Vixen

They moved down the cramped hallway. Some of the noises from the rooms filtered through into the darkness—the banging of headboards against wall, soft moans and hard grunts...and there were chalk signs, Lois noticed, here and there, on the walls and floors. Strange squiggles that reminded her of runes, magic circles...she was about to ask Maria about them, when the red-and-pink haired woman stopped, and motioned the reporter to another spyhole. Lois bent down, perhaps a bit too eagerly.

A flash of gold and black spandex. A dark brown nipple on an almost spherical chocolate tit. Gloves tipped with claws. A kind of slurping sound. Lois frowned and shifted, trying to get a better position.

The room was, as far as she could tell, vaguely Africa-themed—in a kind of low-budget theme park way. Faux lion and tiger skins, wicker furniture, generic plastic jungle plants. A tape of jungle sounds and faint drumming played in the background. There was a crude hut, almost tiki-couture, the entrance to it a pair of fake elephant tusks, and on a cowskin laid out in front of it...

Lois had seen the superheroine Vixen before. There weren't many black superheroines, much less African ones. She had always admired the woman's poise and confidence, the subtle power of her movements on camera—like a great cat, stalking lightly, perfectly at ease. As a reporter she knew the woman had some sort of animal-powers, able to mimic the abilities of many forms of wildlife. She'd never thought about what sexual uses such powers might have...until now.

The "Vixen" before her was dressed in a cheap version of the real thing's costume. The black and gold bustier was too small to zip up over the silicone-swollen breasts, dark veins visible beneath the surface. Yet what caught Lois' attention was the cock.

It was a horse's dick. Lois couldn't mistake it for anything else. The Vixen sat with legs splayed on the carpet, her hefty black sack resting on the floor, and on top of that the dark sheath...and from that sheath emerged a long pink shaft, at least thirteen inches, as long as her arm, and flared out at the tip. The woman sat there, her tits almost wrapped around the cock, tongue lapping around and around the head, sometimes her lips opening wide to take the whole thing in her mouth, but more often just running a long tongue over and over the slit, again and again...

Lois was reminded of a dog. She couldn't look away, but she heard Maria speaking.

"Some of the girls, they have trouble at first. Getting into it, figuring out what they want to do, who they want to be. The mistress tries to help them...if they'll accept it."

The drumming, Lois realized. Her pussy felt damp, her cheeks flushed. The woman was licking almost in time with the drumming, the background noise. Saw those thing gloved hands come up to tweak the nipples of those swollen teats.

"The mistress understands. It takes time, for people to accept change. They have to choose it, she says. All she can do is help women realize who they are, who they want to be...to change from the outside in...until the two sides match..."

Lois felt a trickle of something flow down her leg. Her breathing was a little harder now as the tongue started to plunge down that swollen urethra.

"It can help if the new recruits talk to the girls that work here first..." Maria was close now, her mouth just next to Lois' ear, but she didn't look away. "...did you want to talk to her?"