End: Barely

For demons, sex was an expression of power. Satisfaction was often swift, unless it was better to draw it out to better demonstrate their dominion. Sexual pleasure was little more than a release, secondary to the act of making someone else submit, to hear their cries as their bodies betrayed them utterly, and their mental walls collapsed as their bodies were wracked by pleasure or pain or both.

It took immense self-control for Blaze to sit there, as the reporter's warm fingers gripped the demon's shaft. Eyes fixed straight ahead, Blaze might have appeared to any onlookers as if she was in rapt attention on the bared breasts and bad effects of The Breast Witch Project. Yet in her seat, rigid as a totem pole, Blaze did not even register the soft mounds on display, or the hardcore inserts that the projectionist had cut into the film, to turn a softcore feature into an erotic horror mixtape.

No, Blaze was entirely focused on her cock—and she fought every instinct as she struggled and strained against her will, both against ejaculation, and against the desire to simply lift the reporter bodily in the air, impale her on the turgid prick, and blow another load into that sticky slit.

Except...they had made a deal. An impromptu agreement, one that had happened so fast that Blaze had not even thought about it when she said "Okay!" to Lois Lane's little game. Had not realized the difficulty she would face. The thwarted desire. The incredible sensitiveness of her prick as she held back, far longer than she ever had before.

It was an exquisite agony, a perverse pleasure, a taboo ****, all the more so because Blaze was utterly powerless, unable to do anything except sit there, utterly supplicant, while Lois watched the film and ran her palm up and down the shaft. The reporter's fingers couldn't quite meet around the thickest part of Blaze's dick, but they ran over and over the supersensitive glans, and Blaze grit her teeth as the pre-cum began to ooze freely from her cumhole.

The dickgirl's left arm was over the back of the reporter's chair, the better to give Lois Lane the reach to stroke her cock. The shaft seemed to tower in the darkened theater, light from the screen reflected on it, strange, jerky shadows cast as the reporter's hand went up and down, up and down...and then realization hit Blaze.

Two could play at that game.

Blaze's left arm dropped, down the back of the seat. Like many old cinemas, there was a metal backplate, and then a gap between the cushions. The dickgirl's fingers slid in that gap. She worked blind, by touch, focused now as her fingers touched first the hem of Lois Lane's jacket—and then the soft flesh of her lower back. Ran down, past the waistband of those tight red pants, down the crack of Lois Lane's ass.

"Not fair!" Lois whispered, as she shifted in the seat—not to deny the hand access, but to pull her pants down around the top of her thighs and press her ass back, legs up. With her weight on the back of the seat, it tilted up...and Blaze grinned as the reporter's ass hung half-exposed.

Just enough for the dickgirl's longest finger to touch the bottom of the reporter's pussy. To tease the very end of that little slit. To wiggle in to the wet, tight hole. Just the tip of her finger. Just enough to tug, ever so gently, and stretch the little pink lips from side to side and down.

The soft pants of Lois Lane in the dark were Blaze's reward.

They didn't stop. Not for the entire film. Even as Blaze felt that aching pressure build up at the root of her prick, like the magma dome of a volcano. Her nostrils twitched as she drank in the smell of her own pre-cum and Lois Lane's cunt juice. Anyone at any time could have walked in and seen them. Yet foran hour and a half, they were alone in their own little world.

Until the credits rolled. And neither of them could take it any longer.

Lois Lane lurched forward. Her feet hit the ground and she did an awkward shimmy to her right, pants still tight around her thighs. The reporter held Blaze's prick in a ****-grip as she lined it up with the cunt that Blaze had teased so mercilessly, and then sat—sank down on it, all the way to the base—and Blaze couldn't even hump her. There was a single lurch, and then the cock erupted deep inside the reporter.

Rope after sticky rope splattered the mouth of Lois Lane's womb, and the reporter closed her eyes and frigged her clit mercilessly. Blaze gripped the reporter and held her tight as she emptied herself into Lois until her balls ached—and the cock continued to spasm, even when every last drop had been pumped into her fertile depths.

They were a sticky mess, and fumbled with their clothes as the theater's lights came on. The dead-eyed janitor watched them without interest.

Then they were out on the street again. The cool of the night felt good on their hot skin. They both ached, walked stiffly, and could feel the mess of spilled sperm inside their pants. Lois Lane, energized and excited at their illicit encounter, began to giggle and laugh.

Arm and arm they walked. Straight on 'til morning. As if Lois Lane's night never had to end, and they never had to face the consequences. To live an erotic dream where there was only the now, there was only the need, the games they could play with each other...and by the time the dawn, sullen and red-eyed, broke over Metropolis, Lois Lane had no thought whatsoever for a morning after pill, or marrying Superman someday, or the women who had gone missing.

All she thought of was how she was going to fuck Angelica Blaze next; how she was going to wring one last load from that swollen cuntbuster of a cock. To milk one last terrible ejaculation from those balls deep inside of her. To shed, at least in her own mind, the final vestige of that good girl image and become...someone else. More adult. More confident in her own pleasure. Not a cumrag for Blaze to use, but an eager mouth that sought her favorite fucktoy and rode her to completion.

In a way, perhaps, Blaze understood that her purpose this evening had been flipped on its head. That she, who had sought to use Lois Lane in her schemes, was now the one being used.

Nor did Blaze care in the slightest.