End: As You Wish

For a moment, there was darkness.

Not the darkness of the night, where even with the moon and stars covered with clouds there is still some little light to give shape to it. Not the darkness of a closet, or beneath the covers, where light might spill in the cracks. No, this was the darkness of the deepest caves, where light never touched; the darkness so total that the reporter's eyes would never adjust, where she couldn't tell the difference between her eyes open and closed.

Then the darkness moved. It flowed over her naked form, pushed past her thumbs. Lois felt lean, hard limbs, skin as supple as leather, almost burning hot to the touch. She felt the points of small, puffy nipples like points of fire as they touched her own, long fingers tipped with cruel talons that gripped her buttocks and lifted her up. A hot, wet mouth that left a trail of burning kisses all the way from her clit up the plain of her stomach, between her breasts, up her neck, to the hollow of her throat...savage kisses were the points of fangs sent a shiver of fear down the reporter's spine.

Then the cock touched her. Entered her. Lois Lane gasped at a feeling at once familiar and new. She had felt Angelica Blaze's prick before, knew the size and shape of it—yet she cried out in shock at the incandescent heat, the roughness, the implacable power as the burning cock threatened to torch her insides.

It was like making love to a naked flame.

One that scorched more than flesh.

Memories tumbled through her mind, dredged up from the reporter's subconscious. Sexual fantasies of long ago that she had forgotten. Ancient desires, hidden crushes. The girl from her first class in university, with the inverted cross that dangled between her breasts. The shocking appearance of a hard cock on a picture of Satan in an old text book. The daring goth girl who had worn a fishnet shirt to show off her breasts. The pornographic film where a young woman masturbated with a crucifix.

Dreams. Images. Lois couldn't put them away. Couldn't deny them. And through it all, she was aware of a melding. The faces of the Satanic women and men shifted. Became one. A familiar, hybrid face. Inhuman in its ferocity, its high cheek bones, the burning white eyes and dark horns, skin like red leather, bright as fresh blood on parchment.

Then there was light...and Lois Lane saw Blaze for what she was, naked and unadorned. Scarlet hands left burning prints as they gripped the reporter's ass tight. A hard prick like a red-hot spike shot its black jism against the entrance of the reporter's womb. A gash of a mouth was twisted in a familiar Mona Lisa smile...and they fell into the reporter's bed, the demon on top, pinning Lois down as something as hot and thick as pitch trickled down from the burning cunt over the reporter's asshole.

"Do you see me now, sweetmeat?" Blaze whispered, and her words were like the opening of a hot oven over the reporter's face. Lois Lane shivered with sensations she could not name. Fear mingled with ecstasy, pleasure with pain.

Instincts kicked in. The reporter licked her lips.

"I'd like to ask you a few questions," Lois Lane said, as she began what would become one of the most important interviews of her life.

Yet never, for the rest of their night out, did Blaze pull out. In every position, in every moment they were together until the sun rose, Lois felt that hard cock like a brand inside of her...and when, at last, Lois was satisfied, and Blaze had kissed her goodbye, Lois Lane had stared down at the thick black sludge that oozed slowly from her pussy, and knew there would be repercussions for tonight's actions.