End: Show Her Why They're Called The Honeylickers

"Alright, pledges!" the head cunt of the sorority announced. "Time for you to become official honeylickers!"

Lois Lane couldn't see what they were doing, but she could feel it. Two of the older sorority sisters, armed with plastic squirt bottles of golden honey, were liberally covering the reporter's legs, feet, and crotch. The reporter grumbled as she felt the sticky, sugary confection soak into her carefully-trimmed pubic hair. The cocaine had long worn off, her jaw hurt, and she was starting to get a headache. Worse than that, she still hadn't cum yet. The idea of getting a yeast infection didn't add to her enjoyment.

"You have five minutes. Every drop of this honey needs to disappear into your mouths," the head cunt said. "And the last one licking is thrown out...unless she eats that cunt out until our little plaything cums!"

The reporter blinked.

On second thought, maybe I'll stay through the end of the party, the prostitute decided. She gave a little sniff, wondering if a climax would cure her headache.

Then the sorority pledges descended on her.

Lois Lane had seen ads for those pedicures where your feet are lowered into tubs of water and tiny fish nibble at your cuticles. This was something closer to those videos where a group of piranha strip a cow carcass to the bone. Tongues and mouths descended on her in a feeding frenzy, a half-dozen mouths glomping on at once. Lois could feel the nubile lips of eighteen- and nineteen-year-olds suck on her toes, kiss her knees, run soft tongues up her thighs to scoop out as much of that sweet bee-juice as they could get...

It took about two minutes for the pledges to start fighting and snapping at each other. Lois Lane, bound as she was, couldn't see it. But she could feel it. The teeth pressed a little too hard against her buttocks. The shrieks of pain when two women fought to lick the honey that oozed down behind the reporter's left knee. Rough hands that spread her legs further apart so that they could dive down into the sweet, salty creases of the reporter's thighs and labia where sweat and honey had run together...

Everything except her pussy. The reporter's cunny lay untouched, quivering, covered with warm honey.

An egg-timer rang. The lips and tongues disappeared. Lois Lane's legs felt soft and masticated. It had been like a weird, frenzied massage...and someone had to be a loser.

"Barbara," the head cunt said. "You were last. You know what you have to do if you want to join the Honeylickers sorority. Eat that cunt or..."

The head dyke didn't even have to finish.

A warm mouth clamped onto Lois Lane's cunny. The reporter's violet eyes opened wide as a warm, skilled tongue boldly pressed into her slit, found the opening to her pussy, and scraped the walls as it swirled around. This was no pledge doing the bare minimum to fulfill some sexy hazing ritual. Lois swallowed hard as she realized she was tied down and utterly helpless before the oral skills of some mighty connoisseur of cunt-licking...and there was nothing to do but grab hold of the legs of the bench and try to enjoy it.

All sounds except for the moans and mouth-sounds of Lois Lane and her vaginal assailant stopped. The sorority as a whole, who played at lesbianations, now found themselves in the presence of a woman that wouldn't just kiss a cunt...she would make love to it. As the minutes stretched on, Lois found herself subject to techniques she had never dreamed. Barbara snuffled through her pubic hair, her tong hollowed into a tube and taunted her urethra until Lois almost lost control and peed in her mouth, hot lips suckled softly on the reporter's engorged clit as two fingers slid into the spit-slick slit and rubbed at the reporter's g-spot.

This night, Lois Lane thought that cocaine was the most addictive **** she would encounter...but now she knew she was wrong. The things that Baraba did to her were beyond her experience. Her nipples were so hard they felt like points of fire. Sweat dripped down the reporter's body, and her ass heaver as she tried to hump the face that made lover to her quim, which felt ready to melt. A sexual flush covered the reporter's face and chest...her moans grew louder and louder, and broke out at least into ragged gasps...wordless ululations of a bitch in heat....her stomach fluttered as the anticipation rose and rose to a fever pitch, the young pledge playing her pussy like a musical instrument...

...until at last the reporter screamed, her back arched, eyes rolled up into her head. All the pent-up passion of her pussy sprayed out in a salty stream as she squirted directly into Barbara's face, and the young woman opened her mouth to catch it, gulping down the sweet honey as though it were a better nectar than the sugary treat that had been part of the Honeylicker's ritual.

At last, exhausted, the reporter collapsed...and Barbara climbed on top of Lois and pressed her mouth against the reporter's unresisting lips, to spit some of the reporter's own pussy-juice back into her mouth.

Lois stared at red hair and blue-green eyes. A strange, warm feeling filled her chest, and she had almost forgotten about the promise of cocaine that had made her whore herself out to these young women.

There was a brief ceremony after that. The pledges became official sisters. Lois Lane was left there until Angelica Blaze uncuffed her later. Dressed and with wobbly legs, a small baggie of cocaine stuffed into an inner pocket, the reporter staggered home after a long and strange night out. There were leads to follow regarding the missing women, the criminal Blaze with her **** and prostitution, but as Lois Lane's night out ended all she could think about was that face...those lips...that tongue.

She wondered if this is what love felt like.