End: Demonic Women Bound, Defiled, and Milked

Sigils flared on the black door as the demonic reporter neared. The changes in Lois Lane's body hadn't stopped. Black Alice and Deadman could see the bones shift beneath her skin, the muscles bulge and limbs elongate. The clothes that once fit her so well now looked ready to burst at the seams, and as Lois stepped inside the club, her feet burst her heels, splayed toes now tipped with sharp claws, pads on the balls of her foot soaking up the sound of her tread.

The reporter paused just inside the door of the club, so that Deadman and Alice had to squeeze in behind her...and beheld the ghastly scene.

Red lights flashed. Demonic women were held in place in steel stocks, which were covered with black and silver sigils and diagrams. Horned heads tossed within silver collars. Fangs gnashed at ballgags. Steel and silver chains were drawn through rings set in the floor, with bars set between their knees so that they could not close their legs. Pendulous, overfull breasts shook, the black veins protuberant on their surfaces.

Yet the real horror wasn't the four women in chains.

It was the customers that abused them.

Rich men and women in suits and evening gowns, served by masked attendants, men and women, dressed like caterers at a cocktail party. Raucous laughter filled the room as one of the woman **** her whole hand into a horned, bound woman's pussy. Eager hands grabbed at the swollen tits and squeezed black milk into champagne flutes. As Lois watched, one man pulled his cock out of a woman. A trickle of white sperm oozed out of the violated cunny, to join the white stains that ran down her legs, and onto the puddle of grey-white cum below.

"It's a milk bar!" Deadman said, his borrowed body pale and shaking.

A low growl came from Lois Lane's throat...but then she fixed on the far corner of the room. A woman sat there on a large chair, tall and stately, dressed more like the priestess of some antique cult, an orange sash across each breast, long legs bare, a chain of metal discs with leering demonic faces about her waist. She was slim and lithe, and the dark hair that poured from her head hung to her shoulders like a black, oily waterfall. The too-generous mouth held the merest ghost of a smile, as if she knew a secret that no-one else did.

"It's her," Lois Lane said. The reporter's hands flexed, and her nails extended into black claws. Her shoulders heaved, and the leather jacket split over Lois Lane's spine. Anger rippled off the reporter in waves. "Blaze."

The demonic reporter launched herself forward like a linebacker. She barreled through waiters and waitresses, roughly shoved a man in a tuxedo aside, and roughly punted the woman whose fist was still pressed inside one of the bound women.

Blaze rose languidly. Black lightning flickered over her body as she dropped her human guise. Dark horns curled up from her imperious brow. Skin as red as blood on fresh parchment was stretched over lean muscle. Her eyes glowed, showing neither pupil nor iris. Almost casually, the tall, slim demoness extended one hand, to gather the black lightning in her palm as Lois Lane charged forward.

It was a terrible tableaux. The reporter could see her doom written in that dark spark. Whatever strength the demonic transformation had granted her, Lois Lane knew she was no match for Blaze. The scarlet succubus knew it too, and took pleasure in allowing Lois to come closer, as customers began to scream and shout. Relishing each moment as the reporter charged headlong toward her own inevitable defeat.

Then Blaze's world went wrong.

Lois Lane seemed to move in slow motion as the demon's eyes widened...and then Blaze seemed to collapse in on herself. The black lightning evaporated into sparks, the horns vanished, the crimson flesh bleached out into pale, soft, and very human pink.

Somewhere behind her, Black Alice roared. "Do it! I can't hold her for long."

The demonic reporter didn't even break stride. Her left leg came up as though she were going to kick a field goal right through the upraised hands of God. It slammed between Blaze's legs, and a crack like thunder echoed throughout the club as the reporter's cunt-punt shattered the temporarily-depowered demon's pelvis. The **** of the kick sent Blaze sprawling back into her throne-like chair, which toppled over backwards.

In a moment, the reporter was on her. Hands bunched into fists as she sat on the demon's chest and aimed unartful blows at her face and head. Righteous fury filled the reporter at the mistreatment the women had gone through...and however long she might live, Blaze would remember that beating. The weight of that body on her chest. Dull impact after impact that shook her skull and rattled Blaze's brains.

In the end, Black Alice, swollen red with Blaze's power, had to haul the reporter off long enough for Deadman to haul the broken and bleeding body of Blaze into the nearest set of bonds.

"Easy big girl...easy!" Alice said, but Lois was lost in a fury...and when she twisted in the young woman's grip, the empowered Goth was pushed off-balance. She collapsed onto her back.

That was when Lois Lane's enlarged clit burst forth from her pants.

Maybe it was chance that Alice was on her back, knees spread. Or some premonition that this was always the way that it would be. Or even some less-than-secret desire that the young woman had held in her heart, ever since she had become old enough to have sex legally. Whatever the case, she made no move to resist as the reporter's mouth covered hers, or as the reporter tore away the skirt and thrust her cock-like clit into the dripping, almost-virginal slit beneath her.

Boston Brand, long dead and past the carnal urges that gripped the two women, went about his work. The customers and waiters were clearing out. Blaze spat teeth, both eyes blackened and swelling shut, as he clamped her into the metal stocks. He didn't know if the spells in them would hold her once Alice's borrowed power returned to the scarlet succubus, but it would have to do. In his mind, Brand was already making a mental list of people to call...mystics and magicians whose powers and expertise would be needed to free these women, reverse their transformations, imprison Blaze.

Lois Lane, the hero of the hour, was beyond helping. Her buttocks rose and fell as her engorged clit plundered Alice's pussy. A long, forked black tongue lolled out of the reporter's mouth like a dog's as she lost herself in the delicious tightness of Alice's cunt—and beneath her, the temporarily demonic Goth moaned like one of Hell's own whores as she let herself be pounded into the floor.

The Deadman smiled to himself. Eventually, the transformation—and the lust—would wear off. Yet her could not but judge Lois Lane's night a success, even if the ending had been brief and rather violent. Blaze stirred in her bonds and spat what was left of her teeth onto the floor. She tried to glare at him, but could not see through her swollen eyes.

"You have not won! I will fuck you all! I will wear your skull as a condom as I **** her corpse! I will have my **** on you, Lois Lane..."

Dead as Boston Brand might be, he felt a familiar stirring in his pants. His borrowed body was very much alive...and as he pulled his hardening cock out, the Deadman determined that the least he could do for his host was to get his rocks off. So Boston Brand stepped over to the depowered demon and shoved it into her bleeding hole.

"Shut your face," he suggested as his hips began to buck.

Then there was only the sound of pants and moans, as the night wore on. Until all the fucking was done, and once again, it was time for the clean-up.