A Change In Perspective

Liquid white, cold and acid, slid down Lois' throat. She closed her eyes and chugged, letting it fill her, all while keeping one hand on Rat's head as his tongue lapped at her slit. Like a good puppy.

Lois felt goosebumps rise on her skin at the thought, and pressed her fingertips into the goth's skull, ever so gently. He had begun to pick up the pace, making up for what he lacked in technique with raw, sloppy enthusiasm. Lois tipped her head back further.

She didn't even swallow. Just let the contents of the stolen offering pour down her throat. For a moment she imagined herself as an empty vessel, a tube of flesh, and the whole contents of the bottle was just pouring down through her. Wondered for a moment if it would come out, right into Rat's mouth.

The chill settled in her stomach and seemed to spread out from her belly. Lois shivered as Rat started to move his ministrations up, his warm tongue caressing the underside of her clitoris. Lois held her tongue out to catch the last stringy clumps that were falling out of the bottle...and she knew what the offering was, now.

Cum.

The reporter wondered how they'd collected it. Was it one worshipper, sweating over days, rubbing himself raw, capturing ever drop for his goddess? Or did he have a helper...someone to massage his balls, to slide a greased finger up his puckered hole and press the little nugget of his prostate, to hold the funnel out like a chalice so as not to miss a single stringy rope? Maybe it was a group of them, quiet, half-naked men, gathered in their devotions, stroking themselves around a communal bottle in front of a shrine, an image...and the shame the first one felt for spending early, only to set them all off...

No, she decided, as she dug her hand into Rat's hair, and he began to dig more roughly in his ministrations, alternately sucking at her clit and lapping at her cunt. This felt like a woman's offering. A single woman who captured the emissions from a stream of lovers—a series of conquests to be presented to her mistress, for some favor more purposeful and less random than a good fuck and a snatch full of jism. Or maybe a mousy lab tech at a sperm bank, juggling the books, slipping out at night with her thermos.

Beneath her, she heard the familiar sound of a rough palm on a dick, and knew that Rat was beginning to fap. Well, puppies were allowed their treats.

There was a taste of sin to the cold spunk, and Lois relished it. She could feel it move through her, imagining all those individual sperm, dancing around with their purpose denied, all the frenetic energy and potential dropped into her maw...she could almost feel it, even as she shivered, right in the pit of her stomach. Like that squandered potential, that energy of devotion, the radiation from the idol, whatever it was, was there, inside her...willing and wanting to make a change... It was a sober revelation, like learning the shape of the universe for the first time. All that it needed was power, and she had some, right there, inside of her...and there was a...not a voice, but an awareness growing inside of her. Directions, shapes she could pour the power into. All she had to do was choose.

So Lois did.