End: Blaze Impregnates Lois Lane's Cock

The scarlet succubus stretched forth her hand. The slim, feminine fingers turned into sharp-tipped claws that spit black sparks as they scratched shallow sigils into the flesh around Lois Lane's broken, stuffed prick.

"You know, normally, if I was going to impregnate a victim, I wouldn't bother giving them a dick first," Blaze said as the runes flared and burned with power. The demon drew back her cock a little...and Lois Lane whimpered as she felt something shift inside her body, at the root of her weirdly distended prick. "I mean, it's one thing to impregnate a guy, show them the infirmities of being a woman, strip away their masculinity, blah blah blah."

Lois grunted in pain as the demon drove her cock deeper into the reporter's body—but not back into her bladder. Pain spiked through the dickgirl reporter as the cock **** itself down another path.

The reporter's grasp of male anatomy was a little weak, but all she could think of was the seminal vessicle. The tube that ran to her testicles, down which her pathetic sperm was supposed to flow. Which was now being violated by Blaze's much larger, much more virile member.

"But I've got a need to breed," Blaze said, and her red nose crinkled a little. "And it amuses me to think of how you will handle your balls being turned into a pair of wombs, the dicomfort you'll experience as the pregnancy grows, and the final terrible agony as you birth both of those big babies, reducing your cock to a useless fuckhole, utterly sterile and without further use."

The demon withdrew her claw, and Lois Lane whimpered louder. Her tiny balls began to throb and ache—whether because of the demon's spell or because the picture she painted of Lois Lane's utter degradation was the most powerful erotic image that the broken and submissive reporter could imagine, even Blaze could not say.

The reporter still clutched the sheets. Her body was tense, every muscle quivered with tension. The small breasts heaved on her chest. Something had broken inside of her mind. Lois Lane had been pushed too far, too fast, and the manic grin on her face was the smile of the madwoman, the fanatic, the person who had leaped past the bonds of rationality and accepted without question the bizarre, the unusual, and the surreal.

"Do it!" Lois Lane whispered as her balls quivered in terrible anticipation. "Ruin me with your jizz! I want to feel your superior semen **** my pathetic seed! Make me carry your vile offspring!"

Blaze grinned. She knew from experience that such fits were temporary, driven by pain, fear, ecstasy, and arousal. Yet while it lasted...the red hips pushed forward and Lois screamed as if something tore inside her body. Blaze's huge balls jumped and clenched. A black treacle **** itself into the reporter's body...and Lois Lane's lower body shook as she felt her testes shift and change, and her mind imagined her fragile seed overwhelmed and gang-banged by the dark cloud of Blaze's Satanic seed.

There must have been more. There must have been a point when Blaze drew back, and let her cock pull out of the reporter's ruined, overstretched cock. The limp tube of flesh drawn out, useless, and full of black sperm. Yet darkness took the reporter's mind, and she knew no more.

Morning caught Lois Lane passed out, naked, on a tumult of bedding that had fallen to the floor. The **** urge to pee drew the reporter to crawl toward the bathroom. To stand up on shaky legs. By instinct, she turned and sat on the toilet seat.

She wasn't sure what was wrong until she felt the warm spillage over the lid.

The reporter stared down at her dick—or the gross parody of a dick, which looked like a horse's sheath, the urethra within raw and distended—as it sprayed out an undisciplined burst of clear warm urine. Lois Lane cursed as parts of last night's terrors returned to her, and reached for the toilet paper. Her balls, which hung suspended beneath her, throbbed painfully. Lois shuddered as she stared down at her transformed genitals in the cold light of day.

If Blaze had done as she said—and the reporter had no doubt the demon had the power to do just that—then over the next weeks her testes would grown an grow, and then her body would be nearly torn apart trying to birth them through her poor piss-hole.

The reporter shuddered at the image...and with a sick sensation, she wondered what, if any, choice she had in the matter. Zatanna, perhaps, would be able to restore her pussy...or someone in the Justice League. Hell, Superman had a copy of the Necronomicon. There had to be a way.

Lois cleaned herself up and strode out of the restroom to reach for the phone...and that was when she glanced at herself in the mirror.

Her reflection was normal. No cockhole, no oddly tender balls. The reporter paused and touched herself. She could feel them, but in the mirror, she could not see them...and the edges of the mirror shimmered, darkened, and the familiar naked form of Blaze stared back at the reporter.

"A last enchantment, sweetmeat," Blaze said, her cruel half-smile on her lips. "No one can see your pregnancy but you and me. Anyone that you try to tell won't hear you. Any word you write about it will erase itself. Any pregnancy test you take will go blank. To all the world and the universe, only the two of use will know what it is you carry between your legs. It will be your burden to carry, your little souvenir from your night out..."

The demon's voice trailed off as Lois Lane's legs suddenly lost strength, and the reporter collapsed onto the unmade bed. She stared down at the monstrous hole between her legs, the sore testes which even now felt swollen and hot, though that might just be her imagination.

The mirror faded. The reporter stared back at her reflection. In the glass, Lois Lane could see her slit, trim and perfect as it had been when she started her night out. Yet when her fingers reached down between her legs, they touched the soft, aching lips of a grossly distended urethra, liver-colored and sensitive to the touch.

"What am I going to do?" Lois asked herself. Yet there was no answer from Blaze...and, if the demon spoke true, no one on whom Lois could offload her troubles. This terrible cost was hers to bear alone. And the worst part was...she had asked for it. Begged for it. Pleaded to be degraded. Her own subconscious desires, finally unleashed, had brought these consequences on her head.

In the end, Lois Lane had no one to blame but herself.