(MMM/F + F/F) La Petite Morte gets a 'bukakke' scene and it's more than you can take.

"Hey! Keep yer eyes to yourselves!" You cover your chest with your arm and keep your legs together, but there's honestly not a lot you can do in an outfit like this to avoid lustful eyes availing themselves of your body. "Just so we're clear, I still think y'all ought to be in a jail cell for this even if I can't prove it yet. And so we got things straight: I ain't never, ever, under any kind a' circumstances, doing porn! If you try and hypnotize me like you did her, you're gonna be twice as sorry!" The four guys staring at you don't listen to your admonitions and keep eagerly jerking their erect cocks.

La Petite Mort reluctantly raises herself out of the deep squat that she's been in and retrieves her panties from the floor, pulling them back up. "Twice, indeed. Mon dieu, 'Lynn', having one of you in the League is already too much. We will have words about zis. But first, I need to hurry up and finish my work here so I can get my money and do something actually useful with the rest of my-" she stops and looks down where Mike the director has just emptied a small cloth bag onto the table, revealing a large glass bell jar. Mort groans harshly when she sees it. "Zut alors... not the jar again! Do we really have to do THAT?" She doesn't hear a no, so she just rolls her eyes. "I don't care how cheap the sluts in this city are, I am not getting paid enough for this."

She settles onto the couch and keeps her legs spread wide, slowly rubbing a finger up and down the cleft of her labia through her panties as three of the guys surround her. She uses her free hand to grab one of their cocks but instead of using her special technique and wanking him to completion in seconds, she just holds the hard shaft in her gloved fingers. One of the others - a black man with the largest package out of any of them - leans closer, and she opens her mouth wide to take his cock past her lips.

The guys paw at her as she rotates among them, leaving trails of spittle on the tip of each cock as she gives each one a few deep sucks before moving to the next. Their hands run over her soft, near-albino skin, caressing her shoulders, her chest and her neck. You decide that stepping out at this point would be too awkward. But with all of their attention on Mort and Mike working the camera, you figure you can give yourself a little relief. So you tuck your legs up underneath you, sitting sideways on the couch with both legs folded up underneath you. A pleasant shiver runs up your spine as you manage your goal - resting one of the heels of your cowboy boots up against the spout between your legs. Softly you start rocking back and forth, feeling the hard surface digging into your labia. Eventually you have to bite down hard on a grunt when you start hitting just the right spot.

Somehow it's incredibly exciting, knowing that you're just out of the field of vision of these perverts while they defile Mort. A frightening yet tantalizing thought fills your mind: if one of them was to make a move on you right now and start feeling you up, would you even have the willpower to shove him away?

"Okay, and cut!" Mike says. "I can tell that you guys are all getting pretty close. Thank you, babe, for not giving them more than they can handle just yet. Now assume the position."

Although you're confused at first - stopping your furtive masturbatory motions so they don't see - the disturbing truth becomes clear as Mort steps up onto the table. She starts shrinking down, putting first one foot, and then the other, inside of the glass jar. She gets smaller and smaller, diminishing until her head goes past the rim and she's completely inside of it. It suddenly becomes clear to you why the jar is so clear and polished: so you can see her in there.

The camera focuses on Mort standing there as the first of the guys surrounding her, jerking themselves the entire time, groans and fires a stream of white jism at her. You gasp. With such a proportionally massive load, the shrunken superheroine inside actually staggers with the **** of the cum hitting her. You can hear a tiny, faint coughing and sputtering as she has to wipe some of it off of her face to even be able to breathe, the pearly white goo dripping all the way down her body. Soon the next load hits her right from behind. It keeps on dripping and running down her tiny body, making a mess of her unkempt hair and black stockings as it drips down her. The quantity of semen is so large that it actually begins pooling around her feet. In between cuts, the director comes up and pours more white stuff into the jar from a plastic bottle.

As it turned out, the black guy who she'd started sucking on first is the last to pop... and his load is the largest by far. His twitching shaft unloads four large pulses worth of semen all over Mort. She gives a groan of disdain, which comes out as a tiny, high-pitched burbling sound, producing a large bubble around her nose and mouth. Literally every inch of her body (which, to be fair, isn't very many inches at this point) is completely coated in the stuff, and between the real cum and the fake, she is wading knee-deep in the stuff.

"Ahhh, nice. Cut, at last." The director says. "Hey, Lyndie Splits! Come do me a favor." he says to you. You glower and sit up straight, annoyed at having been **** to stop riding your boot heel before you could cum. "Fuck off, you rattlesnake! I toldja, mah name is Lickety-Split Lynn, and I'm fixing to break your fingers one by one if you try an' touch me!"

"No, no, we're done shooting for today. What kind of a man do you take me for? I'm a professional you know. But I paid to rent this room and we've got a lot of clean up to do if we want the security deposit back. I'm just asking you to carry 'Paris' into the bathroom so she can get in the shower without tracking jizz on the floor. I'd help her out myself, but following the girls into the bathroom after a scene is a line I'd absolutely never cross. A big no-no in the industry."

