End: Lois Can Cum In Public...But It Awakens Something Inside of Her

All of her life, Lois Lane had learned that sex was a private thing. She had hid masturbating at home. She had hid masturbating at university. As an adult, the reporter had never engaged in public sex, had kept everything behind locked doors in her apartment or at a hotel. Not that she was ashamed of her body, one of those women who couldn't make love with the lights on—but she made sure the curtains were drawn. Slapped away groping hands in public.

Now...now...everyone could see her. The reporter could positively feel those eyes glued to her splayed asshole, as with every step Blaze's cock went in and out. To them, she was just a latex-clad slut. The dickgirl's fingers rubbed the love-button on the reporter's exposed cunt. With her heels and hands locked behind Blaze's neck, there was nothing Lois could do to get away, even if she had wanted to.

Yet what she could do was flex her arms and legs, just a little. Just enough to raise and lower herself a little on that stiff shaft. To let herself rise and fall on that thick prick, to fuck herself before this crowd of onlookers—and more than that, to flaunt her pussy as Blaze rubbed it, faster and faster.

The latex-covered reporter could feel it inside of herself. The tightness in her abdomen, the wetness in her pussy, the heat and anticipation that rose in her crotch. She felt so good and so anxious and it was all tied together, this terrible taboo display, and as Lois Lane gasped and struggled to moved faster and faster, to feel better and better, her heart wanted to shout out to the crowd.

Look at me! Look at me! LOOK AT ME!

Lois Lane wasn't sure when she began to cum. When her quivering quim reached that fever pitch beyond which she couldn't stop. The electric wave that rocked her body as every muscle sought to contract at once, and her asshole gripped the shaft so hard that even Blaze grunted in surprise and a warm, wet fullness flooded the reporter's bowels. Yet the reporter could feel it when, as so rarely happened, a hot spray burst from her exposed cunny. The shocked gasps of the crowd who had gotten too close and found themselves in the splash zone. The sudden, mortifying sensation of having squirted in front of so many people.

Then Lois half-collapsed, panted, overheated, ached, blissful in the afterglow...

...and she knew this wouldn't, couldn't be the last time. That she might spend the rest of her life seeking this same sensation, this thrill of being so utterly, completely exposed.

It was some interminable time later when Lois Lane, dressed in borrowed clothes—she was never sure after that what Blaze had done with the ones she had walked into the club with—staggered back out into the night. Her ass burned. Cheeks still flushed at the memory. The dickgirl had been gentle in the aftercare, as she peeled off the black latex. Lois did not remember much about that conversation, only that Blaze was something more or less than entirely human—and that the missing women she sought were down in Mexico, having won an all-expenses paid vacation, and determined to go have fun in the sun and all the cocks their tight little pussies could handle.

Which was a lead. Another link in the chain for her story.

Lois Lane stumbled home from her night out, and she could feel Angelica Blaze's hot cum threaten to ooze out of her asshole at any moment. Her borrowed miniskirt hadn't come with any panties, and Lois tugged at it constantly, to stay decent. Only...the thought of letting it ride up too high...or letting just a trickle of jizz ooze out of her ass, down her long, exposed legs...sent an erotic thrill through her being.

Though Lois Lane didn't know it, her life would never be the same. There was no way she could repress her kink for public sex and exhibitionism anymore. It was only a question of how and when to indulge it...but that is another story.