Take The Horse By The Hands

"It's so big...mistress," Lois said. It took two hands for the naked reporter to lift the cock, which had to be easily eighteen inches long...if not longer. In her time as a reporter, Lois had reported on a few of the nastier vice raids—including one at a horse farm, after a woman had gotten sepsis from a punctured colon.

There was no foreskin to peel back. Just the flat head, not yet flared, with it's teardrop-shaped pisshole. It didn't smell much like a horse, which was a saving grace as Lois held up the base with one hand, and tried to wrap the other one around the tip. Thumb and forefinger barely met, squeezing the soft flesh between them. As hard as she dared, Lois began stroking the tip of the shaft, urging more blood into it. Knowing all the while that she could be signing her own **** warrant.

"Do not fear, pet. I will not allow you to die." Circe assured her, and not for the first time Lois wondered if the sorceress could actually read her thoughts, or if she was just bad at hiding them.

"It's not...that...mistress. It's just..." Lois took a deep breath. "Is it going to hurt?"

The cock was swelling. Not much longer, but stiffer. Lois could feel it getting heavier as the blood swelled the tissues, getting stiffer. Absurdly, staring at this instrument of pussy destruction, the reporter remembered that human and horses were two of the few mammal species that didn't have a penis bone. They needed to get sexually excited just to have sex. Circe, staring down at her naked...servant? ****? Living sex toy?...was certainly getting excited.

"Yes," Circe said. "Unless you wish me to add an enchantment? So that all the pain you experience becomes pleasure? There are those who feel such things naturally, but I don't think are one of them, yet. If I cast such a spell, when your pussy is broken you will experience the most powerful orgasm of your life...but it will remain long after I am done with you."

The cock stood free now, jutting out from Circe's crotch without any need of Lois to support it. The reporter had both hands together around the base of the shaft, where the great ridge of flesh was about two-third down its length, and a powerful stench of ammonia was coming from the tip, which had blossomed and flared, the urethra opening and closing as it drooled out long strings of clear pre-cum.

"Or do you wish to feel it, as I ruin you for all men?"