End: Lois Summons Blaze

It took an effort of will for Lois Lane to pry her face away from the pussy. It was real—so real and thick and meaty—that it sagged against the page, as if trying to push itself through. The reporter panted like a dog as her eyes scanned the facing page, looking for the words, the key, the magic that would bridge this world and whatever one where her demon lover dwelled...

Moments later, Lois Lace was on her knees in the kitchen, within a pentacle drawn in her own sexual fluids. The book was before her, at one spoke of the pentacle, and her fingers rubbed furiously at her own gash, dropping onto the floor. The reporter could not remember the last time she had been so wet...so horny. It was all she could think about, like a fever of the flesh, every sense on high alert. She could smell her own raw cunt, taste the scent of her own sweat and desperation in the air. Unfamiliar muscles spasmed and shook with terrible need...a singular want...which had a name.

"Gone oh gone, in myriad ways...

Release me from this lusty maze...

This endless, eternal, damning craze...

Come forth to sate me...Blaze!"

Her fingers punctuated each syllable, and with the final name she plunged three of them into her dripping twat at once, her whole body arched like a bow, and she sprayed, which she so rarely did, her cunt letting loose as she spurted and squirted all over her hand, the floor...until the innermost pentagon of the pentacle was filled with a five-sided lake of her pussy juice.

The naked woman shook, not relieved in the least from her sudden climax. If anything, she felt even more **** than before. Her whole body shook, and sweat dripped down between her breasts...from her eyelids...down the slimly muscled thighs...and into the puddle below. Lois looked to the book, not sure what she had done wrong...

Only to feel despair eat at her heart she found the crimson cunt had vanished, and it was mere painted vellum again.

"No!" Lois said, and brought her fist crashing down into the sodden circle...and then hissed in pain.

All around her, steam rose. The pussy juice bubbled and spattered. Hands, red as a boiled lobster, burst forth from every point of the circle. Lois Lane cried out as the hot flesh touched her. Her skin reddened as though scalded under a hot shower. A glow burst forth from beneath her, and Lois Lane stared down into that puddle...and the scarlet face that emerged from it, hair as black as night, eyes pure white without pupil or iris, the face as red as fresh blood...and when those scarlet lips found her pussy and latched on, Lois Lane screamed in mingle pain and joy.

Scarlet fingers tangled themselves in the reporter's hair. Groped at her breasts, leaving lines of scalded flesh. Lois thrashed as the floor bubbled and she sank into it, as a horse might sink slowly into boiling mud. Her whole body thrashed with pain, eyes wiled, ecstatic as that hot tongue like a living flame left no part of her cunt untouched...and Lois shook and shivered and came and came and came as she was pulled down, into that dark world where the greatest sinners burn brightest, and even the damned might envy them...down into the arms of a devil as lusty as Lois herself, into arms that no longer burned to the touch, to feel another pair of breasts press against her own, and a pair of lips whose cold kisses burned against the reporter's superheated flesh as they picked their way up her body..and Lois welcome that snake-like tongue that slid into her mouth and down and her throat and filled her whole body with a darkness so complete that it shut out even the memory of light.

In her apartment, some days after Lois Lane's night out, they would find the messed bed, the discarded clothes, and the book...a book which had its own destiny, and its own future victims. Yet of Lois Lane herself, they found no trace at all, except for a surprising number of vaginal secretions and a tuft of pubic hair.