A Sorority Clam Bake

Lois Lane left her clothes in Angelica Blaze's office. Naked, the reporter was led into a large private room, lit in blues and reds, with couches around the walls, large flat screens mounted to the wall. Two long buffet tables were set up, stocked with all manner of booze and finger foods...and, the reporter noted, small sex toys. Vibrators, anal beads, those small silicone clit-ticklers that you slid over your index finger, small anal plugs...and between the two tables was something that looked like a padded workout bench.

As the cocaine sung through her brain, Lois Let the dickgirl help her into the device. It was pretty simple...there was a padded headrest with a kind of clamp that kept her from moving from side-to-side, but left her mouth free. Straps across her waist and neck held her in place, and her arms and legs were secured to the legs with velvet-lined handcuffs. It was the kind of set-up that looked a lot more restrictive than it really was; Lois was pretty sure she could be out of the cuffs in a few minutes if she needed to be.

Angelica combed the reporter's hair, freshened her lipstick, and wiped her body down with **** swabs. A handful of glitter was sprinkled on her form for effect...blue and red, like the lights...and then the door opened.

The ladies had arrived.

Lois Lane remembered what it was like to be eighteen-and-a-half, out from under her daddy's thumb for the first time, grouped together with a bunch of young women of similar age and bursting hormones and ****...and had spent her seven minutes in heaven. Maybe more than once.

Some of the girls screamed when they saw the naked woman tied into position for her announcement. Others blushed. Morality wavered with lust. It was up to the older members of the sorority to lead the way.

The skirt went up. Before the soft cheeks of the ass eclipsed the light, Lois caught sight of a hairy bush, the pudenda puffy and dark. Then something warm and soft pressed against her face, the smell of the musk so intense that Lois could hardly breathe. Something bitter trickled over her lips, and Lois Lane did what was expected of her...opened her mouth and extended her tongue into that twenty-something twat.

"Every pledge has to sit on this face and get her pussy eaten for at least five minutes!" The woman said. "And every one of you has to lick this cunt's pussy. Education is important! You need to learn why it's important that you graduate...and what your life is like if you fail! It's a bitch eat out bitch world, ladies, and you want to be the one getting their cunt licked, not the one doing the licking."

There were no chuckles at that. Lois' lips dug through the bush and felt a little protuberance just above that tangy slit...and the reporter latched onto it and sucked hard.

The bitch on top of her started to screech...in a good way. Blaze took that as her cue to turn on the televisions. Hardcore lesbian porn blared around the room. The head of the sorority got up off of Lois Lane's face and the reporter gasped for air...but she didn't have long to wait.

There was a line formed, leading right up to Lois Lane's headrest.

Even as the second cunt of the evening settled on the reporter's face, the head of the sorority got on her knees between the reporter's legs...and Lois nearly squealed as she felt teeth gently press against her clit. The message was obvious: I could bite your clit off if I wanted to. Instead, the young woman fastened her lips around the reporter's clitoris and sucked hard, just as Lois had done.

The bound woman did her best to focus on licking the pussy in front of her. Someone had set up an egg timer, and they were keeping to the five-minute rule. Lois Lane, who had never thought of herself as a lesbian, found herself dealing with slit after slit. Some were shaved, others furry. Dripping or dry. Some slits were just a line in a fat mound, and in others the labia extended outward as little beef flaps for Lois to gum and suck on. Some clits were buried in their little caves, others were protuberant. Every pussy was different, yet the same in taste: a little tart, a little salty, with that vague overtone of ammonia, a heady bouquet of femininity. Lois found herself glad that none smelled yeasty or fishy; at least the women seemed clean.

Maybe it was the cocaine that gave Lois energy and numbed the pain of an aching jaw. She didn't know exactly how many sorority sisters there were, although it couldn't be more than twenty. Time lost meaning as lips pressed against her pussy, tongues lapped against her cunny. Some were bolder, or drunker, and explored her whole a little with tongues and fingers, others did the bare minimum and went to wash their mouths out with wine and tequila. As each pledge finished her task, the noise level in the party grew...the **** flowed...and the reporter's cocaine-enhanced constitution began to flag.

Yet even when the last cunt was licked, and Lois Lane's jaw felt as though it was about to fall off, her tongue thick and numb, Lois had a surprise coming. The young, hungry eyes looked at her like a pack of wolves around a lost lamb.

They were only getting started.