End: Cum In My Ass

There had been a few times in her life when Lois had just let herself go. To by driven along by the flow of events, to follow the crowd, to drink what everyone else was drinking. Yet such times were rare. Even when she was indulging herself, her darkest fantasies and fears, Lois liked to be in the driver's seat. Liked to make her own choices. And when it came to nasty sex in a bathroom?

She wanted to make the nastiest choice possible.

"I want to feel your sticky load in my shithole," Lois said. "I want you to fuck your jizz right into my fucking bowels, and feel your balls slap against my ass."

Face-down over the toilet, Lois couldn't see the smile that graced the dickgirl's lips. But she could feel the sudden pause in the brutal fuck. The strong thumb that spread her cheeks. The trickle of tequila splash against her asshole. The cock pulling out of her pussy, leaving her feeling suddenly empty...wanting...and then the rubbery head press against the wet little divot of her bunghole, and Lois Lane's eyes got wide as she realized it was way too big.

"Alright slut," the dickgirl said. Pain lanced through the reporter's ass as the fleshy battering ram pressed against her quivering anus. More booze trickled down to where the hard flesh met the slowly surrendering orifice, lubricating the way...or maybe just getting the loose and drunk reporter just a little bit more loose and drunk. "But I'm not going to stop until you take every inch. No matter how much you scream."

Lois bit back a snarky reply...too engrossed with the feel as her asshole gave way, with a burning wrench as her tiny butthole was stretched tight around that massive meat missile...and Lois found herself shaking, pussy squirting uncontrollably, and it was only the head of the cock in her aching ass.

It was more than pain. It was the sense of transgression. Here she was, the Daily Planet's Greatest Reporter, almost Superman's girlfriend Lois Lane, face down and shitfaced and taking this huge cock up her ass...and it felt like it was splitting her in two and she loved it. Even as she grit her teeth against the pain, and the cock greased with her own pussy juice, even burping and tasting cum and tequila and smegma, Lois loved how absolutely she had degraded herself...but on her own terms. Proof to herself, if no one else, that she wasn't some goody-two-shoes bitch, that she could slut it up like the best of whores. That she was still alive and in control of her life, her sexuality, not tied to anyone else's preconceptions of who she could be.

Then she felt the taut balls press against her ass. Lois Lane's anus was stretched taut, a ring of burning pain, and she could feel the head deep within her as a kind of aching throb.

"Alright sweetmeat," the dickgirl said. "Time to break in your ass-pussy."

Lois didn't remember much of that fuck. She remembered her white-knuckle grip on the porcelain of the toilet. Her aching knees driven across the filthy tile floor. The endless pounding of those balls against her butt, slapping with a dull regularity. The burning ache that spread and deepened, until her entire colon felt like it was on fire, and her abdomen ached from the inside out. Pussy spasming at random as somewhere in between the pain of the endless anal fuckfest her confused pussy came and came and came again, pain translated as pleasure, the drunken reporter pushed over the edge into true masochism...

She didn't even remember when the dickgirl came.

All the reporter really remembered was her head hanging in the toilet bowl, staring at the water an inch from her face, as something hot and wet dripped out of her gaping asshole. She remembered reaching back there with one shaking hand...hissing in pain as she touched the inflamed rim of her ass...and finding the empty beer bottle that the dickgirl had shoved in there to keep Lois Lane's ass stretched and gaping.

With a grunt and a slick pop, Lois pulled the bottle free. Her ass seemed to collapse in on itself, a put of pain, desperately filled with the need to shit out the cum that filled it. Yet Lois was curious. She heard something rattle in the bottle.

Lois raised her head out of the toilet...and saw a piece of paper inside the bottle. Turning it around she saw a phone number...and a message.

Call me XXX Blaze

The reporter licked her lips. She needed to go home...sober up...sit on an ice pack. She hadn't found the missing women, hadn't achieved what she had sought in her night out. Her mission here was a failure. Maybe though...maybe she would call her.

After all, Lois thought to herself as she pulled her pants up over her aching, cum-filled ass. Maybe this Blaze knows something. I wouldn't mind...interviewing her again.