End: Lois Lane Kills The Bottle

Strange altars. Fear toxins. Missing women. Recklessly, Lois Lane poured herself glass after glass, and the level of the body lowered and lowered. An unnatural heat suffused her as she considered the events of her night out. Like pieces of a puzzle, only she didn't know what the picture was.

Over it all came those images...the sight of her own grossly pregnant body. Hanging teats that dripped with milk. Swollen stomach that would hang past her knees, as her ass balanced on the edge of the chair. The reporter shuddered at the unbidden image.

Her clothes came off, one by one. Strewn carelessly around the kitchen until she stood naked before the half-empty bottle. With a grunt, Lois pulled the bottle from its resting-place inside of her. She set it on the table, next to the vodka...and poured herself another couple of inches.

"Don't wanna get pregnant," Lois told the bottle. "Like someday, maybe. Just...don't wanna get all fat and gross..."

Just like that, Lois saw herself once again, her taut, trim body sagging with rolls of fat, stretched out in strange ways, nipples chewed and dark from feeding rugrats. Like her mother had been. Yet her mother had only had two children, and she had never really shifted all the weight, had always had those scars where they'd cut her sister out of her.

Vodka chased the nightmare away, just for a moment.

The reporter's fingers found her pussy. The bottle had rubbed her raw. The **** helped to chase off the shivers of fear...but couldn't stop the nightmare flashes of her grossly transformed body from intruding on her reality. She held up the bottle...there were only a few inches left in the bottom. Lois Lane held it up to catch the light, as her fingers rubbed at her sore pussy.

She wasn't sure when the idea came to her. Or, really, when and how she ended up on the floor. Yet she was on the floor. Knees up, legs spread. She watched as she guided the long neck of the vodka bottle into her pussy. Raised her hips...

It was like pouring acid into her cunt. The bottle had rubbed her raw in truth, and Lois hissed and grimaced with the pain that burned inside of her...and then she shook as the fear came back. Uncomrepehnding, raw, primal fear. She imagined her bloated belly convulse as the life within squirmed for relief. The reporter shook her head violently as she strove to dispel the image. Jammed the bottle up to the shoulders in and out of her pink twat, vodka spilling down the crack of her ass as she jammed it in and out, and her forearms quivered with the effort.

Lois Lane wasn't even aware of what she was doing as the bottle sawed in and out of her. The **** went straight to her head, the room spun about her. The maddening visions interspersed with fervid, **** sensual need, so long denied...and when she went over that precipice of desire, her whole body arched, her cunt impaled on the empty bottle...and when she collapsed, at last, she lay limp and insensate.

Unable to hear the soft footsteps that tread on her kitchen floor.

The demon Blaze stared down at the reporter with a mix of pity and disappointment. Scarlet fingers pulled the bottle from Lois Lane's kitchen table, and noted it was still sealed, the contents undisturbed.

"I had hoped she had better uses for you," the demon said, and eyed the drunken, **** reporter on the floor, the empty vodka bottle still embedded in her pussy. "Something or someone has interrupted my well-laid plan, the trail of breadcrumbs I left for her. Perhaps next time...yes, perhaps next time she will fall into the depravity I had planned for her."

Pure white eyes glowed for a moment beneath dark horns.

"Until then, Lois Lane, enjoy the nightmares. For I shall give you far greater ones."

Yet Lois Lane was unaware of anything...nor would she remember much except the terrible nightmares that assailed her, of pregnancy and birth, her disgust mingled now with lust. A combination that would get her in trouble one day...but that is another story.