End: Right Here, Right Now

Lois Lane let out a drunken howl as Angelica Blaze lifted her up bodily and set her down on the table. The reporter's bare back could feel the whirls of the wood, the sticky circles where beer glasses had been sitting. Her knees hung off the table ledge, spread wide, and the dickgirl smiled at Lois as she pressed her lips to the reporter's belly button...and then started to draw back, a trail of kisses, each a little longer than the last, until right above the tuft of carefully-trimmed black pubic hair Lois felt the tongue touch her bare skin...and the tongue trailed down, through that little curly forest...and the lips seized on the reporter's clit and Lois wasn't howling now, she was moaning and writhing on the tabletop, too drunk to care who was watching her.

In all of her adult life, Lois Lane had never gotten a lover to eat her out after cumming inside of her. It had never been a fetish with her, exactly, just a kind of casual societal sexism. The men had always wanted her to taste her own pussy juice, to suck their bitter cum out of their fast-failing dicks, to make them feel good; but when it was time for a little reciprocation...nope, never.

Until now.

Blaze had spunked the drunken reporter's cunt hard, and the creamy filling was oozing out of the flushed pink lips. The dickgirl pressed her face right into the center of that slit, her pink tongue pushing deep inside of Lois like the antidote was in it. Minutes ticked by as the tongue seemed to stretch inhumanly deep inside of the reporter, rubbing against spots that made the reporter's nipples hard and back arch, and there wasn't a woman in that room right then or there watching the pair that didn't want to be Lois Lane at that moment, their own pussies dripping, faces blushing as the drunken reporter's toes curled and she tried to hump the face that was tongue-fucking her gooey slit, slurping up all that fresh-pumped cum out of that fertile cunt.

The dickgirls in the room, however, noticed something else—something that made them grin. Because below the edge of the table, those bitchbreeder balls were growing taut, and with her left hand Angelica Blaze was stroking her long shaft back to life. She nibbled gently on Lois Lane's labia, pulling at the pink flaps with her lips over her teeth, the pink tongue sliding out to lick up any stray drop. The pitch of Lois Lane's moans were growing higher, and goosebumps covered her naked skin, the nipples achingly taut, pointing at the ceiling as though they would poke out the peeking eyes of God herself.

When Blaze stood, Lois looked up in her reverie, a question on her beer-stained lips...and then she saw the swollen, purple-headed cock set almost level with the table, pointed as though aimed at the reporter's heart—and Lois too late realized exactly what the dickgirl intended, as one hand clamped above each of the reporter's knees and drew Lois toward her in a single, violent thrust that nearly had the reporter in a split, and seamed to press that cock until it would blow right past the cervix and straight in the reporter's womb.

That was where the night ended, for Lois Lane. She didn't remember anything after Angelica violently pulled her back onto her cock. In her bed the next morning, head splitting, eyes swollen, stomach lurching, cunt achingly sore, body bruised in odd places and smelling of beer, the reporter managed to crawl to the toilet and vomit. Pale, yellow, fizzing, liquid forth poured out of her body, and it seemed to go on for a long time. When it was over, Lois laid her head against the cool porcelain, trying to put together what had happened that night, grateful for the cold night air on her pussy, which felt wet and sticky in a way she had never felt before.

How did I get home? Lois wondered, blearily. Can't go to work like this. Gotta call it in. Drink some water...coffee...sleep...pee...

"Hey lover," a familiar voice came from behind Lois Lane, and one bloodshot eye opened. She raised her head just an inch and turned. Her heart sank. I didn't...I couldn't...I never...

Angelica Blaze was there, naked except for a sheet drawn about her breasts. The sheet tented out at the crotch. Lois felt her breath taken away at the sight of those heavy, hairless balls, the long vein-covered cock. It looked bigger in the light of the bathroom; the tip a swollen purple, the skin behind the glans an angry red, as from friction burns.

"Hope you don't mind if I do something about this morning wood," the dickgirl said as she dropped down to her knees. The reporter couldn't manage a denial before Angelica's thumbs had spread her sore labia apart, the head of the cock which should have stretched Lois out painfully slipping into the reporter's sticky cunt like it belonged there.

"Don't worry," Angelica promised as she laid a hand on each of her hips and pushed her dick home. "I'll clean you out. I love the way you taste."

Lois Lane wasn't sure that a morning quickie and oral sex were a cure for a hangover after a blackout drunk.

She swallowed the last bit of bile and licked her lips, tasting last night's beer. It was worth a try.