End: Get Fucked By The Penetrator

It was like holding a wolf by the ears. Lois Lane held the weapon-cum-sex-toy out at arm's length, but the purple dick writhed like a living then, bending double on itself as it groped for her cunny. Not for the first time, the reporter cursed her own impetuousness...and struggled to think about how she would get out of this situation.

Blindly, Lois stumbled around, trying to keep the animated sex toy away from her. She stumbled against the altar, knocking away the last mix of bottles and sweeping away piles of offerings. Unexpectedly, the Penetrator reared up...and now Lois could see the line that had opened along its smooth head, a crevice that opened obscenely and drooled something thick, clear, and viscous. For a moment, Lois simply stared at it in horror.

A moment was all it needed.

The Penetrator smashed against her face, the monstrous pre-cum staining the reporter's lips. Lois staggered back and fell across the altar. Her grip slipped as she struggled to pull the thing away from her mouth...and for a second, she had no handle on the thing at all.

Immediately, it dove down toward her legs. Cloth tore. Lois coughed and sputtered...and then her eyes shot wide as the purple prick penetrated her.

It was bigger than the sperm. Lois Lane reached down and grabbed the body, and felt warm flesh where there should have been only heavy-duty silicone. Pain lanced through her crotch as it wiggled and thrust, the baseball-bat handle wiggled impotently, too far away for Lois to grasp. She screamed as her pussy stretched to the breaking point, tears in her eyes from the pain of tearing flesh and **** intrusion, from anger and rage.

A scream that echoed through all the dark halls beneath the club.

A scream lost in the darkness and the night.

In another world, perhaps, someone would hear that scream and come flying to help. Lois Lane would be rescued. The corrupted sex weapon would be removed, destroyed. Yet Lois Lane had gone to the wrong place at the wrong time, and there was no one to help her.

Morning found the naked reporter splayed across the altar like an offering to a licentious god. Between her legs, the gaping hole was stiff with dried blood, oozing a black ooze like tar. The Penetrator lay at her feet, the purple flesh shrunken and dried, utterly spent, dead. It had accomplished its dark purpose.

Lois Lane was fucked...and she was beyond tears, lost in some private world of pain and shame at her degradation. Hating herself for falling prey to whoever had set the trap of that altar, that idol. Yet there were no more tears left to cry. Because Lois Lane knew, even if her long, horror-filled night out was over...a new and more terrible story was starting, inside her body. A sequel unwanted, unplanned for...and which, she realized, she would need help with.

Wincing, Lois dragged herself off the altar...and as something fluttered in her belly, she hoped she would find such help in time.