Clark Kent Has A Hardon And No Place To Put It

The zipper had broken open, burst from within, half the little brass teeth scattered. The button had torn free, and half the stitches were hanging as loose, frayed threads. Lois Lane, ever the observant reporter, made note that he wasn't wearing underwear underneath the pants...they were a familiar pair of red underoos, and blue tights under that. Yet what consumed the majority of the reporter's attention was the sheer size.

Quantity, Lois Lane observed, is a quality all to itself.

The head of Clark Kent's prick was a round, smooth mushroom tip the color of raw liver, about the size of an apple; the urethra slit big enough for her to fit the tip of her pinky finger into, and the cock bulged and widened behind it, with a rough, porous skin that reminded Lois of a navel orange, if one of those had ever grown to the size of an eggplant.

He pushed his way into the stall, closing the door behind him, and Lois had to lean back just to avoid it hitting her nose. That was when the smell hit her...and though she couldn't define it within anything in her experience, Lois could feel her pussy dampen and her mouth salivate. She watched with incredible singleness of focus as a single bead of precum began to form at that long slit.

"I don't know what happened...I was thinking about you and then I saw you, and then suddenly I was...like this...and you ducked into bar and I..."

Flustered. Stammering. Still trying to keep up the Clark Kent act, even though she could see his suit...and his **** need. Lois slid the bottle out of her coat and lowered it carefully down to the floor. She brought her hands up to grip the shaft.

It was like grabbing a warm iron bar. Her fingers didn't even make indentations in the skin, for all that it felt soft. Lois Lane clenched her ass, which still hurt. A part of her hoped she was up for this...and another, bigger part of her didn't care. There was always that part of Lois that was the thrillseeker, the adventurer, the one who would rise to any challenge, no matter how stupid. This was her Mt. Everest.

"Well, obviously you can't go out on the streets like that Sup—er, Smallville," Lois bit her lower lip and moved her hand. The skin was pliable, for all that the shaft was steely in its stiffness. It bunched up behind the great swollen glans, and then back again as she pushed it toward his balls.

"Don't worry," she said, and breathed in, sucking in that strange, irresistible smell. "I'll help you out."