Ivy Makes Lois Clean Her "Customers" With Her Mouth

Lois Lane wasn't sure how many people had pissed on her. She only felt the golden streams on her face, her breasts. Sometimes they aimed for her eyes, her nostrils. The once-proud reporter sat on the floor and let them empty their bladders on her. Felt it drip off her chin.

"You lazy cunt," a feminine voice said. "Clean me off."

The reporter raised her piss-damp head and saw a twenty-something bitch standing over her. She was a bottle blonde with breast implants paid for by daddy's money, the kind that had 'Karen' written into her very soul. In ten years she'd be an aging trophy wife fucking the poolboy, but for now her miniskirt hiked up to show her shaved pussy. Lois Lane stared at the wet slit before her. The clitoral hood was pierced with a little ring.

"Go ahead," Poison Ivy ordered. "Clean her. And anyone else that comes after her. With your tongue."

Lois tensed...but leaned forward, tongue extended. She pressed her face between the woman's legs, and ran her tongue over the shaved labia. Her reward for this instant obedience was a tinkle of mocking laughter from the woman and her friends.

More people crowded around. A man thrust his cock in her face, and Lois nearly gagged. It reeked, and yellow-white smegma had built up behind the glans. The reporter's stomach churned as her tongue scraped it off, and just as she was about to spit it out, Ivy said:

"Swallow."

The reporter could not repress a shudder as she gulped down the filth. Her body shook with stress as people pointed and laughed...and came forward to get their pussies licked, their cocks cleaned. The only momentary relief came when someone poured a beer over the reporter, and she raised her head thankfully, to swallow down a mouthful and clear the taste from her mouth for just a moment.

"Oh, you're thirsty?" Ivy said. "Well, we can't have that. "Go out among the tables. Drink any unfinished drank there. Every drop. Until you can't stand any more!"