End: Lois Goes Down the Elevator

The reporter rolled over to the elevator. She had been going down this entire time. Her instincts told her that whatever was going on, the answers lay down below. With an ab-crunching effort, she angled herself back up onto her base, chin at just the right height to hit the downward arrow. The door chimed open.

Lois fell onto her side and rolled inside the open elevator. There was a brief moment of fear that she would get stuck in the gap...unable to pry herself loose, or perhaps caught half-way as the doors closed...but her torso rolled over it without much difficulty, and Lois Lane found herself on her back inside the elevator.

It was all brass and mirrored glass. The reporter turned and stared at her reflection. Arms and legs gone as though they had never been. Naked and lithe, little more than a head at one end and a pussy and ass at the other. Lois had seen sex toys like that, sold in specialty shops. Everything from pocket pussies to silicone torsos. She shook the thought out of her head, heaved herself up to a "standing" position again.

"I'm no-one's pussy," she whispered to herself. There were four buttons on the elevator panel, but Lois could only reach the lowest one, marked BB. She angled her chin and hit it. Then carefully fell back on her side, ready to roll out the door the moment it opened.

The door opened to some kind of a boudoir. Thick red plush carpet, hanging draperies of silk, mirrors on the walls, pillows, used condoms, spent bottles of lube tossed casually about. One open doorway revealed bathroom. Dominating the entire scene was a large circular bed. Lois rolled toward it carefully. She couldn't see anyone, but she could hear someone gently snoring.

The bed was too high to climb up. But through diligent effort, the reporter levered herself up so that she could look, just over the surface of the bed. Past the ruffle of silken sheets to see the nude figure in the center.

Her skin was crimson as fresh blood, the body lean and muscled, no fat at all, breasts small and dainty with dark, almost purple nipples. Her eyes were lost in shadow, face framed by a tumult of oily black curls, and jutting from her brow was a pair of dark, curly horns. Only a gossamer veil of red silk across her hips and thighs concealed her sex from view.

Yet what most caught Lois Lane's attention was the weirdly phallic gem held in one outstretched hand. It was pink, and seemed to glow from within, the light pulsing gently like a living thing. If opal could shimmer and move, it might look like that. The light caught and held the reporter's gaze, her nipples hardened, her pussy dampened, and the nubs of her arms and legs tingled.

Didn't the Vixen mention a gem? Lois tried to remember the details of their conversation, which felt like months ago even though it must have been only an hour or two. Whatever the case, Lois felt sure it was the heart of this particular mystery. If she could just get onto the bed...

The reporter fell to her side, and rolled over to the nearest pillow. Gripping it with her teeth, she flipped herself over, tossing it to land near the base of the bed. The reporter grinned in triumph.

It took a little over an hour, rolling farther and farther away from her pile to gather more pillows, and the reporter was rugburned all over before Lois judged that her "ramp" was sufficiently large and stable enough to try. She maneuvered herself to the base, and rolled over onto her stomach. As quietly as she was able, the living onahole inched forward as she had before—using her abs to pull her base up, then stretching forth with her chin.

Slow and exacting work on a flat surface, on the wobbly mound of silken pillows, only supreme dedication kept Lois from spilling out onto the floor. But it was working. Even if she only gained a couple inches with each "step," and her abs burned like she'd just done a hundred crunches at the gym, after many weary minutes the reporter flopped onto the bed, like a mountain climber finally hitting the top.

Lois tried not to breathe, as she saw the naked red form stir. Her lungs burned, but she dared not make a sound. When the snoring started again, very carefully rolled over.

The ceiling, fortunately, was mirrored. Lois stared at herself, lying alongside the red woman only a couple feet away on the huge round bed.

Now... The reporter blinked, trying to figure out the angles. She had no idea what to do with the gem once she got it. Had no way to hold it, even. Unless... The reporter squeezed her pussy experimentally. Yes, she still had the superhuman muscle control there. If she could get her entrance lined up with the gem...

The reporter began to roll.

It was careful work. Move and stop, move and stop, always watching to see if the demon had awoken, always angling in a great arc to get closer, ever closer, pussy tingling in anticipation as she zeroed in on her quarry.

Finally, she ended up on her stomach. The outstretched tip of the phallic gem was only inches away. Lois drew herself up in a crunch, looking in the mirror to guide her efforts, trying to shift her body south. It was so hard to do without arms and legs! She felt like a fish, flopping on its back, getting nowhere...

...and then she realized the demon's eyes were open, pure white eyes in darkness, staring at her reflection in the mirror. The demon smiled.

"Lois Lane," her voice was sultry, some unplaceable Mediterranean accent. "How close you've come. How much you must have experienced tonight." She licked her lips.

The demon rose up onto her hands and knees, drawing the glowing gem away from her. Now without the cloth in the way, the reporter could see the rapidly-hardening scarlet cock and balls hanging between the demon's legs.

"No," Lois whispered, She flopped onto her back, determined to get away. Yet soft, strong hands grasped the limbless woman about the middle and lifted her off the bed.

"No no no!" Lois screamed now, wiggling as much as she could...and then suddenly froze in fear as she felt herself lowered down, something hot and hard pressing at the entrance of her cunt.

"Yes," Blaze whispered in her ear. "You did well to make it this far, but not every story has a happy ending."

With aching slowness, Lois felt the hands release their grip, letting gravity itself sink the reporter's body down onto the hard, throbbing erection. The reporter wanted to scream, but felt choked, scarcely able to breathe as the demon let her slip down.

"Your night out, Lois Lane, ends here."

And as the reporter's pudenda sank onto the red balls, Lois felt all hope drain out of her, despair crowding in on her mind. Unable now to fight back as the demon tightened her grip again and raised her up, then let her fall back into her lap. Up and down, up and down, the limbless living onahole unable to do anything to save herself...

In her own bed, in her own apartment, the alarm on her phone blared. Lois Lane sat bolt upright, wet with sweat, **** and panting. Her eyes immediately went to her arms and legs, and a **** relief went through her as she found them all present and accounted for.

She shivered as the vividness of the nightmare.

What a living hell! I wonder what brought that on?

The reporter stared ruefully at the empty bottle of wine by the table, the laptop still open to a pornographic cartoon. She didn't remember drinking or rubbing one out last night, but Lois knew if she had killed an entire bottle, she might have suffered an alcoholic blackout. At least, that would explain why her pussy was sore...and sticky.

Lois shook her head, which had begun to throb. Definitely a hangover. She needed to quit drinking entirely for a while. Clambering out of the bed on unsteady legs, the reporter stripped out of her bedclothes, eager for a shower and a brand new day...

...never noticing the distinct white stains in her panties as she tossed them in the laundry bin.

"I really have to go to that club tonight," she told herself as she turned on the water. "I need to find out what happened to those missing women."