End: What Could One More Drink Hurt?

The hungover reporter brought the bloody mary to her lips. Tomato juice, strong and acidic. A little spicy, salty. Underneath it, the gentle burn of the vodka, cutting away the phlegm in her throat. Three or four sips later, and Lois was feeling...better. Her head still pounded, her body still ached, her pussy felt raw. Yet the reporter felt a little more human.

"Thanks," she said.

"No problem." The dark-haired woman put an unopened bottle of water on the counter next to her. "You should hydrate, too."

That advice was too sensible for Lois to ignore in her condition. So she twisted off the top and began to alternate sips of breakfast and water. The dark-haired woman busied herself behind the bar, cleaning glasses, sorting out shakers and other tools. As she bent over to arrange something, the reporter found herself staring at the woman's ass...not something she would normally be doing.

"I don't...remember a lot about last night," Lois said. "Did we...meet?"

The woman raised herself up and turned around, that secret smile on her face.

"Oh, we met," she leaned in close...too close. Lois was about to back away when the woman's hand came up and gripped the back of the reporter's neck. Their mouths met, lips locking, and even through the alcoholic haze and head-pounding hangover Lois could feel her pussy get a little moist.

The kiss broke, quick as it had begun.

"You really don't remember anything?"

"Not much," Lois admitted. "I guess I had too much to drink."

"You did at that," the bartender smiled. "I'm Angelica Blaze. This is my bar."

"Lois Lane," the reporter said automatically, too tired to use a fake name.

Even half-wasted, Lois Lane slipped easily into interview mode. Angelica was a little cagey, a little teasing. She gave half-answers and deflection, forcing Lois to push, intriguing her a little more with what wasn't said as much as what was. By the time her bloody mary was reduced to crimson dregs, the reporter was more than half-infatuated.

"How about something a little stronger?" Blaze said, pulling out a glass like an upside-down bell and fetching an old, dust-specked bottle from a tall shaft.

"I really shouldn't," Lois said. "I'm sure I'm already going to be late for work, and I don't want to show up drunk."

Golden liquor splashed into the glass. Just a finger or so. Little more than a couple of sips. A bright floral smell hit the reporter's nostrils, sharp and fruity. The bartender set the open bottle on the counter between them.

"Brandy," Blaze said. "You should try it. You know they used to brew coffee in brandy?"

Almost against her better judgment. Lois picked up the glass. Gave it a sniff. Her stomach rumbled, still wanting real food. She tilted the glass and took a small sip. Heavy and sweet, sharper than wine. Not at all unpleasant.

Lois took a second, deeper sip, and blinked when she realized it was gone.

"What did happen last night?" The reporter said as the warm bloom of the booze hit her stomach. She reached for the bottle and poured a little more.

Angelica Blaze's eyes seemed to flash, just for a moment. Her smile widened.

"Well, I saw you come in..."

The story went on. The level of the bourbon gradually diminished. Lois hiccuped. She was feeling very pleasant now. The headache was still there, just...distant. Parts of Angelica's story made her grin. Other parts made her frown. Did she really do that? How much of what this woman was telling her could she trust?

"Do you really have a dick?" Lois asked, hiccuped again.

"Yes." Angelica said.

"Prove it," Lois blinked, feeling slightly dizzy as she lifted the much-lighter bottle. She tried to bring it to the edge of the glass, but couldn't quite make it. Blaze had to grab her wrist and hold it steady as the reporter poured out the last few little sips.

With an athletic flourish, Angelica planted both hands on the bar and leaped over it. Lois laughed, hiccuped, and took a drink as the bartender stood with hands in the air and twirled. Her hands came down to the zipper of her black jeans. The reporter felt herself holding her breath as it came down...and a long, pink cock came out.

"I also have a cure for the hiccups."

"What's *hic* that?" Lois smiled, eyes half-lidded, pretty sure she knew what it was.

Which is how the reporter found herself back against the bar, pants off, hanging on for dear life as the dickgirl slid her cock in and out of the **** woman's snatch. Lois continued to hiccup in between her moans, not that either one of them much cared.

I wonder if I'll remember this tomorrow, Lois said, closing her eyes as Blaze pounded that cock deep inside her pussy, the teeth of the zipper digging into her labia, though the reporter was far too drunk to care.

"One more time," Blaze whispered as something wet seemed to flood Lois Lane's pussy. The reporter's body went limp and the dickgirl effortlessly lifted the woman up, carrying her back to the narrow room with its sex-stained cot. "Just to make sure."

To make sure of what, Lois Lane did not know. She was already half-passed out, head resting on her lover's shoulder, beginning to drool. No thought in her ****-fueled dreams of the consequences of unprotected drunken sex, though consequences there would assuredly be.

But that is another story.