End: Lois Lane Bites The Cock That Feeds Her

When faced with the choice, there was ****. Life or ****. Swallow the cum or let the vampiric women in the mirror drain what little warmth was left in her body. No Superman, no one to save her.

So it was up to Lois Lane to save herself.

The reporter's jaw muscles bunched as her teeth closed hard on the burning prick inside her mouth. Hot jizz burned her mouth, but she put all of her strength into making her teeth meet. All of Lois Lane's strength—and something else. Her will, her spirit, her desire to live, and live free, all compressed down into a single action. Untapped reservoirs of resistance rose in Lois as she felt the rubbery skin of that demonic prick fight her teeth...and for a moment it was a war of wills as much as flesh, two spirits that flared one against the other, a battle that took place simultaneously in the physical world and on some psychic level.

Time slowed. The icy caress of the ghostly women in the mirror seemed to fade, repulsed by the reporter's single-minded determination. All of Lois Lane's remaining life **** converged on that one moment, that one action—and against that raging spirit, even a queen of hell may be little more than the flickering flame of a candle.

There was a crash of thunder as Lois Lane's teeth clacked together. A spurt of blood and cum that sprayed across her face. The crack of glass as the mirror shattered. And maybe it was just in Lois Lane's head that she heard the scream, a deafening, high-pitched banshee scream of loss that seemed to fade into the distance.

To leave Lois on her knees, still a-shiver with cold, the only heat in her body the hot, bloody chunk of meat and spunk in her mouth.

Which then began to squirm. To writhe around inside of her, to blindly crash against those teeth, to bulge out her cheeks. The reporter slapped her frozen hands against her mouth as the still-living sought to bust its way out...and some instinct told Lois that letting it go free was not an option.

Maybe that was why, with sudden and terrible swiftness, she inhaled. Her gullet opened. The mad, flailing, dismembered prick was sucked into her throat—and even then it fought her, squirmed against her as Lois swallowed and swallowed, all that bitter jizz and cloying, coppery blood, and finally that hunk of burning meat slid down her throat and into her stomach.

The reporter held her hands over her mouth for a few minutes. She sucked in cool air through her nostrils and shut her eyes against the heat and pain in her chest, worse than any heartburn she had ever known. The demonic prick coiled an slithered like a dying dragon in her stomach...but slowly, achingly slowly, the heat spread through her limbs. The cold left her. When Lois thought she could manage to keep it down she lowered her hands and opened her eyes.

They were pure violet, those eyes, without pupil or iris. They saw clearly through the shadows and darkness, to every corner of the room. The empty frame that had once held the mirror stood stark and haggard before Lois, and as she stood up Lois felt oddly light-headed...giddy. The pain faded and a new strength flooded her body.

She smiled, then. Lips twisted to reveal teeth stained with black blood and blacker cum. Lois didn't know how she knew that, since she couldn't see her own pearly whites, but some new knowledge or instinct told her that...and the reporter knew that her ordeal had changed her. That she would never quite be the same after this night out.

A long tongue licked the film of cum and blood from her lips. The dismembered cock in her stomach was almost quiescent now, as the reporter's will and spirit bore down on it. Lois Lane moved toward the exit, tip-toeing through broken glass with her new senses.

Look out world, Lois Lane thought. Here I cum!