In the flickering glow of the workshop, Miranda leaned against the workbench, arms crossed, her eyes sharp as she studied the puppet-turned-man. "So, Pinocchio, you swear you've outgrown your wooden ways? No more strings, no more fibs?"
Pinocchio shifted, feeling the familiar itch of deception rise. "Absolutely. I'm as truthful as they come." The words left his lips, and instantly his cock stirred, hardening and extending an inch beneath his trousers.
Miranda's laugh was low and cutting. "Liar. I can see that cock of yours growing already—trying to poke through like it has a mind of its own. Tell me, does honesty make you this horny, or is it the thrill of the lie?"
He swallowed, the lie compounding as his shaft lengthened further, now visibly straining. "I don't know what you're talking about. I'm not the least bit aroused." Another inch. Miranda stepped closer, her presence commanding, and traced a finger along the bulge. "Witty little puppet. Your cock disagrees. It's hard, dripping at the tip—admit it, you want my pussy wrapped around it."
Pinocchio's breath hitched. "Fine, maybe I do." The growth halted, but Miranda wasn't done. She pushed him back onto the bench, strong hands unfastening his pants. "That's better. Now watch me take what I want." She knelt, her mouth enveloping his cock in a slick blowjob, tongue swirling as she took him deep. He groaned, sweating already, panting as her lips worked him.
Rising, Miranda shed her clothes, her ass firm and inviting as she straddled him. "No submission here, puppet—I'm riding this growing truth." She lowered onto his cock, her pussy wet and dripping, gripping him tight. They moved in rhythm, her hips grinding with fierce control, his hands on her ass as she commanded the pace. Horny heat built between them, bodies slick with sweat, panting in unison until Pinocchio came hard, cum spilling deep inside her as she climaxed with a triumphant cry.
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