End: They Run A Train On Lois

Angelica Blaze pushed her forward, towards the pool table. Lois saw the men already rubbing their crotches, big bulges there. It should have been a nightmare, but she felt like she was floating...

"Everyone grab a condom! No glove, no love! But not to worry, everyone's getting their dick wet tonight!" Angelica announced cheerfully. She bent Lois over the pool table and hiked up her dress. Ran a rough gloved finger along her slit, and Lois felt a familiar burning tingle and numbness spread.

Coke! Her finger was coated with...that'll make my pussy...numb...

"Look how wet this bitch is! C'mon, form a line, one at a time! If you don't get laid tonight, you're no friend of mine!"

There was a ragged cheer, and Blaze walked around the table to face Lois.

"Don't worry, sweetness. I'll take care of you. Whenever you need a little bump to take the edge off. Ah...here comes your first customer..."

Lois breathed deeply, trying not to hyperventilate. Her guts quivered, excited and nervous. His hands, rough and strong, spread her cheeks to show off her pussy. There was a snap and flash of smartphones going off. Then something pressed against her pussy and...he was in her.

I...I...oh fuck, I'm a whore now...

His cock slammed into her, and she squeezed down, hoping to make him cum quickly. Fingers on the felt, pushing back to meet his thrusts. Hearing her own moans in her ears, the buzz of the coke in her head...she was getting into it...

Too soon, he pushed forward and held himself there. Lois panted slightly, heart humming as he pulled out...and the next one stepped forward, a black linebacker that must have weighed three hundred pounds.

There was a line behind him, stretching and curling around the back of the bar.

Lois turned back toward Blaze, who watched her with dark eyes, that mysterious half-smile on her face. The whore-reporter tried to distract herself as the second man slipped in; a little wider than the first, though nowhere as fat as Blaze's cock had been.

Fifty men, she thought. Say, five minutes of fucking each. That's two hundred and fifty minutes...four hours and ten minutes. The mass of the black man pushing his cock into her slammed her flat against the table, unable to push back. Of course, that's if they only go once. If some of them come for seconds...

It wasn't five minutes, of course. Her second customer of the evening took eight, her third took six...in an hour, Lois Lane had only been fucked by the starting lineup of the Metropolis Metros. She felt herself begin to flag, suddenly aware of how sore her pussy was getting, the way her thighs ached.

Blaze was there as number twelve slipped in, a little longer than the others. She held a little knife to the reporter's face, a bit of powder on the tip...just a taste just enough to keep her going...and Lois brought her face down to it, holding it steady with her hands as number twelve humped away, and sniffed...

The world wasn't automatically a brighter place. But it was enough to put some energy back into her movement, to push back against the thrusts, squeeze her pussy tighter around the cock, make him cum faster. When number twelve left, his condom full of sperm dangling off his dick, Lois took the opportunity to spin around onto her back, legs spread wide, hands holding her labia apart to flash her pink as though to tell the boys "Come and get it."

They did.

Lois began rubbing her clit as they pounded her. But it wasn't until lucky number thirteen that she had her first orgasm, spasming and spurting over his dick. Lois had never thought of herself as a squirter, but her body felt hot, electric, ready and eager to be fucked as the coke did its little magic.

The dicks slid in and out of her eager, wet, and willing hole hard and horny, and they didn't slide out again until they had blown their load, condoms sagging and full. Blaze was there beside her, putting bottles of Gatorade just within reach, making sure the quarterback had his condom on, sometimes even getting down on her knees to suck them into hardness before they got their turn.

At some point...Lois had lost count after number twenty...she took her dress off. Just slid if over her head, breasts finally free. Her thighs ached, her pussy was on fire, and she was looking for Angelica to give her another taste but couldn't see her. Just the next jock with his dick out, and the next and the next...

Lois smiled. It was all she could do. There was no way to leave this conga line of cum except to ride it all the way to the end. Besides which...she was having fun. The nervousness had completely melted away by cock number twenty-five, **** and sex working together to put her in that weird state beyond caring. Number twenty-six was handsome, Puerto Rican. She remembered watching him be drafted, and he blew her a kiss before he stuck his dick in her, balls slapping against her ass.

"Hey chica," he whispered. "Haven't I seen you somewhere before? You been in the newspapers, maybe?"

Fear seized Lois Lane's heart then. Her pussy tightened up, and her smile became a rictus. She hadn't thought anyone would recognize her. Maybe he didn't, maybe he was just playing with her...

He turned out to be a three-minute man. Ready to blow his load the minute he got into her, he finished with a couple grunting thrusts that left rugburn on her back.

The break as the dicks left and came in were her only real respite. Her time to take a swig of Gatorade, realizing her body was drenched in sweat. Blaze came back somewhere in the thirties, with her little knife, and Lois was eager now for the little edge it gave her. Pushing her nostril right to the tip and snorting it up. Blaze patted the back of her neck.

"Good girl, only a few hours left." She whispered.

It could have gotten boring. On her back, on her belly, fat linebackers and thin quarterbacks and wide receivers. The boys made bets on how fast they could cum, how hard they could fuck her, and Lois was drawn into it, egging them on, telling them to get in there and ream that cunt out good and proper.

By ones and twos, they drifted away into the night. Party was dying down, Lois was **** for a pee, and the linekicker was on top of her now, holding her legs up because the whore couldn't do it any more. He was panting and sweaty and feeling was creeping back into her cunt, a deep ache that spoke of being fucked absolutely raw. Even if the condoms prevented all chance of disease and pregnancy, Lois knew she was probably looking at some vaginal tearing. It would take her at least a week to heal, probably longer.

The reporter was running on fumes. Her body was shaky, blood sugar low, and she couldn't remember when she had eaten last. Weird facts swam to the surface in between the hard plunging cock between her legs—women burn 60 calories during sex. Well, this little workout must have cost her at least 3,000 calories...more than she normally ate during a day.

I should get on the scale after this, Lois joked to herself. Funny thing is, I'm not hungry at all...

The now familiar grunt of a man cumming inside of her. The little balloon of the condom sliding out of her aching lips. Lois lay back on the table and closed her eyes, just for a moment. Then she opened them, pushing herself onto her elbows, a smile on her face for her next customer...but there was no-one in line. Just Angelica Blaze, standing there with a bucket full of money.

"You've been a trooper," the dickgirl said, laying the bucket next to Lois on the pool table. "The gentlemen decided to leave you a tip." She paused. "And of course, what you really came here for."

Blaze set the baggie of coke down inside of the bucket, nestled among the tens and twenties.

Lois stared down at the bucket of dirty money. For the first time the entire evening, she wanted to cry. The reality sank in for Lois then—what she had done, and what she had done it for.

I can't believe I fucked an entire football team. For cocaine.

The whore couldn't take her eyes off of the ****. It was a lot, she knew. But as the night closed in on her, what worried the reporter was...what would she do when it ran out?