End: Lois Lane Stays Sane

How long can one suffer without going mad?

How long can one writhe in ecstasy without the same?

All night long, Lois Lane was held suspended between heaven and hell. Not permitted to sleep, her weary brain rebelled against the orgasms **** on her body. Exhausted limbs massaged, but always there were new pleasures, new sensations, sometimes sharp, sometimes soft. Never for one moment was she still, never for a single breath was she allowed to rest. She was driven on, and always there was some hot pair of lips kissing her naked flesh, a hard cock penetrating her aching cunt.

In the final hour toward dawn, the reporter felt herself near collapse. Every inch of skin was covered with drying saliva or semen. Her hair was matted and slick, dry lips cried out hoarsely for water. She could not keep her eyes open, and yet the darkness was no relief from the torment and pleasure as nails scraped lines across her flesh, tongues sought to stuff themselves greedily into holes two or three at a time, and Lois Lane was sure at any moment that this would be it...that something about this experience would cause the final break with reality, and she could drift into the comforting fantasy of madness.

Yet it didn't happen. No matter how much she desired it, the reporter's mind was a stubborn thing. Instinctively she fought the little illusions brought from lack of sleep. Tried to squeeze her tired thighs together, to **** the cocks out of cunt and ass. Even if only symbolic, too weak to do more than squeeze on the invaders, Lois could not bring herself to surrender totally to madness, or to the maddening forces that kissed and caressed, licked and fucked.

Until, as dawn came, the reporter realized dully that the myriad hands had disappeared. Her limp body, totally without strength, was sprawled on her side. Warm hands held her left arm against her body...and something was moving, sliding in between the firm fold of flesh of her armpit, the hairs catching in the skin. Friction burned, and the reporter opened her tired eyes...

She was back in her own bed, in her apartment. The sun had begun to stream through the window. With a stiff ache, she turned her head...and stared without comprehension as a crimson cock head poked out from beneath her armpit. And disappeared. Poked out. Back. Faster and faster, the underarm clammy with sweat. The hands that held her were slim, feminine, but red as blood...and there was a panting, an eager, **** huffing of breath, and when Lois realized where it was coming from she shut her mouth...and then there was an almost silent roar as the cock came.

Greyish black seed dribbled out, squirting hotly but softly. There was no pressure behind it. Lois had known men that came for the third time in the night that had ejaculated like that, more from sheer **** of will than lust...but as the cock disappeared into her armpit for the final time, leaving a slimy trail behind it, the reporter knew that the demon had come much more than three times tonight...

"Ahhhh," Blaze said with satisfaction. She eased Lois down onto her back. "Thank you, Lois. I needed that. It's good to clear the old pipes every now and again."

The reporter stared impotently at the demon. Blaze's naked form showed something of the wear of the long night. Her whole body was spattered with little grey-black droplets, and the dark hair hung limp and damp. Even the pure white eyes seemed to have purple bruises under them. The demon leaned over and gave Lois a light kiss on the lips.

"If you need to find me again...well, you know where to find me."

Then she was gone.

Lois Lane closed her eyes. Sleep came almost immediately. Later, she would wake up stuck to the sheets by dried cum. Would wash the nasty black seed out of her sore and swollen cunt. Would cry and drink and write and delete what she had written. For now...for now she would simply sleep, her body healing from its ordeal.

Knowing that while a new day had come, the repercussions for this night out would be felt for many nights to come.