Get The Lube

Resolution hardened in Lois as the painful pressure increased on the mouth of her womb.

Whatever this thing is...whatever it wants...it isn't getting it. The reporter set her jaw and reached among her "personal supplies" for the bottle of lube. Whatever goes in, must come out.

Lois slathered the lube on her hand. The pain had begun to pulse, sending little shockwaves through her body, radiating out from her lower abdomen. She pictured the ovoid white head, narrowed to a point, maybe with a stump of a tail, literally battering at the mouth of her womb.

When her hand glistened with lubricant, she took a deep breath and spread her pussy. She knew women that did this. Gynecologists did it—had done it to her. A woman's vagina was elastic, designed to pass a baby...and she was already stretched out a bit from the giant sperm's earlier passage. Her hand couldn't be bigger than the head of that thing.

Just need to woman up reach in there and grab it. Easy.

Lois hesitated, fingers at her pussy.

All that is well and good, she admitted to herself, but I've never done it before.

One finger at first. It slid in without any problem, and as far as Lois could press it, she still couldn't feel anything.

A second finger slid in almost without a thought, a comfortable fullness. Lois spread them apart, testing her flexibility, but her love tunnel seemed fine.

Three fingers. Lois tried to keep her breathing steady, and added another squirt of lube. Buried up to the knuckles, with thumb and pinky on either side of her lips, she could feel herself nicely stretched...but there was more to go.

Four fingers. She left the thumb out, the rest of the fingers steepled together, palm upwards. The reporter re-applied a bit more lube, and squished them in there...and began giving herself a few back-and-forth plunges, trying to relax her pussy, avoid tensing up. As she got into the flow of it, Lois had an idea and reached for a makeup mirror.

Setting it in front of her on the floor, she removed her fingers and, with both hands, grabbed her inner lips and spread them. Gazing into the mirror, working her fingers in deeper, pulling her canal farther apart, she stared down at her own cunt-tunnel until...yes, there! A flash of white, wiggling within her. Lois could barely see it—fingers were no substitute for a speculum—but now she knew it was there, just a little deeper than she could reach.

She took another deep breath...and then fingers steepled into a five-sided blunt point, gently slipped them into her pussy.

It was, honestly, easier than she thought. Without much effort she soon had her fingers buried up to the first knuckle...and with just a twinge of effort and a slightly familiar stretching sensation her hand slowly slipped past, until her inner lips closed in on her thinner wrist.

Lois paused, puffing slightly at the sensation. A slight giddiness went through her. I'm fisting myself!

Then the pain within her grew. Somewhere...not far, as these things go, but deep within her internal geography, the rogue giant spermatozoa's head was nuzzling at her cervix, trying to **** an entrance.

The reporter pressed harder. She had, of course, fingered herself before, but she ha never before had her entire hand envelope by her tunnel. Wet and muscular, gripping and yet slippery soft, she felt the bizarre doubled sensation of her hand penetrating and her pussy squeezing herself at the same time. Lois leaned forward to get more leverage, aware of the absurd self-acrobatics at play here—how far could she effectively fist herself?

As the pounding against her womb intensified, Lois gritted her teeth. It would have to be far enough.