Big Enough To Fuck

The rod was a blur. Lois Lane's hands were so tightly clenched the fingernails dug into her palm. The pleasant light-headedness turned into dizziness. The room began to spin. A queasy looseness seemed to grip the reporter's stomach, and she had to **** herself to relax her ass, which was gripped too tightly...and then the room began to spin, and Lois Lane's eyes rolled up inside her head.

She didn't pass out, exactly. The dickgirl reporter could still feel everything as the mechanical distention of her pisshole grew more and more intense. The feel of it stretching had moved somewhere beyond pain, and the reporter shook as the fizzing at the base of the rigid prick turned into a kind of burning throb. She felt needs that she couldn't express...like she needed to pee, needed to fuck...and as the room spun the constant stream of sound bombarded her brain, over and over and over...

...letItWORKdon'tFightITletYourDICKbecomeYourPUSSY...

The words brought strange, terrible images. Lois shuddered as sweat began to bead her face, nipples hard, hips twitched. It didn't even feel like her cock was hard anymore. It felt almost like it was...hollow. Instinctively, her abs flexed, but it was pointless. The cock couldn't move in response, the spinning probe had pushed it too far, the muscles torn...and blearily, as the spinning subsided and the probe withdrew, Lois raised her head...which felt like it weighed fifty pounds...and stared at what she was sure must be the ruin of her dick.

It was a six-inch meat-sock that hung swollen and limp from the reporter's sweaty crotch. The cockhead was bigger than a crab-apple, and the urethra was...well, it looked to Lois like a pussy. The piss-slit hung drooping and open at the bottom, partially turned inside-out, the soft sensitive inner integument exposed. Lois could have slid her thumb inside without touching the sides; it hung gaping open a clear inch at the base, only narrowing a bit near the top. A clear drop oozed from it, and that burning sensation filled the entire length of the reporter's ruined prick.

The constant audio stream faded out. The chair shifted, forcing Lois into a seated position. Footsteps approached, but the reporter felt like a sack of wet oatmeal, barely able to sit erect, staring at the stretched-out cock that hung limp and useless between her legs.

"Would you like some help with that?"

A voice...it took Lois a moment to realize it was talking to her. She lifted her eyes away from her over-stretched dick, an answer on her lips...