Making Lois Cum

Hands pressed through the skin that clung to the reporter like heavy latex. She could feel the press and grope of fingers and palms. There was that distance, the sensation that they weren't touching her directly. Like she was naked and fully clothed at the same time.

Held aloft in the soft folds, Lois Lane couldn't even tell how many there were. Hands pressed at her shoulders and the base of her spine, rubbed at her buttocks and breasts. Pulled her arms and legs wide as the endless soft appendages continued to pump in her holes, the liquid wetness spreading along the reporter's breasts and thighs. Sweat, trapped inside, began to slither around her body in odd ways, the heat growing terrible, the salt stinging at her eyes...and though Lois Lane had a mouth she could not scream, her jaw unable to close on the tongue that reached down her gullet, some unseen lungs breathing for her by pushing and pulling air into her mouth.

The hands found her clit. Lois tried to moan, to thrash, but there was no escape. She was held suspended, endlessly assaulted in a way that she had never imagined, not in her worst erotic nightmares. Her body, exhausted but tense, surrendered to those terrible massaging hands, to the plunging members, to the endless heat. Though in her mind Lois Lane wished only to sleep, to fade into oblivion, to awake somewhere else...she could feel her body responding to the endless sexual stimulation.

Have you ever tried to fight an orgasm? Struggled against your own body, to hold it off. Lois Lane's tired brain tried to think of things that disgusted her—when she had uncovered the Metropolis fatberg in the sewers, having to interview Lex Luthor, bloody **** scenes, the Night of the Exploding Toilet, anything to get her body to stop—but it would not stop. The **** on her clit was fierce, rubbing fingers pressing down from every angle as the sliding members inside her cunt and ass moved against each other, the mixed jizz and sweat sliding down her knees and under her breasts until Lois felt she was almost stewing in her own filth. The heat pounded in her head, and something almost like mouths seemed to clamp down on her nipples, latex lips kissing and sucking and...

Her hips bucked. Cunt and ass spasmed, unable to squeeze down. Legs and arms tensed, muscles pulling but unable to move against those pulling hands. Something hot and sticky poured down her throat, dribbling into her stomach like a slow-moving river of lava. Deep inside of her, Lois Lane felt her cervix spasm, opening and closing , sucking something into her once-empty womb.

The most terrible part was, it did not stop. Mouths kissed and sucked, filth flowed, hands rubbed, and Lois Lane got no rest, no respite, her body held continually in that moment of sensual ****, climax on the heels of climax, building one after another, until the reporter thought she would go mad.