End: A Chastity Belt

From the depths of the trenchcoat, John Constantine brought a metal contraption. It looked like a belt of iron, but hinged, and with a central V-shaped, curved strap, oddly slitted. Odd runes and sigils had been engraved on the surface.

"That," the sexually frustrated reporter said. "Looks like a chastity belt. I thought those were a myth. Victorian claptrap, like iron maidens."

"Most of them are," Constantine admitted. "But this one is an exception. Once used to contain Elizabeth Báthory after her trial for **** and witchcraft in 1611. The sigils will help contain any supernatural influences, prevent any outside magicks from affecting you, and...prevent any unnecessary fornication."

"Unnecessary," Lois said dryly. She stared at the contraption with disgust.

"Love, a drop of precum could give you triplets right now," Constantine said. "You can't tell me you don't feel it. I can feel the heat radiating out of your quim."

Lois grit her teeth. She could feel it inside her now. Something scrabbling around in the back of her brain. Pussy so wet that rivulets were running down her legs. Thighs quivering with blind need. The reporter could smell John Constantine's cock. Her womb seemed to throb, **** for seed.

It took every ounce of her will to grab the metal contraption from his hands.

The central steel band was cold on her pussy, as she lined up the slit in the middle so that she had room enough to piss, even if it wouldn't admit any prick thicker than a pencil. At her perineum the metal band split into a curved Y-shape, leaving her anus bare. Lois closed the hinge about her waist...and the metal band immediately cinched tight. The reporter looked, but could see no lock or latch. It was as if she had simply shrunk onto her.

She touched the cool metal. Even though it was against her skin, it didn't seem to warm up. Worse, press as hard as she could, her captive clit could feel nothing. The reporter's jaw worked, the agitated thing in the back of her brain madly shrieking in dire sexual need.

"So...what now?" Lois asked.

"Now, you go home," Constantine said. "I've called the mystic-types, they'll go over this place with a fine-tooth comb, get your missing girls. But you've been touched by whatever it is. You're in danger. Go home, take a cold shower, anything you need to...calm down."

"And if I can't calm down?" Lois asked, her sexual frustration making her voice whine.

Constantine looked away. There wasn't a blush on his cheeks, but he hid his smile by putting a cigarette to his lips.

"Well, maybe explore a few possibilities, love."

Which is how Lois Lane ended up back in her own apartment. Hornier than she had ever felt. Pussy burning behind the cool metal. Ready to chew her fingernails off. The metal belt was not particularly heavy or awkward, though Lois feared the mess that would happen when she went to the toilet. And if this went on a couple of more weeks, there was her period. Lois Lane shuddered as she imagined how that would go.

Yet by the time Lois Lane arrived home, she had reached a decision. Not lightly, but one driven by supreme need and desperation. The Daily Planet's Greatest Reporter needed help, and there was really only one person she could call.

Clark Kent answered his office phone on the second ring.

"Lois?" He said. "What's up?"

"Smallville," Lois said, and hesitated. Not sure how to explain the events of the night to her friend and partner at the Daily Planet. Then something seemed to reach into her mouth and move her lips and tongue on its own. "I need you to come over to my apartment and make love to my ass. Right now."

There was a pause. The reporter's cheeks burned with embarrassment. She could only imagine what Clark was thinking, hearing her beg him like that. Would he disbelieve it? Would he ask her questions? A part of her wanted him to. Wanted to explain, to tell him everything. To have him come over, take her in those muscled arms and just cuddle her until this unnatural heat passed.

Instead, he said. "Of course, Lois. I'm on my way."

There was a click. Lois stared at her phone, her ears hadn't imagined the excitement in his voice. Well of course. He was a man, after all. A big, strapping figure of a man. Who probably had dreamed of Lois Lane's body from the moment they met.

The reporter shuddered and immediately began to strip, heading for the bathroom. If Smallville was coming over, she barely had time for an enema or two, to clean herself out.

She met him at the door. Lois Lane dressed only in the black silk robe, embroidered with dragons in golden thread. His broad shoulders seemed to fill the doorframe, cheeks rosy...and as he stepped in, the questions began.

