The Cock Trembles

The hard stone shaft vibrated in Lois Lane's throat. Instinctively, the reporter opened her mouth a fraction of an inch wider, wrapping her lips as far as possible around her teeth, afraid of chipping. It was an unnerving sensation, feeling the cold cock rumble in her throat, and Lois was about to begin the process of disengaging herself from the statue when she heard something even more disconcerting...

A gurgle.

For a moment, panic seized Lois. Her throat tightened, hugging the cold stone prick. The reporter gagged, instinct fighting instinct as she tried to breath through her constricted airway, her rational mind telling her to calm down, relax her throat so that she could pull her mouth off of the statue's stone shaft before it was...

...too late.

Something hard hit Lois' stomach, and she thought briefly of the little jewel that had plugged the urethra on the fat rocky prick. Then she felt it...warm and liquid, spraying directly into her stomach like someone had just opened up the tap. For a moment, the Daily Planet's star reporter sat there, feeling the warm liquid flow into her guts, slow and obscene, glad that nobody was watching.

Breathe, Lane, she told herself, letting her throat relax. It's just like a beer bong or practice on a garden hose. Just relax and ease off of it, try not to break any teeth.

Panic subsided as the woman **** herself to relax. She couldn't do anything about the liquid flowing into her—not yet—so she tried to ignore the too-full feeling in her stomach, the kind of sloshing that she had normally only experienced after a long run when she had drunk too much, too quickly.

Inch by inch she pulled backwards, leaving the stone prick slick with saliva as it emerged from her mouth...and as the head got nearer and nearer, she could feel the steady spurt-spurt-spurt of whatever it was pumping into her crawling up her throat.

There was a moment where she almost gagged, as the rounded head crossed the threshold from throat to mouth—and she could taste it then, thin and salty by that point, bitter in her mouth, spewing forth endlessly in a slow. Dribble.

Fighting the instinct to spit, swallow, or gag, Lois disengaged her mouth from the stone cock—to be rewarded by a few salty, sticky splashes across her lips before she could get out of the way.

Lois slipped off the dais, hand on her belly. It wasn't distended, even though she felt like she'd had a gallon of the stuff pumped into her...and she resisted the urge to retch, knowing it probably wouldn't make her feel any better. Instead, her reporter's instincts kicked in and she examined the room, the statue, looking to see what else had changed when she'd triggered...whatever the mechanism was.