Blaze Rips Off Her Cock and Balls

With a sweep of her arm, Blaze pulled the sheet off of her and Lois. The demonic dickgirl's right hand gripped her cock and balls tightly—the soft, flaccid dick that refused to get hard to violate Lois Lane. Once, this had been a tool of pleasure and domination, but if it refused to serve her purpose, then it would be cast aside.

Blaze pulled with her right hand. On her left hand, the nails grew into long, razor-sharp talons. The succubus grimaced in pain as she contemplated how best to accomplish her intention. Within her body, blood vessels began to shift and consolidate; the blood thickened and coagulated. The pale flesh swelled and darkened to a morbid, bloated purple, like an overripe fruit. There would be no sawing through soft tissues, no gout of blood. Her nails pricked her skin and Blaze took a deep breath, tasting Lois Lane's scent as she prepared for the terrible act of self-mutilation.

She thought of Lois. The rest was easy.

Her whole body tensed as the talons tore through her crotch. Ligaments snapped as she tore with her right hand and cut with her left. Invisible waves of pain radiated out from the demon in psychic waves, disturbing the reporter's sleep. Lois clutched and whimpered a little as her dreams roiled into nightmare...and perhaps it was that momentary distraction, the terrible concern that suddenly came over Blaze, which was responsible for what happened next.

The ragged wound over the demon's crotch closed; infernal tissue knitting together without so much as a scar. The bloated cock and balls lay in her hand, a fragment of unnatural life clinging to it. Without thinking, Blaze turned to Lois as the reporter murmured in her sleep...the demonic genitals slid out of her hand...and some pulsing, primitive impulse within that cast-off part of herself, a part that knew neither love nor mercy, found a new host.

It was around five A.M. when Lois slipped out of bed. Her charge was sleeping peacefully. Lois thought she looked like a tarnished angel in her borrowed nightshirt, the young woman having kicked off the covers. The reporter padded on silent feet toward the bathroom, her bladder aching...hoping she hadn't picked up another UTI...and utterly unprepared when she closed the door and turned on the light, to see the swollen purple monster that had attached itself just above her cunt, staring up at her, drooling and erect.