Fingers Stretch Out Her Ass

Two fingers slid into Lois Lane's spit-slick asshole. The reporter couldn't resist a twitch as they pushed in deeper, until the thumb rested on the cleft of her buttocks, and the two smaller fingers, curled up against the palm, brushed her taint.

The free hand grabbed a handful of ass and squeezed. Inside of Lois, she could feel the two fingers start to spread...like a pair of scissors opening inside of her anus, pushing against the soft, slick walls.

Slowly, her tormentor began to draw the fingers out...except that the fingers were still spread wide. Lois panted in the darkness of the tunnel as she felt her ass slowly spread, squeezing against the fingers but unable to close them. Millimeter by millimeter, the reporter was being stretched open...and it was slow, so slow. It took an entire minute to get to the first knuckle, and by then Lois Lane's asshole was burning. What was the distance between two fingers spread open like that? Two inches? Yet to Lois, in the darkness, it felt like more. It felt like her asshole was being stretched open obscenely.

The reporter groped at the rough floor of the tunnel. She couldn't just sit here and take this **** any longer. She was going to have to pull herself forward, to face whatever else was in this tunnel...

The fingers were at the second knuckle now. It felt to Lois like her asshole must be like a rubber band, stretched out three inches, taut and ready to snap...and then the hand began to twist, and the reporter's whole body clenched and spasmed as as the fingers began to describe an arc in her stretched asshole, like the fingers were the points of an obscene compass.

"You'll thank me for this," A woman's voice came from behind her. "You might not think it now, but I'm doing you a favor. Because what's going up your ass next...it's big. It would have ripped you apart, if I didn't do this. So try to hang on a little longer."

Lois tasted blood in her mouth. Her teeth had bitten down on her cheek. She swallowed, and hesitated. She had no reason to trust this voice, whoever it was. Yet the darkness ahead of her...the reporter could hardly remember what it was she had been afraid of, before, but now staring into the dark, she realized that her eyes, which should have adjusted to the darkness, still couldn't see anything. It was like a few feet from her face was just a wall of unnatural, living darkness, and Lois Lane's bowels seemed to fill with water when she contemplated plunging into that.

So that was her choice.