Lois Snaps Out of It

So focused was Blaze and on the other women on fattening up their new recruit that they had ceased to hold Lois down. Their hands slid over sweat-slick flesh, playfully pinching parts of Lois that had been slim and fit only minutes ago, chattering about belly rolls and love handles, dumptruck asses and big titties. None of them were prepared for when Lois Lane's legs shout out, like a mule's, heels slamming hard into two pussies.

The crash as the two wounded women fell distracted Blaze for a moment—and that was when the reporter bucked and pushed herself forward.

It was an awkward and painful maneuver. The hose in Lois Lane's ass ripped out suddenly, spilling a liquid load behind her. Lois slammed head-first into the legs of the women holding the keg, which they swiftly lost hold of. It hit the floor with a wet clang and an explosion of suds. The reporter's throat rasped painfully as she tore the hose from her throat, coughing and sputtering as she crawled, naked and slick, in between legs and away from the screams and shouts behind her.

Lois Lane's lungs burned as she clambered into the dressing-room, where she finally found the space to stand. Sudden pains hit her—adrenaline never lasted as long as movies seemed to think, and for a second Lois was almost crippled as she became aware of the aches and pains—but she wasn't out of the dressing room, much less out of the club and safe.

"After her, you dumb sluts!" Blaze's voice roared.

Move, Lane, Lois told herself. Her body jiggled in places she wasn't used to, and the reporter felt as if she was running with a rucksack as she burst through doors, down winding corridors, trying to remember the route that would lead her...

...back out into a crowded club, completely naked, a horde of curvaceous women with strap-ons at her heels.

There was no time to stop. By the first time the first shouts and wolf-whistles of appreciation at the naked woman bursting into the crowd hit her, Lois was already sliding through it, making for the exit at the back of the club. Behind her, the catcalls and clapping turned to yells and sounds of **** as her pursuers, most of them hardly any more dressed than Lois herself, followed.

For a moment, cutting across the dance floor, Lois was limned in blue light, a wave of **** spreading out behind her. A dozen smartphone cameras flashed at the same time. Then she was leaping tables, spilling drinks, pushing scantily-clad bitches out her way. The reporter hit the fire exit door at speed, and barreled through into the alley. Cold night air on her naked skin, breathing in ragged gasps, a couple of winos staring wide-eyed at her as she tried to formulate her next move.