Bottom's Up

Lois picked the sticky straw out of the pitcher. Strands of fresh white cum clung to it, and she slid it sideways through her lips, sucking off the still-warm goo.

She stood up and with both hands raised the pitcher to her lips. Around her, the bar started to go silent. The reporter raised the glass pitcher to her lips, and tilted it up.

The first rush of goo was warm and runny. Lois thought of the source. The demoness' cock. Pictured the throbbing , erect phallus pumping out rope after rope of an eternal, never-ending load. Oral sex had never been her specialty—she had learned to give a blowjob in college, enough to keep boyfriends happy, but she'd usually avoided getting it in her mouth, much less swallowing it—had never understood the appeal that had for some men. Usually she had let them finish in her hand, or on her breasts; even on her face, once, when she had been truly drunk, and laughed afterwards at the hot goo that had gone up her nose...

But now as she swallowed, warm mouth after mouthful, she felt a familiar tingle in her vagina, a sudden horripilation on her arms and the back of her neck, nipples pressing against her bra.

Lois had seen women in porn, though she would never admit that to anyone. Up late at night after an excitement, trying to wind down after submitting an article and unable to sleep, she'd drink a glass of wine and surf the net on her laptop, her bare pussy on the chair. Searching for something to pique her fancy. After a few too many of those sessions she'd veered away from simple one or two word searches on PornHub. Her tastes had started to get more exotic. Cumslut oral gangbang. Funnel creampie orgy. Japanese pussy bukkake. And the internet had provided...

She breathed through her nose as she chugged. That was the trick, to keep swallowing, not to ****. Lois had learned that in college, drinking beer. Not too fast or too slow. The first couple inches of the pitcher of cum were gone now, the runnier, warmer parts, and now she was in the thicker, lukewarm sperm. Her throat bobbed as she swallowed and swallowed, her stomach already feeling warm and bloated, but there was so much farther yet to go. In the background she could hear the chant start chug chug chug...

All those late nights, half drunk, rubbing her slit as she watched those faces become slowly eradicated, covered in spunk. A succession of men spurting onto their naked cunts and then wiping their dicks off on her thigh, before making way for the next one. Gaping holes reducing to swimming holes for sperm, grey-white pools that coated teeth and labia and assholes to worm their way deep inside of them.

Cumsluts. Lois thought she would never be one.

Her stomach was staring to feel taut now, as she reached the final third of the pitcher. This was where the heaviest, coldest globs of cum had sunk, semen so thick you could almost chew it. Lois didn't even try to swallow, just opened up her throat and let it pour down, a thick river of demonic seed that seemed to go straight to the core of her building.

She needed to pee. She needed to get off. She could hear the bar chanting, all around her, as she drained the pitcher down until the cold dregs dribbled across her lips. When she slammed it back down, the bar erupted in cheers and clapping.

Lois felt exhilarated. Her pulse was pounding, rivulets of demon cream running down the side of the reporter's mouth, the too-full feeling of her stomach, worse than anything she had felt in her life, but...she also felt something else...a sudden, terrific heat, deep within. A different sort of hunger...and somewhere close by, something that called to it.

A slow clap nearby caught Lois' attention.