End: Experiment

Lois Lane hit the stop button on the elevator, which shook to a halt. The demon was, hopefully still sleeping and stuck down in her boudoir, and no one could get at her here. Considering that she still wasn't wearing pants, it seemed as good a place as any to try and figure out how this magic gem worked.

The reporter held the vaguely phallic gem up near eye level.

"Abracadabra," she said, and waved it at the far wall. "Hocus pocus. Presto chango. Open sesame."

In all of her work as a reporter, Lois Lane had seldom had any occasion to study the occult. She racked her brain for what little she knew of witchcraft, Satanism, and real magic, as opposed to fantasy novels like The Lord of the Rings. Vague memories came to her of Black Masses where a nude woman served as the altar, of sex magick ceremonies carried out in pentacles, and incantations involving the names of angels and demons.

In the dim light of the elevator, the smooth, tapered sides and rounded tip of the ruby-red gemstone seemed to emphasize its phallic character. Lois licked her lips as she felt how unnaturally warm it was to the touch...how it seemed to pulse in her hands in time to that flickering flame in its heart. She wondered...

"This is a bad idea," Lois muttered to herself as she bent her knees and pressed her lower back against the metal wall of the elevator. She closed her eyes as she rubbed the rounded tip of the gem against her slit, to smear the blood-red surface with her juices. The light within flickered, the surface turned slightly opalescent as Lois pressed it against her cunny.

It was thicker than what the reporter was used to, and if she hadn't nearly broken her pussy on that shemale horsecock earlier, Lois had no idea she would have balked at any effort to actually insert this thing, but as it was she was wet enough—confident enough—and horny enough that she just bent her knees, kept a firm grip on the irregular base, and pushed...and her slick cunny stretched to let it slide in.

Just as warm as a real cock...but harder. Lois let out a huff of breath, her nipples suddenly hard. She didn't normally care for penetration as much as clitoral stimulation, but something about the combination of heat and hardness were working for her. It was like she was a young woman again, trying a dildo for the first time...her first had been a glass dildo, too big for a virgin pussy, though Lois hadn't known that, and she had only mounted it at last due to an incredible desire that consumed her entire being...not far from what she was feeling now.

Except this Lois Lane was older and wiser, and she knew that her task in all this wasn't supposed to be getting off, it was figuring out how to harness this thing's power so that she could free those women...maybe undo their transformations, for those who wanted that. Desperately, Lois tried to recall more magic words and phrased.

"Sator, arepo, tenet, opera, rotas," she intoned as she squeezed the gem in deeper. She couldn't believe how wet she was, her cunny practically dripping all over the place, making it hard to hold her grip. "Uh, so mote it be! Azerath, metrion, zinthos! Klaatu, barada, necktie! Shazbot! Alakazam! Shazam!"

Black lightning erupted from the floor of the elevator. It speared Lois Lane's cunny and lifted her up her feet. The reporter shook as every muscle in her body seemed to contract at once. She couldn't move, couldn't breathe, couldn't even think. In that second, even her heart stopped, and darkness closed in on her vision, narrowing them to the faintest pinprick of vision.

Which is how she was aware that the elevator cage, knocked loose from its mooring, descended now at a tremendous rate and crashed into the floor at speed.

A cloud of dust went back up the shaft. Ancient fire alarms blared. Whores and customers fled up stairwells and out fire exits. Clubgoers milled as cop cars and fire engines arrived in response to signals carried by old wiring. There would be many arrests, a certain level of ****, and finally a few of the strangely transformed prostitutes, now freed from their mystical compulsion, were guided by social workers back to the lives they had so foolishly abandoned.

Hours later, as the sun rose above the clouds of Metropolis, a new day dawned. The night was over.

Down below, a figure heaved herself up out of the rubble at the base of the shaft. Her skin was red as fresh blood on parchment. Dark horns emerged from over eyes that glowed pure violet without pupil or iris, and dark hair fell to her shoulders. She stood up and saw herself dressed in a kind of white, knee-length dress trimmed with gold, a golden lightning bolt stiched as an emblem onto her chest between her small breasts, a half-cape about her shoulders.

Lois Lane blinked, and held up red fingers tipped with talons. She hadn't dropped the gem, but it was nowhere to be seen. Nor was Blaze.

"Great Caesar's ghost," she said as she pulled up her skirt...but what she discovered there, and what had actually happened to Blaze, is another story. For now, Lois Lane's night out was over...and a new day had dawned, a new superpowered being to grace the streets of Metropolis as hero or villain.