Ride

Lois stood outside her apartment building, sipping from the brown-bagged bottle of sperm in her hand. The cab rolled up and she took a long draught, swallowing the sticky mouthful and climbing into the car.

A black woman was driving, long steel-colored dreadlocks, glasses on her face. She didn't even blink at the brown paper bag. The reporter gave her the address. They were off.

Lois felt a spot of dampness and brought the bottle up to her lips, sucking gently. The flow was increasing, and there was nothing she could do about it except drink and drink...and the reporter wasn't sure how much her stomach could hold. As it was, she could feel a familiar rumble in her stomach, in the "I ate too much, but not solid food" kind of way, that made her feel full and yet hungry at the same time.

The car hit a pot hole and the glass clinked against the reporter's teeth. A sudden wave of nausea hit her, and Lois fought to keep it down...even as she felt the brown paper in her grip start to grow wet as rivulets of white jizz oozed over the lip. Quickly, fighting the growing sense of illness, Lois slurped down more cum.

Just let me make it to the club, Lois told herself, feeling the bag begin to drip. A warm rivulet of cum was sliding down her arm, beneath the sleave of her jacket, gathering at the crook of her elbow.

The reporter burped, tasting the ammoniac-reek as the cum started to cum back up her esophagus, which burned slightly from her stomach bile. She winced, and slurped some fresh cum to cover up the taste of the old jizz coming back to haunt her. Her throat actually felt raw, stomach roiling now.

The car halted, and it was all the reporter could do to keep her stomach from continuing to move. The last thing she wanted to do was vomit a couple pints of cum into the backseat of a cab.

With her dry hand, the one that hadn't touched the bottle in its now very damp bag, Lois fished out cash and handed it to the driver. She didn't wait for change, just climbed out of the car and turned down the alley, one hand clutching the bottle to her mouth, the other on her stomach.

She wanted to puke. Really, desperately needed to puke. Her stomach was full. Every sip was a tortured exercise in mind over body, and Lois Lane felt bloated with cum. Worse, the bottle was already overflowing in her hand. The reporter wasn't sure how she was going to make it through a crowded club and down the stairs back to the shrine.