Classic Cock

Selecting the big red bitchbreaker, Lois aimed the phone down at her crotch—watching the scarlet prick proudly jut forth from above her pussy—and pressed the button to accept the changes.

There was a click...and a kind of burning pins-and-needles feeling, exactly as though Lois' hand or foot had fallen asleep...except what tingled was neither hand nor foot. The reporter heard Lana gasp, but the reporter moved the phone aside to look at it herself.

Statistically, Lois knew there were no 10 inch cocks. Oh sure, maybe one in a billion, but they were edge cases—99.99999% of all human beings that had a dick feel between 4 and 6 inches. Seven inches was an outlier. Eight inches in the top one percent. Nine inches was one in a couple million.

So the fat ruby rod that hung between her legs now, the shadow of it covering Lana's demonic blue fuckbox like the wrath of God waiting to descend, was in a league of its own. The base of it was thicker than her wrist, the fat head—no foreskin—was like the smooth front of a submarine, interrupted only by the piss-slit.

Thick red veins were visible beneath Lois' pale skin where the fat fuckstick was attached to her crotch, the weight of it wanting to draw her forward. Yet it throbbed and pulsed to her own heartbeat, and as the pins-and-needles faded it was replaced with a much different kind of pain—a painful stiffness, an urge, a need. Lois stared down at Lana's fat blue cunt and leered.

"Do you want it, slut?" Lois wrapped her hand around the base of the shaft, thumb and forefinger barely able to touch. Wagging the stiff prick as best she could, she rubbed the head up against the soft blue lips. Lana moaned in reply, totally inarticulate, cock-drunk already.

"Yeah, you want it." Lois bit her lip as she positioned her massive demonic prick at the entrance to Lana's massive demon cunt. It was like they were made for each other. "And you're going to get it."