Drain Them All

Lois ducked into the stall. Positioned herself on her knees before the gloryhole. She heard them coming in...at least five guys, maybe six. Maybe more. The chattering stopped as they came in, saw the drunk guy with his cock out slumped against the wall. The reporter's lips pressed against the wall, tongue wagging in the air, practically begging the young punks to come get some.

Lois felt her palms itch as she waited, hoping they would take her up on it. A part of her couldn't believe she was doing this, on her knees at a gloryhole, waiting desperately to suck the salty essence out of a group of men. Yet the hunger gnawed at her, and the idea of crow's feet and grey hairs haunted her. She needed her youth back...her life...but was it right to drain it from these young men in return? What had she become, in her desperation?

The questions were pushed to the back of her mind as the first cock pushed itself through the gloryhole, roughly shoving the dirty dick into her mouth. Instinct kicked in and before Lois was aware she was doing it, her cheeks and hollowed and her tongue was squirming over the hard cock, cleaning the smegma from behind the head, swallowing the foul dick cheese down with everything else he had to offer.

Her head bobbed, lips locked around her teeth so as not to scrape the sensitive skin. Hard and fast, the hunger building inside; and maybe it had been a while for him and maybe it was just that good, but within minutes she felt him tense and swell...and then the salty snack spurted into her mouth and she swallowed it down. Not only that, but something else as well. Some little piece of him, carried along with her rich splooge, some invisible part of his life that filled her with energy and made her joints ache a little less, that firmed her tits and chased the crow's feet away.

She let him go, limp and drained dry. The next one was there in seconds.

In time, Lois lost count. Each dick would come, hard and precious as it was, and she would eagerly pounce on it. The more she sucked, the more the hunger gnawed at her, sated only by the brief moment when the seed hit her tongue, the act of consumption. Absently, she heard people come in and leave, her reporter's instincts tracking the sound of feet, the chatter of people in line. They called her a whore, a slut, a cumbucket; none complained as they staggered away, leaving a piece of themselves behind. On her knees, she became as single-minded as a hoover, and only came back to herself when the cock, depleted and drooping, was pulled back from her warm, wet grasp.

Leaving her there waiting desperately for the next.