Stroke Himself

Lois stared at the stranger, and he at her. He didn't look homeless, which was her first thought: the coat was too clean, too well-made, and she saw underneath it what looked like a suit. Maybe he was drunk, and had just whipped his penis out to urinate against the brick wall of the club. But as he stared at her, his sagging length of flesh in his hand, it began to harden...

The reporter considered what she must look like, with the stone idol clutching her belly: a scantily-dressed woman, several months pregnant, holding her belly and dashing out of the back end of a club. He might take her for a prostitute out for a mark, or a drunk knocked-up slut...or maybe he just liked to lurk in dark alleys, for the kind of people that wandered out into the night. Lois wasn't sure who would hear her if she screamed right then.

As he watched her, the man stroked himself to full hardness. He was wearing white gloves, she noticed, and there was a kind of chain around his neck. She caught silver hair along his ears, cropped short, but the fedora half-hid his face in shadow, so she couldn't see his eyes...the eyes of the stranger that was masturbating in front of her.

Was he masturbating to her? The idea struck Lois as slightly ludicrous as she cradled the bulbous stone idol to her belly. She hadn't flashed her tits or anything else. Once she had been in prison on a tour, and some of the inmates had acted like that—the primal animal masturbation at anything that even smelled like a woman—and there was something like that now, as the stranger shuffled their knuckles along their stiff prick.

She couldn't get around him, the reporter knew. There wasn't enough space in the alley, and the other way was a dead end. Part of her wanted to look away...but her eyes caught on the penis that was pointed at her.

No, not at her. At her belly. At the idol.

Lois could hear the man breath now, straining with effort, as his cock pointed directly at the bit of stone belly that showed through her shirt, the spiraling runes there...and she herself felt drawn to the stranger, the stone almost tugging her forwards, towards his cock...

"Please...stop..." she managed to **** the words out.

"I...cannot..." the stranger managed, and she saw him grit his teeth as his gloved hand busied itself faster and faster on his rod, until it was just a white blur of motion, precum beginning to dribble out and stain the linen.

Almost against her will, Lois staggered closer. She was holding the idol, but it was pulling her forwards, and the stranger himself seemed to be in its clutches too, barely holding himself back from...what? If either of them gave in, what would happen? Would he rub himself against that stone belly until he jizzed? Or would he...do more? Was it really the idol dragging her forward? The questions danced in Lois mind, and ever did she feel the gentle yet insistent pull of the gravid stone, pulling her forward, to where the stranger panted and pulled at his prong...