End: Lois Lane Will Fist Anyone For A Story

"I hope you brought your own lube."

The words were out of Lois Lane's mouth before she could think. The weirdest thing was, Mara did, almost immediately, produce a bottle of lube. Which is how, to the reporter's disbelieve, she found herself with thumb tucked into palm, fingers steepled as she slowly worked her hand into yet another asshole.

How in hell did I end up here? Lois Lane wondered, as Mara's greedy ass swallowed her wrist. Next to her, Valeria moaned...and as the reporter watched, a warm anus wrapped around each hand, the two naked women before her had a sort of moment.

Their eyes met. Lips opened to moan as the reporter pushed both arms forward. The squishy depths of their colons slid up her forearms. Then their heads tilted. Tongues extended, touched...and as Lois watched, the two women began to make out. Eyes closed, lips locked, heads each moved with a frightening urgency as the reporter moved her hands in and out, to pump them a little deeper each time.

Just to get her elbows in.

The reporter's face flushed as the make-out intensified. She felt like little more than a tool in this threesome, but curiosity and a determination to finally get some answers from these sluts. Which is how, as her tired arms ached, Lois found herself on her knees, bent down, one of Valeria and Mara's legs thrown over each shoulder, so that the two women could lie on their sides and finger each other's pussies as the Daily Planet's greatest reporter did her best to not actually break their assholes during what must have been the most intense sexual experience of their lives.

Answers finally trickled out, after the two women had climaxed. Lois would always remember the feel of those sphincters as they sucked at her arms. How oddly light-headed she felt as she sat up, lower back and shoulders sore, knees bruised from the tile. She got the outline of what was going on...a woman, or maybe a metahuman, named Blaze who offered women steady employment and sexual ecstasy in exchange for their souls. Young women **** and horny enough to sign their blood onto the dotted line.

Yet before Lois Lane could stand, she heard a throat clear. Turned her head...

...and saw the line of naked women.

"So, like, um...we brought our own lube..." the first one said, with the nervous smile.

She was thin, twenty-something, dirty blonde, with small breasts, and the muscled physique of a dancer. Lois Lane recognized Jenny Dunlap, another of the missing women.

"I have some questions," Lois Lane said wearily. "But assume the position."

It was a long night out. By the end of it, Lois Lane, who had never so much as stuck a finger up the bumhole of any other woman, had found herself with a thorough working knowledge of the inner anal anatomy of at least a dozen. Her arms from the shoulders down ached, and she could barely lift them to get dressed as, an hour or so before dawn, she staggered away from the club and its insatiable sluts.

The demon Blaze watched the exhausted reporter go. She could almost smell the reporter's pussy, wet and sexually frustrated. Her girls had done well. Each answer had raised another question, each question had drawn Lois Lane deeper. There was the chance that Lois Lane would simply call one of her super-friends to come end her little operation, but the scarlet succubus thought of herself as a good judge of character...and had little doubt that she would see Lois Lane again, soon.

Blaze licked her lips. She could almost imagine the reporter's curiosity eat at her inhibitions. How once Lois Lane was at home, in the shower, to wash off the sweat and filth of the night, her fingers might brush her own asshole...and wonder, just for a moment, what it must feel like...

"You'll be back," Blaze said, and squeezed her hand into a fist. "And when you do...you will never be the same!"

Whether or not that prophecy came true is another story.