End: Blaze Escapes

Black ichor oozed out of the multiple wounds just above Blaze's crotch. The demon coughed hard as pain flared through her body. Again and again Lois Lane stabbed down, her hips jerked in a frenzy, cunny clamped tight around the neck of the magic bottle as she thrust again and again.

The demon growled and grabbed at the reporter...but Lois, fueled by adrenaline, was too swift for her. The naked woman's hands held Blaze's horns in a white knuckle grip as she suddenly lifted her legs...and brought the gore-streaked edges of the sharp glass stabbing up at the demon's face and throat.

Each thrust pushed the neck of the bottle into the reporter's pussy. Yet Lois was beyond pain as she drove the shards again and again into the demon. Blaze clawed at the reporter, but too late, as with a sudden explosive splurt the human woman hit an artery. A crimson gusher drenched the reporter's crotch, each powerful beat of Blaze's heart sending more of her life-essence to paint the reporter's thighs.

Blaze sank to her knees, weakened by the unexpectedness of the injury. Instinctively she concentrated on healing the injury...closing the tissues...but Lois did not stop. Her hips thrust, her whole body focused on the act of fucking the demon's face to ****...and black froth gurgled from the demon's throat as she realized, belatedly, the potential danger if this were to continue.

With a crash of thunder and a cloud of brimstone, Blaze vanished...and the naked reporter landed on her ass with a crash, her pussy still instinctively clamped tight around the broken bottle.

Better, the demon had figured, to leave on her own terms than for her physical form to eventually be destroyed. There would be time enough to repay Lois Lane for this indignity...some other night.

The Daily Planet's greatest reporter, for her part, shook with exhaustion and nausea. Her hips and pussy felt numb, but other parts of her ached from the sudden, unexpected conflict...and the terrible events of the night had left her shaken and violated. Shaking as the adrenaline wore off, Lois rolled over, her lower body half-covered in demon blood...and it was an effort of will to unclench and let the bottle drop from her sore and aching puss.

Now that the immediate danger was over, Lois Lane was left only with the mess...and trauma, physical and mental, to heal...and as she slumped in exhaustion into the chair at the table in the kitchen, the reporter wondered what she should do...and what she would do, if the demon came back to finish the job.

"Superman," she whispered to herself, and wondered if that was a cop-out...or if she even dared to explain to him what had happened to her tonight.

Yet as the sky lightened, and the stars went out one by one, Lois realized she had to trust someone. This was too much for her to handle all on her own.

A knock at the door caught her attention. Still naked, the exhausted reporter, who had not slept, staggered to the door and opened it without thinking...to see Clark Kent standing there, with coffee in one hand and a bag of fresh donuts in another...and he said absolutely nothing as the naked, gore-streaked reporter crushed him with a hug and buried her face into his broad chest as she began to cry.

The story would come out, over coffee and donuts. Clark would help Lois clean up the mess...and Lois Lane would gain a new appreciation for her coworker. Because sometimes what she needed most was not a hero...not even a superhero...but simply a friend.