End: Lois Lets Constantine Exorcise the Demon With His Dick

"If you're making shit up just to fuck me," Lois Lane warned. "I'll..."

"Tell Zatanna?" Constantine said with a wicked smile. "Sure she'd love to hear all the gory details. Or Superman? Can't imagine the Big Blue boyscout would appreciate that, though you never know, he might have a cuckold fetish..."

The reporter's eyes narrowed. "Batman."

That made Constantine pause and blink.

"It really is a demon," he said. "And this really is a way to get it out. Look!"

He fished out his prick. It was, the reporter noted, above average in length but not girth...and, she was surprised to see, was tattooed with ring after ring of Latin script, ending with a six-pointed star that had been seared into the rubbery purple head of his glans, which was likewise pierced with two metal pins.

"Silver," he said. "Blessed by a bishop. My flesh is sanctified by incantations anathema to demons and unclean spirits. Even buggered a werewolf once!"

None of which reassured Lois Lane as she lay on her own bed, legs spread, her fingers spreading her own labia wide. Constantine was handsome in a roguish sort of way, but he smelled like that older London—whisky and cigarettes, damp fogs and old men in pubs. She bit her lip as that pierced dick pressed against the entrance to her channel...

...and then he was inside of her, and Lois closed her eyes. Before tonight, it had been months since she'd had a man, or any lover. Now she could feel the little hard balls of Constantine's pierced dick digging against her...and he was feeding his cock in slowly, a little at a time, muttering something in Latin under his breath...and a part of her hoped that he really was exorcising something and that this hadn't just been some elaborate scheme to get in her pants.

The other, rather more urgent, part of her hoped he'd bottom out in her pussy and stir her up good. While penetration by itself was rarely enough to make Lois climax, it did feel good, and after getting doused by holy water—or whatever had been in Constantine's flask—she was wetter than she could ever remember being.

Line by line, millimeter by millimeter, inch by inch, Constantine fed that long dong into Lois Lane's depths. She felt a little thrill run through her as she recognized he passed the deepest any lover had ever gone into her. The reporter's whole body burned with anticipation, stomach fluttering and tightening, her pussy squeezing tight around the invading prick before she **** it to relax so he could spear her a little deeper. All of her better lovers had been over six inches, and Constantine had to be a hair over seven...maybe seven and a half...genuine porn star material...

When she did feel his zipper press against her ass, Lois could barely contain a squeal of triumph. He was so deep that she imagined his cock had to be a hair's breadth away from her cervix...and Constantine was leaning over her now, still whispering his incantations...and then Lois felt it.

Though he hadn't moved, something thrashed in the depths of the reporter's pussy. It banged against her walls. She winced in pain as it struck her cervix. Constantine was leaning over her now, his tie dangling down between the reporter's breasts, mumbling louder and louder, and she couldn't recognize all the words, but...

"Auggh!" Lois yelled as he pinched her left hip, hard. Instinctively she flinched, raised her hips—and stabbed the head of his cock, with its piercings right into her cervix. A blinding moment of pain went through the reporter's entire body...and then Constantine cursed and swiftly pulled his prick out.

Lois opened her eyes just in time to see the burst of black flame that emerged from her cunny, scorching her carefully trimmed black bush and filling the room with the rancid odor of burnt hair. The black fireball hovered for a moment before Constantine, like a stormcloud or a frozen explosion hanging in midair...and Lois thought, for just a second, she saw a woman's face in that cloud, hissing and angry, horned and inhuman. Yet Constantine simply grinned and held out his empty flask...and the green flame was sucked into it. Swiftly, he secured the cap, and then stuck it back into his coat.

"Well then, love," Constantine said, voice smug and triumphant. "Bit of excitement, but you're free of demonic contagion now. Told you I'd do it, didn't I?"

The reporter looked down at her pussy, which was miraculously unharmed...and at Constantine's still-hard prick.

"You, um, want to check and make sure?" Lois said, wincing as she pulled her labia apart a little wider. She flexed her internal muscles, and felt a warm dribble leak out and over her taint and asshole. "Just in case?"

Constantine's smug smile didn't change, but his eyes did. He reached down and rubbed a thumb against his swollen prickhead.

"No telling tales to Batman?" He said as he moved back between her legs.

"Not if I cum," she promised him.

That is how, in the end, Lois Lane's night ended: with her heels drumming on John Constantine's arse, the British occultist plumbing her depths, and the demon Blaze trapped within a flask in his coat pocket.