End: Ride Him Until Dawn

If Lois Lane had been less aroused.

If she hadn't been a little tipsy.

If her gown hadn't slipped, to show a soft curve of breast and a pink nipple, so that Bibbo half-choked on his vodka and a bulge grew in his pants...

If, if, if.

Lois Lane asked herself those questions, as her left hand reached out to rub that bulge. To unzip those pants. To see Bibbo's cock spring free, and hard.

Not the biggest dick or the thickest. Yet it was hot, it was hard, and most importantly for Lois Lane right then and there, it was here. She stood up and tilted her head to finish her drink. Set the empty glass aside. His big hands fumbled at the loose sash, and when he spread the robe wide open to reveal her carefully trimmed pubic hair, he drank in the sight of her. His dick jumped.

That ugly, mangled face pressed against her crotch. Like a dog, he lapped at her labia, a strong, rough tongue that was heedless of stubble or taste. Loyal as a dog, Bibbo was. A gentle giant of a man, but no gentleman. Always trying to do the right thing.

That night, all that Lois Lane wanted him to do was her.

She saw him do something with a condom—a pale blue rube of latex; a rip and twist that had it open and on in a second—and she raised an eyebrow.

"Where did you learn to do that?" Lois asked.

"Singapore," he said as his rough hands gripped her waist. With one on either side the thumbs and forefingers nearly met. Bibbo pulled Lois Lane down until the tip of his latex-clad prick pressed against her pussy. Then he froze, big muscles strained with desire but obviously not wanting to be too rough.

Lois flicked his cauliflower ear.

"Bibbo?" she said softly, as she **** her pussy down on his cock. "I want to be wrecked."

Bibbo Bibbowski did his best not to disappoint his first customer.

Her cunt gripped him as he stood up. She clung to his brawny bulk as he laid her, not on the bed, but pressed against the wall. Hot, rude kisses pelted her face and her neck as his muscular buttocks heaved. Sawed into her dripping snatch. Pinned in place, her long legs wrapped around him, ankles crossed over his buttocks so that her heels drummed on him, Lois Lane felt his need, his urgency. It had been a long time for Bibbo too.

She found herself gasping. Clawing at his back. His pounding thrusts felt good. The heat of his body felt good. Like an athlete, he set a demanding pace, and if Lois Lane hadn't been so wet she knew her poor pussy would have been shagged to shreds against that relentless hammering.

Lois Lane's eye fell on the idol, as he stiffened and grunted. She imagined that condom filling up like a balloon inside of her. Could almost feel his hairy balls contract and press against her buttocks. The reporter panted, not sure how long that brief burst of passion had lasted. A few minutes perhaps.

Yet Bibbo was only getting started. He was still hard.

"Da boss lady, she gave me dese little blue pills," Bibbo said as he gripped her buttocks and carried Lois toward the bedroom. "Not dat I need 'em, mind. I knew dis one girl in Saigon, she had to cut me off after four or five hours, said she couldn't feel her legs anymore. So I says to the frail, she don't need to feel her legs, 'cause they're still there and I still had money, and besides I could carry her anywhere she wanted...and she got dis stare like da veterans of the wars, that look toward the horizon...but we had a lot more fun after dat..."

On her back, Lois Lane lay impaled on Bibbo's dick as he stripped off his shirt. Working men and athletes don't look like bodybuilders. Lean muscle, but hairy, with a bit of fat because that meant stamina, endurance. Bibbo ran his rough hands over her body, squeezed her breasts together, and gave a sheepish grin.

"I know I ain't one of dem fancy lads that get all the girls squealin'. But I know a trick or two to make a dame feel good. An' I want you to feel good, Miss Lane. You paid for the night, after all, and if you ain't happy by dawn then I'll give yer money back!"

Maybe it was the pills. Maybe it was because it had been a long time for both of them. Maybe, just maybe, it was because of the influence of that dark statue, whose mutilated stump of a head seemed to watch them as they panted and pounded, slammed cock and cunt together, writhed and groped and kissed in utter abandon, like animals.

All Lois Lane knew is that by the end of her night out, they were out of condoms. Bibbo was on his back, and swigged down the last of the vodka. Lois Lane's pussy burned, her abs ached from the unexpected workout, and as she straddled him she guided his naked prick into her unprotected snatch.

"Mizz Lane..." he said, his voice slurred a little. "Condom..."

"Raw," Lois said, and her voice was raw too. She felt the heat of his naked prick inside of her, and moaned softly as she settled into his lap, those balls brushed against her buttocks, his big mitts rubbing her thighs as she sat astride him.

Her eyes went to the glass door of the balcony as she rolled her hips, slow and gentle. One hand rubbed at her clit, and she felt the tension rise inside of her. The anticipation, the need. The idol's gaze seemed to burn into her back as she saw the sun burn through the last vestiges of night, the deep purple giving way to blue and then soft reds and pinks...

Lois Lane's cry shocked her. Her whole body stiffened and pulsed. Beneath her, Bibbo had begun to thrust, driven to the edge of his sexual endurance and beyond, but unable to help himself as she clamped onto his prick with all of her waning strength...and she rode him, as dawn broke over Metropolis, and trickle of white jizz oozed from her well-fucked cunt and that slid down his balls.

Bibbo Bibbowski earned his pay that night. And a tip.