Extract the Bottle

Lois did not dare to end the act until she was safely inside, with the door locked and bolted. Only then did she begin to disrobe. In a hurry she shucked off the jacket, pants and shirt, to stand naked.

The visions, or hallucinations, whatever they were, had faded. Lois breathed deep, looking at her smooth belly and perky tits. The base of the bottle poked out of her cunt, her lips gaped wide around it.

Gingerly, she tried to pull it out—and found the bottle wedged tight.

She moved to the bed, and fished the bottle of lube out of the bedside table. A liberal dollop of the softly scented gel on her left hand, and she reached down begin slathering it around her labia. Lois used the slick tip of a single finger to probe and lube a little deeper, and gasped as it **** her wider still. When she had made a complete circuit, she grasped the base of the bottle with her dry right hand and gave a tug. It didn't move.

Lois switched position, on her back, legs raised and spread. She slid one of her lubed up fingers in again...deeper, this time, past the second joint. The reporter gasped at the tightness of her own cunt against the hard, slick mass of the bottle, but wriggle by wriggle, she probed her finger in until it and the bottle were both firmly lodged in her stuffed slit.

Then she pulled the finger to the side.

Lois had never been one for size play, had no experience with stretching. It reminded her too much of birth...the idea of pushing something so big out of her vagina. Some women were never the same again, after that. Oh, tight enough for their husbands to fuck, but you couldn't pass something the size of a football through your crotch and go back to how you were before, not completely...

But she knew that the human body was surprisingly elastic, so long as you didn't try too much, too fast. With the slight gap between bottle and the wall of her vagina then made, she lifted the bottle of lube with her free hand and let it drool over the little gape. She shuddered as she moved the finger up and around, to stretch herself more, and let the cool lubricant slide deeper inside her.

When that was done, she hooked the finger underneath her clit and pulled—then dropped the lube and grabbed the base of the plastic bottle with her dry hand. It was slick, where the lube had spilled on it, but she got a good grip, her fingertips dug into the sides of her pussy...and it started to move. She flexed her internal muscles, wishing she'd done more kegels. Worse, she could feel her heat build as inch by inch the bottle slowly came out...

The bottle slid out of the reporter's sore pussy slowly but surely, Lois gasping as it finally popped free. She had never left anything in her that long before, and her poor puss felt gaping and sensitive—she would have to do some light kegel exercises later, after her cunny had healed a bit. As for tonight...

Lois examined the bottle. It was exactly like a small wine bottle, although with a slightly green tinge; the original label had been removed.

She lifted it up, holding it to the light. It was off-white, thick as milk...but it wasn't cow' milk, Lois knew that. Not as runny, it sloshed about like a jelly. In fact, if she did't know better it looked like...cum.

If this was ejaculate...there was too much. A small winebottle would be more jizz than a normal human would produce in a week of normal jacking off. They'd have to save it up...and Lois somehow liked the image of that, some **** worshiper in front of a funnel, stroking himself rapidly, trying to aim their manhood at the hold, all of their devotion focused on that substitute, symbolic vagina...

Lois pictured herself on the bed, something hard and plastic in her pussy. There was a man in front of her, stroking himself, fit flying rapidly over the end of his knob. She looked down to see what was in her cunt: the white outline of a funnel...and as he aimed his dick at the hole, she knew what she was there for.

She placed her thumb on the hard ridges of the plastic cap. The vision faded, but the image stayed with her. Almost hypnotically, hand shaking, the reporter unscrewed the cap, hoping and fearing what it would be...but she had to know.

I must not fear. Lois ran through the mantra in her head...but she became stuck at the idea of the "little ****." Wasn't orgasm known as "the little ****?" Her pussy, raw and abused, felt like it was leaking. Her mouth was dry, heart beating in her ears, pounding in her temples. The cap came off...and a familiar smell came out of the bottle. A little acrid, but familiar. It was a smell she had known since she had found the stiff, stained pair of her mother's panties that Lois' father had kept with his dirty magazines.

Cum.