Blaze In All Her Demonic Glory

Lois Lane's nipples and clit were stinging. Her pussy hurt...not just the ache of a long night of lovemaking, but a kind of pain she had never experienced. She had been stretched deeper and wider than ever; her pussy had been used roughly. The rest of her body was covered with bruises, the marks of strange fingers and mouths. The reporter had been violated in ways she could never have imagined.

She had been afraid, and she had been angry; she had been pushed to the brink of exhaustion, and now Lois was in that space beyond. Her bones might ache with injuries that would only heal slowly over weeks and days, but for the moment her mind was clear. More than any other time in her life, Lois was prepared to stare horror in the face.

So she turned around and did.

The people were barely worth a glance. A crowd of normal, naked orgiasts, vaguely pathetic and silly-looking as all humans are when you stare at them with eyes open. A mass of humanity that gathered around something definitely inhuman, although not too close. Lois read the crowd, the animal instincts warring with conscious desires. They hated and feared her, lusted and loathed. Crowded around their queen without getting to close. And she...

The devil was red, a red so deep and dark that in places it seemed to be black. In outlines she was human, but the more Lois took in of her, the less of a resemblance there was. There were horns jutting up from her brow, like polished ebony; the face was something regal and yet broken, like the bust of Nefertiti pressed through a windtunnel, and when her enigmatic smile broke into a toothy grin, she saw small, sharp teeth like a shark.

She—Lois wasn't sure why she thought of it as a she—stood, legs apart, poised on the balls of her feet. Small breasts on a slim, deep chest like something on a big cat; her loins were concealed by a tangle of matted black hair, but one slim hand slowly stroked a black horn jutting up from the middle of it...and it took Lois a moment to recognize it as a penis. It was too sharp, like some bizarre sculpture in dark red flesh, and the head was almost flush with the shaft, only defined by a deep crease lined with small rubbery spikes that reminded the reporter, bizarrely, of a cat's dick. Of the screams of a female cat in an alley.

There was something more than that, something Lois had difficulty focusing on. The demon—for Lois had no doubt that was what this creature was, whatever it called itself—there was a depth and a presence too it that went beyond the confines of its body. A kind of aura that stirred at her memory and instincts. Part of her wanted to piss itself and hide, another part to fall down and frig herself, fingers digging into her sore cunt in search of release.

"Hello Lois," the familiar voice said, an odd accent more apparent now. "I am Blaze, Queen of Hell."

Lois Lane's left hand clenched into a fist. She dragged one foot forward, eyes on the figure in front of her. Blaze seemed almost too real, like a high-definition video character in a grainy film world. Watching the muscles move beneath her skin reminded Lois of the instinctive way she jerked her hands and feet away from spiders, cockroaches. Lois wanted to run, to vomit. She took another step instead.

"I wasn't sure you were ready to see me," the fingers teased along the tip of that shaft, a grey smear on the end of one long, tapered red talon. With idle cared it pressed down, the first joined of the finger slipping almost effortlessly into the head of Blaze's weird prick. "Even my followers can barely tolerate me, in all my glory. Though compared to some in Hell, I am considered...fair."

One more step. Lois could taste her now. Sickly-sweet, musky and stale, like fungi growing on a dead log. There was that forest smell sweating off the red skin, odors of ****, decay, and terrible new life feeding on the same. Lois realized, this close, that part of what was throwing her off was that the bones were wrong—weird angles beneath the flesh, distorting her overall appearance, a skull too long and elongated for a normal human. The reporter was too steps away now, and couldn't stop the wet stream down her legs.

And as Lois studied Blaze, so did Blaze study Lois...with white-on-white eyes, no iris or pupil. She wondered what the demon was seeing, to look at her.

"What are you?" Lois asked, to break the silence.

"The daughter of a demon and a wizard empowered by the gods. A fire that cannot be quenched. The spark from heaven's forge that refused to be extinguished. I am woman, Lois Lane, and oh so much more."

One more step.

"Or less," Lois could feel the air grow greasy around her, and realized she was drenched in a cold sweat. Ugly memories were bubbling to the surface of Lois' mind now—fights with her mother and sister, hateful things whispered by boys that just wanted the patch of fur between her legs, falling into a mudhole and feeling the liquid filth soak through her panties and slip into her cunt—and Lois couldn't tell how much of that Blaze was dredging up deliberately, or were just being brought to mind by her mere presence.

"So strong," Blaze whispered. "What shall I do with you?"

Lois' fist tightened, pain breaking through the sensory overload as her nails dug into her palm. The demon was only a step away.