Lois Convinces Tyrell To Take Her Upstairs

"You don't know this chick," Tyrell said, letting Lois feel his hardness through his pants. "She's like...freaky. You go up there trying to buy a pill or two, she's gonna get suspicious. Maybe think you're a cop."

"But you could vouch for me," Lois let her hand slide up and slip over his waistband. Felt her fingers against his hot skin. "I've got five hundred on me...but I could present myself as the representative for the real buyer. Someone interested in wholesale, just here to get a sample before making a big deal."

He mused. She could feel him wanting to help her...Tyrell just needed a little more incentive. A little more...

Her hand slipped deeper into his pants. Fingers brushed his dick.

Maybe it was the **** talking, or the excitement, but Lois suddenly had an idea. It was dark in the club...noisy...no one would see. Lois leaned forward.

"You get me up there," she promised. "And I'll get you off."

Tyrell stared at Lois Lane. Weighed his options.

"You get me off," he countered. "And I'll get you up there."

In any negotiations, a certain amount of trust had to be given. Lois slid her hand over, and began unbuttoning his pants.

"I have your word?" she said.

"My word."

No one saw the reporter slip under the table. Or heard the zipper go down. Tyrell leaned back, sipped his drink. As if by magic, a pill came up in his right hand, and he crushed it into Lois Lane's drink with his fingers. Closed his eyes for a moment as she dragged the stiff brown prick from the tight jeans.

The glasses jumped as Lois Lane's head hit the bottom of the table. Tyrell grinned as he stirred her drink with his fingers, letting the **** dissolve. Underneath the table, Lois Lane broke one of the promises she had made to herself, things she would never do to get a story.

Holding his cock out, Lois slurped on the swollen brown head. Salty and bitter, sweaty and slick where she gripped it near the base. Lois closed her lips around the glans and sucked hard, her free hand stroking the shaft, the ring of her fingers hitting her lips just behind the head. The reporter let her tongue slide around and around the head, let the heat and the suction do its work...there was no rush, but Lois was feeling a kind of anxious anticipation, her pussy itchy, the way it sometimes got when she was on the trail of a big story.

Sure, sucking dick didn't do anything for her as far as pleasure went, but she could, and did, still find it erotic and exciting. This whole situation. Doing it with a black man...in public...made her want to rub her pussy right through her pants and panties. Perhaps she would have, too...if her hands weren't full.

Tyrell tried to hold out...to make it last...But the black man felt his abs flex, his balls lift, his ass squeeze...and then his whole body tensed as shot after shot of seed spurted into that tight mouth-pussy. He sagged, a smile on his face. Lois Lane's hand came up, groped around the table, and found a bunch of napkins.

He didn't even care she didn't swallow it. Tyrell felt Lois wipe around the head of his dick with her napkins, tucking his softening prick away and zipping him up. She even gave it a friendly pat, as if thanking him for a good time.

Lois slid back into her seat, and Tyrell held up his glass.

"Finish your drink. Then we'll go upstairs."