Lois Lane Refuses To Suck Their Cocks

The reporter's jaw worked as she bit into the ballgag. The gaze of her violet eyes was fierce. Slowly, determinedly, Lois Lane shook her head. She was sober now, and despite the pain and humiliation of her **** tattooing, Lois had no intention of sucking off anyone.

"Ah, Lois Lois Lois...that's what I love about you humans. Such pride. Alright, men," the dickgirl stepped back as she stroked her flagging cock. "Paint her some more."

The gangsters crowded forward.

Lois Lane found herself tensing her muscles, and **** herself to relax. Anger simmered within the reporter, black thoughts that crowded out any fear or anxiety as the men stroked their pathetic pricks in front of her. The reporter had been captured before, and she knew that she needed to be sharp, to take advantage of any opportunity that presented itself to get away...but with the obviously-superhuman Angelica Blaze watching her, and the reporter handcuffed and bound to the wall, escape seemed unlikely at this time.

So it was with seething anger and fatalistic resignation that Lois watched the men stroke themselves. The purple and red glans were all slightly different. Every cock unique, and yet all cock-shaped...and Lois knew, with dread certainty, what would happen when those pathetic pricks jerked off on her.

Once, Lois had heard that semen was actually good for a woman's skin. She was pretty sure that was stupid Cosmopolitan nonsense, but now the reporter knew better. Every drop that his her skin meant pain, and a permanent mark of her denigration. Semen to ink, ink spreading forward as vines, flowers, words and shapes...

The nearest man had his fist slamming into his crotch. He stumbled forward, aimed at where her chest merged with her shoulder. The reporter didn't even bother to move as the stinky, masturbating monkey of a man blew his few watery drops on an inch of bare skin, and the familiar sting of the growing tattoo followed.

Once one of them went off, that set more of them off. The reporter tried not to flinch as the cocks spurted, each man aiming for some part of Lois that hadn't been touched yet. Despite Blaze's assertion they were going to give the reporter full sleeves, the men seemed less loaded, jerking off so many times in a row, and the tattoo grew slowly, up and over the reporter's shoulders. A few drizzly drops oozed down Lois Lane's back, and the painful scratch of vines grew to trace the drops.

The worst were two men, brothers she thought, who lifted her up and grabbed her arms and to pin them against her sides. The two men squeeze their rigid erections into Lois Lane's armpits...and the reporter worked furiously then, as the two men humped her shaven pits. Because in lifting her up, they had given her a little bit of leverage. Just enough to grab a hairpin and work on the locks of the handcuffs. The men were too engrossed in defiling the reporter's armpits, the burning friction of their dry humping, to notice when Lois picked the lock and carefully set the handcuff on its loosest setting, so that she could take it off whenever she wanted.

Her knees were still locked by the spreader bar, but it was a little bit of hope.

They finished hugely, explosively, gushy creampies in the folded skin of her pits...and Lois could barely bite back a scream as the tattoos crept over the sensitive flesh. Though Lois couldn't see it, as they set her back in place, now beneath each armpit blossomed a red rose, the folds of whose petals bore within them a clear depiction of a cunt.

The men fell back, cocks wilted and spent...but Blaze came forward, hard and ready to go again.

"I want to carve a reminder into your flesh, Lois," Blaze said. "Something for you to remember me by. But I'll give you a choice. Would you like it tattooed on your face...or on your cunt? Nod up or down. If you don't choose, I will."

The reporter shook with anger...but she saw in this a possible opportunity for escape. She just had to choose wisely.