Lois Continues To Eat The Pussy

Lois Lane lapped at the juicy slit. The more her tongue slipped between the soft, warm folds, the wetter and sloppier the demonic pussy became, until her chin was drenched, the deep well of the crimson cunt overflowing with clear, sticky juice...and the reporter found that the more of it she tasted, the more she wanted.

Indeed, it was like some sapphic switch had been flipped in Lois Lane's brain. Her own pussy seemed overflowing too as she ran her tongue over the fine folds of the demonic pussy's anatomy. Fingers slipped in and out of her cleft in rapid succession as she breathed deep its female musk, ran her tongue along the labia until it was wet and gleaming, and then thirst drove her back to lap at the pussy like a dog at a jar of peanut butter.

A part of her wondered whether the demon could feel this. She must, Lois decided. Stuck in some strange dimension, unable to touch her own cunt, feeling the eager tongue lap at her labia, suck on her clit, drink deep from her well.

Does she picture me, as I picture her? Lois wondered, running her tongue down to the very base of the V, that tiny hint of taint which hinted at an asshole that she couldn't touch. Is she dreaming of the eager mouth playing against her cunt? Is this her punishment or her reward?

There was something about the taste...salt, but also something else. Her throat felt parched, no matter how much she drank. Her stomach felt full, and she had to pause to pant, huffing in and out of the pussy, jaw and tongue half-numb...only to find herself burying her face in the pussy once again.

It's not like I'm addicted, the reporter told herself as she slurped the juice from the demon's cup, then brought her lips up to suckle gently on the prominent clit. I can stop anytime I want. I just...don't want to...