The Jizz Stops

Right at the lip of the bottle, the jizz halted.

Lois Lane stared at it, waiting to see if it would overflow, but the jizz in the bottle stayed perfectly still.

Tentatively...just for an experiment...the reporter picked up the bottle, placed it over the sink, and poured a little out. Watched the grey-white goo glug-glug-glug, bubbles of air displacing the jizz. She set the bottle back on the counter, about an inch lower than it had been.

The jizz was refilling before Lois had even set the bottle back down. Moments after her hand left it, the white surface of the cum was level with the top of the bottle once more.

The reporter took a deep breath...and immediately regretted it. The stench of fresh jizz was in the air. It reminded her of every time she had taken a splatter of semen across her face. One of her ex-boyfriends had loved to finish on her face. Eyes closed, lips sealed. An impassive mask that she presented him as a canvas as he blew his load on her, always rubbing the tip of his dick against her lips afterwards. She swore that he aimed for her nostrils, her hair.

They hadn't lasted long. The jizz-thing wasn't why, but it had been symptomatic. He hadn't wanted to jerk off on her, exactly. It was some fantasy, some need to control and ****. Which was fine. Sometimes, in the heat of the moment, Lois liked to be degraded.

"There has to be some limit," the reporter said out loud. "You can't just be a...decanter of endless sperm."

She picked it up. Sniffed it. Her mouth was suddenly dry. There was something ridiculous about that to her: Lois Lane, the Daily Planet's greatest reporter, thirsty and holding a glass bottle full of jizz. Nervous as though someone was watching.

But there is no one watching, she thought, running a tongue over dry lips. I mean, nobody will know, right?

It was a weird, compulsive idea. Foolish. Uncharacteristic. That alone made it suspect. Lois continued to hesitate, bringing the bottle up under her nose, sniffing in the scent of ammonia, like an overripe cheese or bathroom cleaner. It made the back of her nose itch a little. She remembered that was kind of how smelling salts work, a chemical irritant that **** the person to breathe, to draw in more air. She wondered if that was what it was doing now, except the more she breathed, the more she smelled cum...and all smell is particulate.

No one's looking, Lane, she told herself as she brought the bottle up to her lips. One little sip won't hurt, right?