Lois began by taking off her robe so he could see the chastity belt. Went through the events of the night. A part of her wanted to hold back, to spare his feelings at the more explicit parts, but Lois soon found she couldn't hold back. Couldn't stop herself from helping Clark off with his jacket. Unbutton his shirt so that she could run her fingers through the hair on his broadly muscled chest. Kiss those little pink nipples. Unbuckle his belt and drop down to her knees.

His big hands on her upper arms lifted her up again. Crushed her to his chest. Their lips met, her thighs wrapped around him...and half-naked, Clark carried her into the bedroom. Still a mess, her club clothes strewn about. He laid her on the bed, and Lois realized she would have done anything for him, right then. Any filthy act imaginable. The heat in her loins was impossible, and she could not think...and a part of Clark seemed to know that, as he dropped down onto his knees and turned Lois over.

Those great hands, used to lifting haystacks or pounding a keyboard, pried her buttocks apart. She quivered with irrepressible longing as his breath blew across her asshole...and then he pressed her face between her cheeks, the wet tongue sought out her tight little sphincter...and for the first time in her life, Lois felt a living thing push into her bottom.

It felt massive. Lois squeezed, instinctively, but she could not resist. She grabbed a pillow and bit into it to stifle a scream, tears in her eyes at the weird and terrible sensation of her ass being violated, so gently, so lovingly, so unrelentingly by Clark Kent's tongue. It pushed in and swirled in slow, even circles. The sphincter stretching. Her internal muscles straining as they instinctively tried to reject the invading organ. Tears slipped down the reporter's cheeks.

Great Caesar's Ghost...and I thought I could take his cock! The thought burned in her mind. He would have split me in two!

Lois Lane lost track of time...but Clark appeared tireless, and tirelessly patient. Gradually, as the first shock of his rimjob faded, Lois **** herself to relax. As she got used to the weirdness, a weird flutter filled her belly. She found her breathing slow. Panting softly, slowly. Pushing her thin buttocks back into his face. Encouraging Clark to go a little deeper. A little stronger.

Until she felt his nose press into the crack of her ass, fogging his glasses with his breath. Until parts of her body felt numb. Her ass felt absolutely melted...loose...sloppy with his spit, with the endless massage of his tongue. Lois lay her cheek on the pillow she'd been biting, face flushed, panting harder now. She had slipped past some threshold. It wasn't quite a climax, but it was...it was something else. Lois moaned softly, exhausted, every muscle in her body slowly relaxing. Giving herself over completely to Clark Kane's asslicking. Her pussy burned, it throbbed, her womb was like an open wound, but her ass, her ass...felt so good.

When Lois Lane awoke, it was dawn. Clark had tucked her into bed. He was beside her, still half-dressed, eyes closed behind those black plastic frames. She smiled at him. The lust, the unnatural need, was still there...but it was at bay now. For the moment. Her hand reached over to run her fingers through his chest hair. So grateful to have a friend like that. Knowing she needed to do something, anything to thank him for what he'd done for her.

Her hand slid down over the hard-packed abs. To the waistband of his pants.

"You don't have to," Clark said, as she fiddled with his zipper.

"But I want to, Smallville," Lois liked her lips. She could see his crotch swell and push against the zipper. Her eyes widened as the purple head pushed past his red underwear, as she finished unzipping him. "I need to."

She laid her head on his abs. Her tongue played around the glans of his swollen cock. It looked massive, in the first light of morning. She had no doubt that if he had stuck that in her last night, she would be shitting blood this morning.

"Help me, Clark," she said, as she breathed in the scent of his cock. "Until I can safely take this off."

Her mouth widened to engulf the head of his cock...and Clark Kent's groan was like a deep rumble that rattled the reporter's skull, as she lay her head on his stomach and sucked on the head of his cock.

"Of course, Lois," he said. "Whenever you need me to..."

It was not the end to her night out that Lois Lane expected, this new arrangement, this deeper friendship with Clark Kent. But then, as she looked back on the events of the night, on the choices she had made and not made, the times when she had zigged instead of zagged...Lois wondered what would have happened, if she could go back to the start of the night, and how things might have been different.

Then Clark Kent's middle finger slipped into the soft, spit-slick asshole of the Daily Planet's greatest reporter, and Lois didn't think of anything else for a long while.