The weight of her was impossible. Not heavy like a person—heavy like water, like something that had been at the bottom of a well so long it forgot it was ever supposed to float. She pressed down on me and I couldn't move my hips, couldn't even shift an inch, just lay there on the sticky carpet with the moonlight cutting across her shoulder blades and the laptop screen still rippling behind her like a pool that hadn't settled.

The mark on my belly burned where her palm ground against it. Not hot—that was the wrong word. It was cold the way deep water is cold, the kind of cold that gets into your bones and makes you forget there was ever warmth. But it burned anyway, a contradiction I couldn't parse, and every circle her palm made sent a jolt through my pelvis that I didn't want and couldn't stop.

"Please," I heard myself say. The word came out small, broken, barely a breath. "Please, I—I'm a virgin. I've never—"

Her cock slid against my inner thigh. Slick. Heavy. Thick as my wrist—I'd thought that before, when I first saw it, but I hadn't understood what it would feel like. The weight of it. The heat of it, which was wrong, because she was dead, she was supposed to be cold, but it was hot against my skin like a fever, like something infected. Pre-cum smeared across my thigh and I felt every centimeter of the trail it left.

I kicked. My legs moved—I felt them move, felt the muscles strain—but they didn't go anywhere. Her weight pinned them, not crushing but absolute, like trying to push against a wall that had always been there. My bare foot scraped against the carpet and found nothing to brace against, and my heel slipped on a wet spot I didn't want to think about.

"No," I sobbed. "No, no, no—"

She shifted her hips. It was a small movement, almost gentle, but I felt the head of her cock press against my entrance and my whole body seized up. My hands flew to her shoulders—I'd been pushing at them, I realized, pushing this whole time, my palms flat against that wet white skin—and I shoved with everything I had. She didn't move. She didn't even feel it. Her shoulder was cold and slick under my hands, like river-drowned flesh, like something that had been under water so long it had gone soft and firm at the same time.

Her palm ground harder on the mark. The cold burn spiked and I arched despite myself, my back bowing off the carpet, and in that moment of distraction she pressed forward.

Just the tip.

Just the tip and I felt myself stretch around it, felt the impossible width of it testing me, and a sound came out of me that I'd never made before—a high, thin whine that didn't sound human. My hands scrabbled at her shoulders, my nails digging into that dead-white skin, and I felt it give slightly, like wet paper, like something that shouldn't have been solid at all.

"Stop," I begged. "Please, stop, you're—you're too big, I can't—"

She didn't stop. She didn't even pause. Her hips shifted again, adjusting the angle, and I felt the head of her cock press deeper, stretching me past anything I'd ever imagined. I'd touched myself before—alone in my bed, fingers tentative, always stopping before it felt like too much. This was nothing like that. This was a hand grenade being forced into a keyhole, and I could feel every ridge, every vein, every impossible inch of what was pushing into me.

The mark flared. White-hot cold, a contradiction that made my vision swim. And I felt something else—something inside me responding to it, my body betraying me, my hips tilting up to meet her even as my hands pushed at her shoulders and my mouth formed the word no.

Her face was close to mine. Through the curtain of lank black hair I could see that single eye, wide and unblinking, watching me with a hunger that had nothing to do with killing.

"I'll bring you someone else," I gasped. "I will. I'll find another virgin, I'll—I'll make them watch the tape, I'll do anything, just please—"

Her breath washed over my face. Cold. Wet. It smelled like well water, like moss, like something that had been dead a very long time and was only now remembering what it was to be alive.

And then she pushed.

Just a little more. Just enough to make me feel the stretch become a burn, the burn become a tearing. I felt my body resist and then—horribly—felt it give. Felt myself open around her, felt the impossible width of her sink into me inch by inch, and I screamed.

The sound died in my throat. Choked off. Because the mark on my belly flared again, and this time I felt a pulse of something that wasn't pain—wasn't pleasure either, wasn't anything I had words for. It was like a current running through me, like she'd plugged something into my spine and was sending electricity through it, and my body arched again, my back bowing, my hips pressing up against her even as tears ran down my cheeks.

"No," I whispered. "No, please, I don't—I don't want this—"

But my body wanted it. That was the horror of it. My body was responding to her, opening for her, my cunt clenching around the head of her cock like it was trying to pull her deeper, and I couldn't stop it. I couldn't control any of it. The mark on my belly was pulsing in time with something I couldn't hear, and every pulse made me wetter, made the slide easier, made the stretch less like tearing and more like—

Like hunger.

Like my body had been starving for this without telling me.

Sadako's hand left the mark and found my hip. Her fingers were long, too long, and they wrapped around my hip bone like they were measuring me. Tilting me. Adjusting the angle so she could push deeper, and I felt the head of her cock press against something inside me that made my vision go white.

"Oh god," I heard myself say. "Oh god, oh god, oh—"

She pulled back. Just an inch. Just enough to make me feel the drag of her against my inner walls, the ridges of her cock catching on me, and I sobbed with relief and terror at the same time because she was pulling out, she was leaving, maybe she would stop, maybe—

And then she drove forward.

The first full thrust buried her inside me to the root. I felt her pelvis press against mine, felt the impossible length of her filling me completely, and my scream cut off into a choked, wet gasp as I felt myself stretched around her, filled to the brim, the mark on my belly flaring white-hot as the world narrowed to that single invasive point.

I couldn't breathe. Couldn't think. Couldn't do anything but lie there with my legs pinned, my hands gripping her wet shoulders, my cunt clenching around a cock that was thicker than my wrist and buried so deep inside me I could feel it in my throat.

Her eye watched me. Unblinking. Hungry.

And behind her, the laptop screen still rippled, still stirred, as if more was still coming through. As if she wasn't done with me yet.