End: Fresh, Hot Piss

The first hot splash of piss hit the back of the reporter's throat, and Lois immediately had a choice to make. Try to fight it and maybe drown, or relax her throat and just let it slide down her esophagus to her stomach. The first would be an act of defiance and rebellion, the second, smarter act would be one of quiet submission, an acknowledgment of reality.

Lois Lane wasn't stupid.

It galled the reporter to **** her throat and body to relax. To sag into Angelica Blaze's grip as the dickgirl urinated into her esophagus. To feel the hot liquid fill up her stomach, like shotgunning a pint of mulled wine. Even though she couldn't taste it, the smell wafted up through the reporter's mouth and nostrils...the almost vinegar-like reek of fresh piss.

The reporter knew this wouldn't kill her. She wasn't one of those who believed drinking urine had any health benefits, but she'd gone to survival classes and knew that one stomach-load of urine wasn't going to cause her kidneys to shut down. It was just water and urea after all...and sterile.

It was just the thought of being Blaze's toilet. Of being so helpless, bound and blindfolded and now her throat had been fucked and Blaze was degrading her in one of the few ways left. It made the reporter's stomach roil and her gorge rise, but the reporter fought that, not wanting to puke with that cock still lodged in her throat, for fear of getting some of the piss in her lungs...

...it wasn't the only involuntary reaction she had to fight.

The reporter squirmed as the vibrations in her pussy seemed to reach a fever pitch. The heat in her body was intense, and she couldn't help but shake in her bonds as her body approached that precipice of feeling from which there was only one way down...and Lois didn't want that. Her cheeks burned with shame was the climax neared, embarrassed at how turned on she was, at how far she had lost control of her body, the situation, her own emotions.

I don't want to cum while Blaze is pissing down my throat!

As it happened, it didn't happen until Blaze pulled her cock out and wiped the piss-wet tip of her dick over the reporter's face, the last clear squirt catching the reporter's lips and nostrils.

Lois couldn't scream. She clamped her mouth shut and swallowed hard, to keep from puking. Her shoulders tensed and her wrists chaffed at the padded cuffs. Hot, clear juice squirted from her vibrator-filled cunt as Lois lost control of everything below her waist. She shut her eyes behind the blindfold as silver sparks burst in the darkness of her vision, and a stymied scream sounded in Lois Lane's chest like the low moan of a wounded animal as electric waves seemed to surge through body...

...and when it was done, Blaze was there. The dickgirl licked her face clean, and peeled off the blindfold as their lips met...and they both seemed to know that the moment was over.

Handcuffs were unlocked, sex toys pulled out and set aside to wash. There was a small bathroom where Lois gave her aching cunny a spongebath and wiped the sweat from beneath her armpits, crotch, and breasts. When she came out, Blaze was dressed only in a button-up shirt, left half-buttoned so that her breasts were still visible. As was her cock, hanging underneath.

"Why did you really come here tonight?" The dickgirl asked, as she peeled the sheets off the bed.

So Lois explained...and the dickgirl smiled and reeled off a list of names and numbers. The women were waitresses at the bar. They'd dropped out of school and were living together in sapphic ecstasy in an illegal flat not a block away, spending their days eating each other out and getting drunk.

Lois Lane took down the information. It was, in its own way, an anticlimax to the evening. She had gotten what she had come for—but she had also gotten a stomach full of piss, and cum harder than she had in months. The reporter didn't know how to feel about that.

"I know we took things a little far," Blaze said as the reporter dressed to leave. "But if you ever feel like—playing—again. Look me up some time. We can set different rules."

Lois chewed the words carefully. Her eyes fell to Blaze's cock. There was a mystery there that Lois hadn't explored yet. It piqued her curiosity, who this Angelica Blaze was. What she was. Curiosity had always been the reporter's weakness—and her strength.

"I'll think about it," Lois Lane said as she turned to go.

Blaze smiled. She had hooked Lois Lane good, on her night out—now all she had to do was patiently reel her in.

Yet that is another story.