End: Lois Lane Offers To Be Blaze's Spy

"And why," the scarlet succubus said. "Do I need a spy?"

The demon's private office was in a little room off the back of the bar. A few hard folding chairs and a small, round black cast iron table that looked as if it had been stolen from a Paris cafe. There was a bottle of high-end tequila, glasses, a wooden bowl of salt and another filled with fresh-cut limes.

"Because I have access to information that you don't," Lois Lane said, just as she had rehearsed in her head. She stared the demon in the eyes—those pure white eyes, without pupil or iris, that were sunk deep in dark sockets. It was like she stared through two holes in the world, into a pure white space beyond. "People will talk to me that won't talk to you. And I can ask questions that won't arouse interest the same way they would if you asked them."

Blaze's outfit consisted of two orange swathes of fabric that covered her small breasts, and a long orange loin cloth that served as a kind of skirt while keeping her legs bare. Ornaments came in the form of leering demonic faces, blind-stamped in metal, that she wore as a belt around her waist, a tiara on her head that kept her dark, oily black curls out of her face. The body itself was tall, long, and lithe, almost impossibly thin, like a human built on the scale of a greyhound—and her bared skin was a brilliant crimson. Other than the, the only overt sign of her demonic nature were the smooth dark horns that curled back from her broad brow.

The generous mouth was twisted in a Mona Lisa smile as she turned one of the glasses upside-down in the salt, to coat the rim.

"You have my interest," Blaze said. "But what do you want in exchange, Lois Lane of the Daily Planet?

Before Lois Lane could answer, Jacinda Blaze butt in: "Tits as big as mine, without surgery. And agelessness."

The demon set the salt-rimmed glass on its base. Red fingers squeezed a lime wedge into the glass. Her eyes fixed on the genderbent occultist, who stood behind Lois Lane's chair, arms folded beneath her ridiculous bosom.

"And you are...?" Blaze asked.

"My girlfriend," Lois blurted, at the same time as Jacinda said "Her lawyer."

The demon's mouth twitched. She opened the bottle and filled the glass, almost to the rim.

"Dipping your pen in the company ink, Lois?" Blaze said, and winked.

"I want us to match," Lois said, as she felt the heat creep onto her cheeks. "You can do that, can't you?"

"Easily," Blaze said, with a dismissive wave. "Although I'm not sure if I'll profit from this deal. You also asked for agelessness—immortality—most would give their souls for that."

"Superman is **** to magic kryptonite," Lois Lane said. "And I know where some is."

Blaze froze. Not paused, not held her breath, but froze. Unblinking, unmoving, perfectly still. Then she turned her head to look at Lois. Red nostrils flared.

"That's the first thing I'll tell you," Lois said. "If we have a deal."

The horned head inclined slightly. Blaze moved thumb and forefinger together, over the shot of tequila...and Lois saw a black thumbnail bite into the flesh pad of the finger. Saw black blood drip into the glass, which turned instantly black as ink.

"Very well. There is a ritual. A sign of submission," Blaze said.

"What do I have to do?" Lois said.

"Drink of my blood. Kiss my ass," the demon said simply. "The osculum infame."

The reporter sat up straighter. Her hand went to the glass, but Jacinda's hands grabbed Lois Lane's shoulders.

"We have you word?" the occultist asked. "Swear. Swear by your true name."

"By my name, Egirud Ara Dumu-imin-ĝíri-dug-diš-gù, Daughter of Seven Thunders, I swear it," Blaze said.

Lois Lane picked up the shotglass. Jacinda's hands eased. Nothing stopped the reporter from bringing it to her lips. Lime oils swirled atop the inky blackness. Salt crystals dissolved on her tongue and lips, there was a tingle—then a burning. All the way down her throat as Lois lifted her head back, to drain the last bloody drop.

She slammed the glass down at the table. It hit her fast—faster than it should have. Glassy-eyed, she stared and saw that Blaze had reversed herself, one knee on the chair, the orange loincloth drawn aside...red hands pulled apart the pert, shapely buttocks...and then, opening and closing as if it breathed on its own, was the devil's pucker.

Her heart throbbed in her chest. Pulse pounded in the reporter's temples. Lois stared into the gaping darkness of Blaze's asshole and felt herself drawn forward. It was like a black hole; it had a gravity of its own, and it was irresistible. The reporter's hands grabbed Blaze's thighs, her tongue extended...and then Jacinda Blood shot forward left ring finger extended. The big-breasted occultist spat out an incantation, and a hot wind burst from Blaze's backside.

Lois Lane was thrown back, eyes over her face. It was like staring into the open firebox of an old-fashioned steam train. Once, Lois had stoked coal for such a furnace, and she never forgot the dry heat, the smell, the laughter of the engineer as her eyebrows were singed...

"By your true name, I bind you!" Blood finished.

It may have been Lois Lane's imagination that she heard a wail. Yet in a blink of an eye, the heat had vanished, and so had the demon. Jacinda Blood held up her finger, where a band of red gold topped by a black pearl now adorned her hand.

"That should put an end to Blaze's schemes," the occultist said. "At least for now. Thank you Lois. I could not have gotten this close without you."

Lois Lane blinked. She shook her head. It still felt off. There was a foulness in her mouth, and her stomach burned. Jacinda reached down a hand and helped the reporter up.

"Is there any tequila left?" Lois asked.

"Yes," Jacinda said with a laugh.

"Well, that's something," the reporter said, and she poured for two. The pair clinked glasses, and crossed their arms as they tossed back a shot.

Morning crept through the blinds in Lois Lane's apartment like a thief. The burning light reached the reporter's eyes and she groaned and tossed her head. Her mouth opened and closed, odd and terrible flavors on her tongue. She felt pinned down beneath some great weight—and when she opened her eyes, she saw why.

Two massive breasts, the size of bowling balls, had replaced her demure, half-tear-drop shaped bare palmfuls that Lois Lane was familiar with. The weight of them had caused them to slide to either side, but they were still unnaturally spherical and perky, like implants. More, there was a note.

Dear Lois,
You expressed a true desire for these, and as I have no more need of them, I have decided to gift them to you.
Thanks for everything,
Jason Blood

Lois Lane stared at her massive mounds. She played with her feet. From the right angle, her new tits were so big that she couldn't even see them. This was going to be difficult to explain at the office...but at least she had a pair of souvenirs from her night out.