Lois On Her Knees

"On your knees."

Lois Lane wasn't prepared when the voice, powerful and compelling, came from her "client's" throat. It reminded the reporter of the drill sergeants she had known, that tone of command that brooked no insolence, just immediate obedience.

The reporter's knees hit the carpet...and the madame spread her own thighs wide as she slouched down, drawing her skirt tight.

"Lift my skirt, slut."

Lois placed her hands on the woman's thighs and pushed, the skirt of the dress sliding up and bunching around the hips, revealing olive skin. She could smell the woman's pussy now...and then she could see it, through the sheer black panties that her client wore.

"Suck my juices, whore."

Heart hammering in her chest, Lois buried her face between those olive-covered thighs. The smell was wet, musky, and it seemed to fill the reporter's brain as she pressed her lips against the fabric of her client's panties. The lips that kissed hers through the sheer material were unbelievably hot and juicy, rivulets of tangy juice running out as soon as Lois touched them. Obediently, the reporter began to suck, drawing the salty, acidic cuntjuice into her mouth...

"You like that, don't you, Lois?"

The reporter's heart skipped a beat. She hadn't told the woman her real name. Then she felt the hands clutch her head, the woman's long fingers sliding through the reporter's hair to dig into her scalp.

"You can't leave," the madame said. "Until you finish me off."