive hold on your hair, when her eyes are glossy with need. you descend again, licking her slit, tracing the crevice of her entrance, easing your tongue inside the tight aperture of her cunt, and then you feel it once more; a prickly, jagged edge that catches against the probing muscle of your tongue. 

you gasp, pulling away again.

ellie is still on her back, legs drawn up to her chest, sheets tangled around her hips, but the scrunch of pleasure is quickly dissipating from her face, replaced by profound, anxious confusion.

"what?" she breathes, pushing up onto her elbows. "what’s the matter?”

silently, you part her labia with your thumbs, until ellie’s narrow, coin-slot entrance reveals the pink interior of her walls—and that’s when you see it; a congregation of teeth, varying in shapes and sizes, off-white, no different than the set a person would find in their own mouth, except the teeth are there, in the channel of ellie’s pussy.

“what are you doing?” she asks, acutely self-conscious.

“ellie,” is all you can muster in perplexity.

“what?”

“teeth… you have teeth.”

ellie laughs in bewilderment. “huh? what are you talking about?”

instead of repeating something so ludicrous, you show her, firmly pressing your finger against the shapely enamel lining the entrance of her sex. ellie flinches as if you pressed against a ripe bruise.

“did that hurt?” you inquire.

“it’s—tender,” she manages. “what is that?”

“i think we should go to the infirmary.”

“are you messing with me? i’m fine,” ellie insists, reaching a tentative hand between her legs. she presses her own fingers to her entrance, and then she feels it too; the serrated, prickly edge of a tooth. it’s unfathomable but also unmistakable. 

with her luck, of course something like this would happen to her of all people. ellie feels responsible in some way, as if she should’ve somehow foreseen this calamity. perhaps if she’d been more careful, less impulsive, less reckless, some of these grotesque twists of fate could have been avoided (such as her immunity, or having teeth take root inside her cunt). now, under your prying eyes, you must see her for what she really is: a mutated monster, an evolutionary afterthought, an aberration—

she’s interrupted from her spiral when you press your finger against the teeth again. predictably, her hips jump, gasping at the paradoxical sensation; a combination of white-hot oversensitivity and an inkling of… pleasure?

“what are you doing?” ellie hisses.

“what do they feel like?” you wonder instead, spreading her thin to study the ring of teeth.

“god, fuck—you’re crazy,” ellie whimpers, but she doesn’t push you away.

you kiss her clit, kitten lick the rim of her hole as a quiet offer of reprieve, one last chance for ellie to back out. she doesn’t, of course—always greedy for more, so she relaxes against the mattress, easing her thighs wider.

it’s mildly unpleasant as the ridges of teeth scrape against your tongue, but the way ellie reacts is worth it—shy and uncertain like it’s her first time all over again, however her need and slutty desperation eclipses any anxiety.

“it f-feels weird,” ellie whines, fisting the sheets. then, “hah, fuck, fuck—“

when your tongue ventures too deep, her walls convulse—teeth closing down like a tiny, feral mouth that slyly set a trap for its prey. you pull back before your tongue becomes a casualty. still, the pink muscle throbs tenderly from all the minor abrasions it’s collected, but, miraculously, it remains in intact. the taste lingers, though: the salty tinge of ellie’s slick mixed with a metallic hint of blood.

“they tried to bite me,” you murmur, not in accusation but in thought.

ellie doesn’t respond right away. then, quietly, horrified;

“fuck—i’m a freak. i can’t be touched, i can’t—you should leave, i could hurt you. i almost did hurt you.”

“leave? els, you think a few measly teeth are enough to send me packing?”

unperturbed and suddenly out to prove something, you lower yourself between her thighs again, not paying any mind to her clit this time, but heading straight for her curious, new anatomy. the lurking danger is somewhat thrilling anyway. tilting your head, you trace and catalogue every rough edge of enamel, every uncanny smooth face of each tooth.

ellie is gasping like a fish out of water, pulling you closer, pushing you away, closer, away, closer. fuck, her new teeth are so sensitive, like biting directly into ice cream, followed by a seismic wave of pleasure.

when your tongue is pressed as deep inside her pussy as you can manage, ellie yelps—digging her nails into your scalp, holding you still as her eyes roll back into her skull. she screams; a sound of shocked, unadulterated ecstasy, and her walls convulse again.

you pull your tongue out of her hole before it’s devoured completely, asking with vague astonishment, “did you just cum?”

”they’re… sensitive, okay?” she mutters, nebulous and trembling from her profoundly intense, teeth-catalyzed orgasm. 

god, the universe hates her.