You look down at the absolutely cum-drenched Mort. She nods her head. So, you gingerly pick up the jar, taking pains to hold it only by the part with no cum on it, and carry her to the bathroom. After closing the door and placing the jar in the shower, you turn around and clear your throat.

A moment later she has returned to normal size, and you hear the shower being turned on, followed by a sigh of relief. "Ahh. Finally." Out of the corner of your eye you see her hiking up one of her legs and resting it against the wall. "Ugh. That cretin certainly put a lot in me... got to wash it all out. Dieu merci that I just had my period four days ago. Ze last thing I need is some redneck superheroine getting drunk on moonshine and spreading around rumors that a baby isn't my husband's."

"Jeezus!" You exclaim. "Outta all the things wrong with that sentence, such as the fact that you're doin' things like this if you're married, need I remind you that you're bein' a downright hypocrite talking about me like that? I've been to your hometown, remember? You ain't from any part of France, you're just an alligator-eating cajun with one of them inferiority complexes!"

"Yes, yes", Mort doesn't argue the point. "Anyway, since I am getting clean already - Lynn, would you like to step into the shower so I can take care of that itch between your legs? Ça va, it will not take long. I have more practice with the clitoris than the male part, naturellement. Seeing you try and get yourself off by awkwardly sitting on your heel like that was painful to watch."

"Wh-what kind of an offer is that?" you sputter. "I think you're gettin' the wrong idea, darlin'! I got this kind of haircut because I run super fast and I can't have it getting in my eyes, it ain't supposed to represent anything! N-not that I'm saying there'd be anything wrong if it did, but-"

"I'm not asking you out on a date, you stupid bimbo!" Mort snaps at you. "I'm simply observing that you clearly need some help understanding something important. In this grim and hopeless thing we call life, self-stimulation is one of the few things we have to look forward to as human beings. Even a fool like you deserves it." She turns the water off and steps out. She is even more nude now that she was while she was fucking that director. "I do not have the energy for you to tiptoe around... sit yourself on the countertop, now!" she snaps her fingers. "Or else I'm going to tell those men out there that you were enjoying their scene so much that you started playing with yourself."

It is a surprise to you as much as anyone when you do as she asks without much protest, spreading your legs. "What, like this? For your information, I'm not some kind of, y'know, naive preacher's daughter or somethin'! I can do just fine on my lonesome."

Petite Mort's response is to give you a 'thumbs up'. At first you think she's mocking you. But then she steps forward and gets between your legs. When you instinctively start to close them, you just pull her closer. She holds her hand up in front of your face. "This is the thumb. You need not get fancy with the index or middle fingers, that's just for giving a show to spectators. This is all you need. Use your off hand like so..."

You gasp as the short woman's hand clasps one of your tits, squeezing your sensitive nipple between her fingers, rolling it around as she runs her thumb up the cleft of your labia. "Ah! And here she is. I can feel that she's badly in need of some attention." she murmurs. You can't manage anything but a whine. Silently, you ask what's wrong with you. It's not like you're scared of those porn guys; hell, an excuse to thrash them is what you've been looking for. "Alright, cut it out already... I'm not this kind of girl..." you say softly.

Mort's gives a dry, mocking laugh. "Hah! Yes you are. Yes, you are, because all men and all women are 'this kind'. Denying it only makes you ****. I cannot stand lies, 'darlin'," she rolls her voice to mock your country girl accent. "Now then. You massage the nipples, and with the thumb, you press down gently with the tip. Good on you for not having those ridiculous long fingernails, by the way. And then, rotate a bit to the left, a bit to the right..."

Her voice quickly fades from your ears as the sound of your blood rushing overwhelms you. You know that she can feel your nipples hardening against her fingers and your labia twitching. There's a visible wet spot there by now. "Fuck! St-stuh..." you curse and cover your face with your hands. A shudder runs through your hips and your thighs and you suddenly squeeze her tightly against you as an orgasm ripples through you.

A **** sound reaches your ears and you uncover your face. Mort is looking irate again, and her face is turning purple. Belatedly, you realize that she doesn't have super strength or toughness, and you've been squeezing her between your thighs at almost full ****. You let go and she leans back, gasping. "Idiot! Merde! You nearly just broke me in half! Hmph! And here I was doing you a favor. I would've gladly asked if you wanted a second one with a demonstration of how to use the ring finger, but you just cost yourself that. Let's get out of here."

Funnily enough, by the time you sheepishly follow her out of the bathroom, all the pornographers are gone - so her threat had no teeth to it anyways. Mort wastes no time in grabbing her stockings and dress and quickly throwing them on. ...not a moment too soon as it turns out, as a very familiar cowboy boot kicks a hole in the front door, followed by a hand unlocking it... and a very sexy woman who you recognize well (on account of her being an exact duplicate of you) storms in, posing with her hands on her hips. "Alright, you rattlesnakes! Come on out an' face justice! I got someone who can break that mind control, fer sure!" she says.