Lois Can't Turn Down Eating Pussy

Cunt throbbing and bleeding, tired and **** to escape with something after everything she had gone through tonight, Lois Lane stared into the blood-stained face of the young woman...and couldn't find a polite way to refuse her. She told herself it was just because the girl would get suspicious if she did, but the truth was more fundamental: it would have seemed rude, after getting eaten out, not to reciprocate.

"Of course," she said. "Why don't you...assume the position."

Lois set clothes, book, and that strange scarlet cock aside as the nimble young acolyte laid out her robe on the floor and laid down on it. In a display of acrobatic prowess that made the reporter momentarily jealous, the thin, flexible woman stretched until her ankles were behind her head, rocking on her spine, her bald pussy gleaming.

The reporter dropped to her knees. Tried to remember everything she'd read and seen and heard about eating pussy. It was something she had never done before, never seriously considered, even during her experimental stage at university. Yet here she was, about to earn her rug-munching merit badge, and her stomach fluttered worse than when she had tried to mount the statue's stone cock.

Confidence, Lane, Lois told herself as she dipped her head down. The smell of the pussy, sweaty and with a slight tinge of urea, filled her mouth and nostrils. Confidence is sexy. Don't let her know you've never tasted cunt before.

With her hands, the reporter gently spread the folds of the labia. The pink inner folds of the pussy were bright, vibrant, almost radioactive in the dim light of the chamber, copiously wet, a veritable pool of fluid standing in the young acolyte's "cup." The reporter brought her lips down as if to drink...took a deep breath...

The raspberry, blown against the young woman's pussy, was long and loud and messy. Pussy-juice splashed as the reporter's vibrating tongue crushed against the drooling cunt it was pressed to, and the acolyte's shriek of laughter warmed Lois Lane's heart. Tension melted out of them both, and as the messy splatter subsided, Lois Lane's tongue delved deep inside the young woman's cleft, curling and twisting, licking at the tight muscular walls.

Now there was no sound except for the quiet panting of the young acolyte, the sloppy slurping of Lois Lane. She didn't quite know what she was doing, but the reporter knew what she liked the few times she'd managed to convince a boyfriend to go down on her. She alternated between deep dives, tongue searching for the hidden g-spot, and concerted attacks on the tiny clitoris hidden in its hood.

The taste was not as bad as Lois expected.

Back and forth, back and forth the reporter's mouth and tongue went, her fingers holding the labia far apart. All she had to go by were the increasingly fast pants of the young woman, the quiver of muscles working in her body, the sticky juices flowing down her chin, salty and slightly ammoniac...and then it happened.