Words from girlfriend’s past propel him into my dark forest. Peenie. Dinky winky. Inchworm.
Upon my lair, he begs, “Five more inches!”
“Balance must be kept. A sacrifice for a gift,” I warn.
“Anything,” he promises.
I conjure my potion, lathering his tiny morsel with my magic. My bewitching cunt swallows him as he lies naked on the pentagram. My juices the final ingredient.
I chant while riding him, lengthening him with my undulations. His girth responds to my words, stuffing me.
Afterward, he marvels at his eight inches, then screams, seeing his acorn-sized balls.