Grab Blaze's Cock And Don't Let Go

Boldly, Lois Lane's hand slipped down the waistband of Angelica Blaze's pants. The dickgirl froze as the reporter found her cock—the head slimy, the shaft half-hard. The reporter grinned in triumph as she gave it a squeeze and felt it swell a little more. With her other hand, Lois undid Blaze's fly.

"You didn't really bring me here to drink wine," Lois Lane said, her voice smooth and husky. The reporter laid her head against the dickgirl's chest. Heard the pounding of Angelica Blaze's heart. "No, I think you brought me here for one thing. You want to take this hard, hot meat and slide it all up inside me. Probably you want to dump your potent load up into my fertile pussy again...and again...and again..."

Blaze's pants fellt down to her ankles. Lois Lane kept a ****-grip on the cock, thumb and forefinger clinched tight just behind the glans, as her left hand ran lower to lift and caress those heavy, sweat-slick, hairless balls.

"To tell the truth, a part of me wants that too," Lois admitted. "I don't know what's gotten into my tonight. Ever since I stepped into that bar, it's like my pussy gets wetter and wetter. I can't get sex out of my head. I just get this throb deep inside of me, as if I can feel my ovaries squeezing out eggs, even though that's impossible."

The dickgirl made a sound that Lois Lane couldn't described. She seemed to rumble internally, barely able to hold herself still as the reporter's thumb moved up to rub against her leaking urethra, to smear the precum all over the swollen, rubbery head.

"I like you, Angie. I really do. But before we can fuck...before I ride this hard shaft until these fat balls are empty, until all that spunk is safely in my cervix and I am good and proper knocked up...I've got some questions you need to answer. Like who are you really? Where is this place? And what do you have to do with me feeling so horny and fertile tonight?"

The words tumbled-out, half sexual fantasy, half cunning manipulation. Lois Lane wanted the answers to her questions almost as much as she wanted that fat cock to stretch her cunny out again. It occurred to Lois that she was as barely in control as Blaze herself. The dickgirl's hands grabbed the reporter's ass. The reporter was lifted up onto her tippy-toes, but Lois never lost her grip on the stiff prick.

"Promise me," Lois said, as Blaze's fingers dug into the waistband of the reporter's pants. "Promise me you'll answer all my questions! Or I won't fuck you! I won't. I'll..."

The reporter's voice trailed off at the screaming rent of fabric. Blaze had just torn the tight red material of Lois Lane's pants. Lois wondered if she had pushed the dickgirl too far.