Lois Has

The cocks fucked Lois Lane's mouth without relief. None of them would take no for an answer, the reporter was sure, even if she had tried to deny them. Surrounded on all sides, the scent of sex and booze in the air, she knew too well that any denial might lead to her getting beaten or worse. Better to swallow cum than to get gangraped by a bar full of horny dickgirls.

She had understood, in a kind of theoretical sense, that cocks came in all sorts of different shapes and sizes. Big ones and small ones, fat and skinny, curved and straight; heads that were broad and rounded like mushrooms, or narrow and pointed; circumcised and uncut.

Now, however, she knew.

Knew what it was like to peel back a floppy foreskin and roll her tongue around the dick cheese there. What it was like for two skinny pricks to shove themselves into her mouth, making her cheeks bloat out like a chipmunk's. Felt the scrape of an ampallang against the top of her mouth, and the dizzying sight of a tattooed serpent down the length of a long shaft disappear between her lips.

Every single one of them came in her, and they expected her to swallow. Gob after salty gob, from the thickest load to the most watery, and when she gasped for breath and needed a moment's respite, she found a shot of tequila pressed to her lips, and she slurped it down eagerly. The sweet burning liquor cutting through the baby-batter clogging her throat just as the next dickgirl was pumping their cock, getting hard and ready to present their cock for sucking.

Lois Lane lost track of time. Music blared in the background, people came and went. She was on her knees by the bar, her world shrunk down to the endless parade of dicks that needed sucking. Dizzy and half-drunk, she forgot for a moment why she had come down here.

Yet she was still a reporter. Her eye for detail remained. And no matter how many she "serviced," Lois felt always that one pair of smoldering eyes on her. Eyes that belonged to a dark-haired woman in a ripped black t-shirt and tight black jeans that contained a massive bulge. A strange Mona Lisa smile graced the full lips as Lois felt rubbery head after rubbery head slide between her lips and over her tongue; the regal head like the bust of Nefertiti nodded as Lois swallowed and gasped for air, wiping her mouth with the back of her hand.

When Lois staggered to her feet, stomach roiling from booze and jizz, bladder ready to burst, those eyes followed the reporter as Lois Lane stumbled through the doors of the restroom to be sick...

...and found her there, emptying her guts into the toilet.