Deeds, Not Words

Hands shot out and grabbed the reporter's wrists, pulling the woman close. Instinctively, Lois wanted to react, to fight—and she told herself that it was only the magic of the wish that made her weak as a kitten as the demon bore her down onto the hard, cold floor. That made her thighs open so easily as Blaze pressed down on her. That made her almost moan with need as the cock pushed its way into her unresisting pussy.

Lois realized her error as Blaze pressed her wrists to the floor, holding her arms apart as her lower body moved, roughly shoving her cock in and out of the **** slit as though afraid any moment she would be caught in the act. The demonic dickgirl's lips rained hot kissed down on the reporter's neck and shoulder, Lois turning her face away to deny her at least her mouth...not, the woman reflected bitterly, that it mattered much anymore.

Despite her ****, Lois could feel her body respond to the rough fucking. It had been too long since she had been with a man, the plunging prick scraped against all the sensitive spots within her, pushing deep and grinding in small circles, balls slapping against her buttocks. Lois could feel the heat building up inside her, skin beginning to flush, nipples standing out...and hoped that Blaze would not see them and know the pleasure that she was unwillingly eliciting from Lois Lane's traitorous body.

Even **** victims can orgasm, she thought acidly, though she knew that she had practically invited Blaze to fuck her, had offered no defense, and might not even now if the demon let her go. As it was, it took all of Lois Lane's willpower to keep her feet planted on the ground instead of wrapping them around the dickgirl's waist, to stifle the moans that threatened to rise up from her throat, to keep her face turns to avoid those kisses.

A **** might not care whether their victim enjoyed the act or not. For them, **** was an act of power and domination. But Blaze nuzzled the reporter's cheek, rubbed her tiny breasts against the reporter's own, and whispered softly, pleadingly, in the reporter's ear:

"What do I have to do to see you writhe in pleasure?"

A thousand carnal thoughts exploded in the reporter's brain, and the magic began to **** open her mouth. Lois knew she couldn't fight it, but she hoped—she tried—to at least shape it to her purpose. If she had to give in to pleasure, it would be on her own terms.

"R-release the women," Lois said thickly. "And I will moan like a whore as you fuck my brains out!"

The demon paused. Lois risked a glance up into her face, which seemed suddenly thoughtful. After a long moment, where Lois had to **** herself not to grind her body against the invading prick, the demon offered another question:

"You promise?"