Descend Into Darkness

Lois stepped through the doorway, and stood at the top of the stairs. There were no lights beyond the door, only the light from the landing behind her lit the bare concrete steps and dark iron rail that descended downward into darkness. Grasping the rail, the reporter took a deep breath—and stepped off into darkness.

Time was an enemy, Lois knew. The moments between waiting for things to happen was when doubts came in. She replayed her conversation with the demon in her head, thinking of things she might have done better. What lay ahead...she couldn't begin to guess. Except that they would be challenges. What was a challenge for Lois Lane?

Insecurity gnawed at her. There were things that Lois had sworn, during the course of her life and career, to never do. She knew nothing of Blaze's capabilities, but if the demon could see into her mind, her soul...the things that she had refused to so, the things that she had done...

"Nothing to be ashamed of," Lois whispered out loud. And she knew it to be true. Whatever mistakes Lois had made in her life, as a daughter, a sister, a reporter, a woman—she had always played straight. Done the right thing, as far as she could. Made amends when she screwed up. That realization gave her a sense of confidence, as her feet hit bottom.

It was a small landing, barely a couple feet of concrete between the narrow brick walls. Lois could barely see, the light above so faint...but what she could see ahead of her was...a door in the shape of a woman.

Lois shifted from side to side, trying to get a clear view in the weak light—it was like a statue of a woman in black bronze, nude, embedded in the wall. Her thoughts turned to Hans Solo in carbonite, but there was nothing funny about it. The woman's feet and hands were bound and buried in the dark metal, her head half-buried with only nose and mouth exposed. The legs were spread, dark thighs parted to reveal the folds of her sex, the bare breasts like teardrops.

There had to be a way forward. A way to open the door. Lois just had to find it. And since this was a challenge, the key to opening the door would no doubt be something she normally wouldn't do...

Hesitatingly, the reporter reached out with her hands. The breasts were cold and hard under her palms, like hemispheres of solid metal. She could feel the nipples as bare bumps, only slightly rising above the surface of the tits. Gently, then with increasing pressure, Lois tried to squeeze them...but they wouldn't move. Solid as anything. But the longer she was in contact with them, the warmer they got...and then, subtly, a shift.

The woman was still metal, as solid as a statue, but as Lois watched, it moved...very slowly, very subtly. She could feel the points of her nipples begin to press into her palms. Bronze teats growing erect. Back arching slightly more. The statue was alive.

The reporter rubbed and caressed the bronze bust, feeling a little strange at groping this statue, frozen in place. Can she feel it? Lois wondered, as her thumbs rubbed hurriedly over those nipples, feeling the metal heat up from the friction. Does she think I'm molesting her?

She grit her teeth. If that's enough to get her to move...then to get her to open...

Lois released one of the statue's hard breasts, and brought her hand down between those bronze thighs. A master artist could not have captured the perfect folds of that pussy, every wrinkle and bump perfect under the reporter's fingertips. She traced the way the inner lips extended out of the labia a little, the deep hood where the clit was hiding, the little prickly stubble where the pubic hair had been shaved away.

"If I had a drill, I bet, I could screw you proper." Lois muttered. "But this will have to do for now."

Her hands traced the length of the pussy. It was hard and unyielding as a brass rail beneath her fingers, and Lois flashed back to old days polishing the family silver—she couldn't push her fingers in to that brazen cleft, but she could rub it, friction heating the metal. Slowly...slowly...she could feel and see the woman in bronze respond.

The lips began to open up, so Lois could rub deeper, though she still couldn't press into that metal pussy. The nub of the clit began to emerge from its little bronze cave. Her thighs widened, the hips thrust forward...and a dark crack began to show around the edges of the frame, where it met the wall. Instinctively, Lois pressed forward, one hand grasping the bronze pussy, the second holding the hard metal tit—and slowly, the whole wall, statue and all, moved backwards.

It wasn't brute strength, Lois learned after a moment. She had to continue to caress the statue, polishing that clit until the metal shined bright and golden in the weak light, rubbing her nipple...and other places. Feeling her squirm so slowly beneath her as Lois sought to keep her titillated, excited, loose enough so that she could push...and push...

After a foot of travel, the top of the stair came into view, and then the reporter redoubled her efforts, though her hands felt rubbed raw. It took whole minutes to reveal enough of the stairwell down for Lois to squeeze through the opening...and she swore she heard the statue sigh as the reporter descended deeper.

"That's one," she rubbed her stiff, sore fingers. "I hope the next challenge doesn't require me to use my hands."