Lois Doesn't Think

Nothing shifted behind the reporter's eyes. Circe gripped her head and aimed it low, and Lois Lane's tongue left the well-licked slit and ran down the little bridge of flesh between pussy and anus. There was a shudder through the bimbo reporter's body as she encountered a new, unfamiliar flavor—but she didn't stop. Her tongue swirled around the little warm divot of the sorceress's asshole, and Circe began to pant.

"Get in there," Circe said, in between gasps for breath. "Oh, fuck my ass with your tongue! Like a good slut."

A warm glow seemed to fill the reporter's head at the word. She didn't know everything that Circe was talking about, but she got the gist of what the woman wanted. Pressing her lips to the sorceress's shithole, Lois rammed her tongue forward against the little round muscle, the tip of her tongue pressed against the very center...and as Circe relaxed, the quivering barrier opened and Lois Lane's tongue wormed its way into the hot little channel.

"Yes...yes!" Circe groaned. "Eat that ass! Eat it! Good slut! Good slut!"

Every time Circe said the word, a little thrill went through Lois...and she would lick harder, more forcefully. Swirled her tongue around and around the ass, not caring anymore about the bitter flavor, suppressing the need to gag, totally focused on the task at hand with all the empty-minded diligence with which a cat cleans its paws.

The sorceress's hips were bucking, and Lois Lane's nose was almost buried in the woman's pussy as her mouth enveloped the sweaty little asshole. All that Lois could smell was pussy and ass, a weird mingling of lockerroom smells. Circe released the reporter's head as she began to rub her own clit with furious intensity.

Ass. Good. Lois thought dimly, aware of a tingle of need in her own neglected pussy.