Lois Is Dumber Than A Bimbo

Lois Lane responded to the sorceress's touch. She began to salivate as Circe brought the former reporter's head to her slit. Instinctively, Lois buried her face between those legs, her mouth open, tongue lapping aggressively at the pink slit.

Cunt. Good.

It was a warm image that flashed through what was left of the reporter's shrinking mind. Minutes prior, Lois Lane had one of the best vocabularies in Metropolis, a walking thesaurus who knew the English language as well as a soldier knows their rifle. Now, if anyone tested her, her vocabulary had shrunk to about 250 words. The same as a particularly bright dog.

Circe's hands ruffled Lois Lane's hair, guided the eager mouth as Lois happily licked at the salty cunny.

"Good girl," the older woman said. "Good girl. You like that, don't you? On your knees, serving your mistress."

Good. Lois understood. The rest of it was meaningless to her. Rivulets of pussy juice ran down the reporter's legs. With single-minded focus, the almost mindless reporter rubbed her nose against Circe's clit, nibble on her labia, licked her thigh...

"Eager little bitch, aren't you?" Circe said as she began to moan. Her hands pressed on the top of the reporter's head, to **** Lois Lane lower. The reporter's tongue slid over Circe's perineum. Bitter flavors, new and strange, blossomed in the reporter's brain. Circe shifted her stance and pressed hard, to **** Lois's eager mouth even lower.

"Lick it," she said. "Lick my ass!"