End: Lois Lane's Ass Is Spoiled

There must have been a streak of inhuman cruelty in Poison Ivy. Spoiler had been trained by Batman, after all; the young woman's body a coiled steel spring, and the combination of hormones and mind-controlling pheromones rendered the blonde heroine into an engine of anal destruction. The reporter was no less enthralled by Ivy's terrible new creation, could do little to nothing to resist as the wooden strap-on slammed deep into her ass and then pulled out...in and then out...too fast for Lois Lane's hole to adjust.

The reporter gritted her teeth as her anus bulged. As she felt something tear within her body. A white-hot ring of pain in asshole, and then as something gave way, she felt the outside air on her integument as, for the first time, the reporter's insides were exposed to the outside. The reporter's colon clung to the wooden prick like a pink sock, like some mad masturbator's feverish fucktoy.

Only Spoiler couldn't stop.

Tears dripped from beneath the mask as Lois Lane clung desperately to the poll. With every thrust, the reporter felt the bite of that dick plunge deeper into her wounded body; with every withdrawal, a little more of Lois Lane came out.

Minutes ticked by into hours. Sweat dripped from the women as their muscles ached. Lois had collapsed downward, slunk against the pole until her cheek rested on it, and only her splayed knees kept her ruined ass in the air. The once-pert pucker of her asshole was now a gaping pink ruin, the flesh folded back on itself. It glistened wetly like a deflated meat donut, and Spoiler's salty tears fell on the prolapsed anus as she continued her wanton ****.

By the time Batman and the others arrived, Poison Ivy was long gone. There was blood on the wooden prick, and Spoiler's body was wracked by sobs as they administered the antidote. Someone picked up the reporter, who gave no more resistance than a boneless cat, her brain numb.

The worst part was, she was still awake by the time she made it to the underground clinic. They didn't dare put her all the way under, as the slid the IV's into her veins. Face-down on the table, the surgeon stared in mute horror at the utter destruction of Lois Lane's asshole. Yet the reporter would never forget the words the doctor said.

"Well, she won't be as tight as she used to be. But I've seen worse."

Curiosity made Lois turned her head and try to raise it. There was a mask over her face, to feed her oxygen. She tried to ask a question—voice muffled, barely coherent—and the doctor, with the dark shades on over his eyes, gave her a kindly smile and began to tell her stories.

Of Wonder Woman and the centaurs. The Green Lantern Jessica Cruz, who had been attacked by Doctor Psycho and overwhelmed with lust. When Guy Gardner had insulted Big Barda, and she had shoved her mega-rod so deep and hard that it had cracked his spine and put the redhead into a cast for months.

He told the stories in a light, even tone, even as he massaged numbing gels into her sensitive, exposed ass-flesh. She knew at one point there was a scalpel, and a laser. The smell of burnt flesh. Times when his imaged flickered out of her consciousness as pain welled up, and all she could concentrate on was his voice as he told her of the strange and terrible anal atrocities that had afflicted the world's heroes.

Starfire with the alien intestinal parasite that had demanded to be born. An evening's play with Beast Boy had gone terrible wrong when, mid-transformation, the green half-man, half-hamster had been unable to extricate himself from Raven's caboose. Zatanna and the Cursed Butt-Plug of Blaze. When Black Canary gave birth, and split from vulva to anus.

Terrible, horrible stories that Lois Lane knew would haunt her nightmares. Yet somehow his matter-of-fact tone, the clinical detail, the fact that he could talk about all these things without pause or flinching, and that they all had a happy ending...or at least, a more-or-less complete recovery...somehow helped Lois through the worst moments.

It must have been near dawn when she realized that Spoiler was holding her hand. The reporter's eyelids were heavy. She was aware of a purple light that spilled over everything else in the room, and yet all she could do was watch as Spoiler reached up and pulled off her mask to reveal a young woman whose face was a mask of shame, eyes puffy from crying.

The purple light went out.

"There you are then. Not as good as new, I'm afraid. You'll still have a tendency to prolapse if you go too big, too hard, too fast. To avoid that, I recommend regular exercise of the anal muscles with a dilator. Nothing too strenuous. Spoiler here has volunteered to help you with that."

The blonde swallowed and nodded, as if accepting a grave responsibility.

"It's the least I could do," Spoiler said in a choked voice.

Maybe it was some imp of the perverse that made Lois Lane smile—or maybe the anesthetics and exhaustion caught up with her. Yet she said, very clearly, before she passed out:

"You're going to spoil my ass rotten."