To say getting back home after your vacation visit to Pleasure Island has been an agonizing ordeal, would be dishonest. First, the souvenir equestrian dildo came to life and raped your face. Then while you were helplessly paralyzed by its evil seed burning in your belly. Heinous paralytic cum, forcing you to impotently watch your body violated by the animate dildo. Then the damn Devil Dong dildo crawled inside your dick!
You meekly try to stand, muscles still seeming shaky from the paralysis. Deftly and desperately trying to avoid putting any more undue pressure on your infested crotch. Taking a few steps backwards, your now partially digested pants and underpants doing nothing to conceal your violated body. A breath to steel yourself, and bracing an arm on the towel rack, you look in the bathroom mirror.
Your masculinity is a horror show. The disfigurement resembling some sort of tortuous figure eight, made out of your ballooned genitals.
Where once hung your precious marbles, the equine ejaculate first inflated them into kumquats. Then to be able to fit inside of you, the dildo seemingly liquified it's own testicles to inject every evil ounce, diabolical dram, and prodigious pound of their inhuman mass into your own. Now your testes are impossibly large; augmented massive lead weights better suited to a full blown stallion; each one the size of your fist, straining and stretching your still human scrotum. A grotesque swollen fusion of your tender bits infused with every evil ounce of the dildo's immense rubbery balls. Any notion of possibly concealing their change for an attempt at normalcy is gone. The grim reality is no hallucination. Not only are your testicles--assuming you can rightly even call them yours anymore, inhumanly huge, but they are moving. The surface of each one seemingly undulating, gurgling away inside you for some insane unfathomable purpose. And yet, it’s almost perversely pleasurable, as though countless fingertips are caressing your sack from the inside. Whatever evil purpose has possessed your balls, even the slight pressure of your thighs helping to bear their new heft and weight is somehow perversely pleasurable.
Judging from the strange curves and taut distortions, it seems the blunt head of the dildo is tucked down into your groin like the head of a tick. The immense shaft of the dildo itself seems to be curled into a sickening semicircular ring around the root of your still seemingly priapic member. Several inches of shaft buried in your own engorged groin. Your poor length now partly obscured within your body by the donut of distorted flesh.
Lightning-like stretch marks trace down the underside of your abused shaft’s skin, while your violated urethra gapes open like a gasping fish. Desperate huffing of some dying sea-creature, juxtaposed with your own similarly desperate desire. That despite all the violations and your infestation, you are horny--really horny.