End: Lois Lane Chokes A Bitch

Maybe it was cocaine. Lois Lane felt giddy...maniac...she just looked down at that dick, her cervix still hurt deep inside, her nostrils were numb and it was as if she watched someone else's else close around that throat...thumbs press down on the arteries...and Angelica Blaze looked up the reporter in momentary confusion, opened her mouth, but nothing came out...

...and then, against all of Lois Lane's expectations, the bitch smiled.

Even while Lois was cutting off her air supply, Blaze began to thrust her hips. Pain flared throughout the reporter's abdomen as the head of the stupidly-long cock stabbed again and again into the back of her pussy. Lois growled in pain and frustration—but instead of rolling off of the dickgirl, she tightened her grip.

It was a contest of wills and endurance. The muscles of the dickgirl's neck were surprisingly strong, but Lois Lane's ****-and-anger-fueled strength saw her nails cut into that pale throat. The cock kept pounding away at her pussy with the steady pace of an oil pump.

They were locked together in the hatefuck to end all hatefucks...and Lois could feel the strain in her forearms, see the dickgirl's face shift to pink, and then scarlet. The lips began to turn purple...and still Lois Lane held on, as her whole lower body wracked with pain with each upward stroke, hisses of pain and little moans passing her lips...

Deep down, though, Lois was a good person. She could feel the throb in her temples. The worry that she had gone too far. That she might actually hurt Blaze if she carried on. Shaking, hands cramped, Lois prepared to let go...and then Blaze's whole body jerked and shook. Immediately, Lois tore her hands away...saw the dark blue half-moons her nails had made in that muscular neck...and then Blaze let loose a sigh...and the eyes rolled up in her head, so only the whites showed...and the pounding cock went still, collapsed beneath the reporter.

Desperately, Lois tore at the dickgirl's chest, searching for a pulse...and with a sigh, she found it. Licked a finger and held it beneath the dickgirl's nostrils...and felt the coolness of air moving. With a sigh, the reporter rose on shaky legs...and saw, with a kind of dull shock, the jet-black goo that dripped out of her cunny. It looked like cum, but it was black as crude oil...but the reporter could not focus on that right now. She needed to get out of here...escape while she could.

The lock of the desk gave way in less than a minute. Lois emptied the contents into a convenient trash can bag. Files, papers, bundles of cash, a brick of a familiar white powder...the reporter didn't take the time to go through it. Angelica Blaze could awake at any minute.

By the time she did, Lois Lane was out of the club, out on the streets of Metropolis, and hailing a cab. Her ass squelched as she got into the back seat. Lois knew her pussy was a sticky mess, but there had been no time to clean herself out. Her pussy still ached; it had been her first real sex in months, and it had been far rougher than any sex Lois had before. She wanted a shower, a hotwater bottle over her abdomen, an ice pack on her pussy...

...and, perhaps, another bump from the brick of cocaine she'd stolen. Just a taste, just enough to keep her going. While Lois Lane's night out hadn't given all the information she'd set out for, the files she'd stolen would no doubt include clues to solve the mystery...and get her story.

At least, that was what Lois Lane told herself. In truth...things were happening inside her body that the reporter was unaware of. Chemical receptors in her brain would demand more cocaine; tiny black sperm slipped past a bruised and battered cervix. Much could happen...but unless she was very careful, Lois Lane, the Daily Planet's greatest reporter, would have both an addiction and a baby to deal with soon.

As for Blaze? After Lois left, she allowed herself a little chuckle. In truth, the demonic dickgirl couldn't remember the last time she'd had such fun.