End: Lois Takes Matters Into Her Own Hands

Lois Lane awoke alone. Blaze's minions had fled. Mary Marvel had gone to secure her prisoner. The Daily Planet's greatest reporter lay curled on the floor, with a gutful of demonic spunk.

It was time to do something about that.

The reporter raised her head up. It pounded horribly. Her stomach roiled. She didn't want to look at what was happening in between her legs.

She let her mouth open. Two fingers dived between her lips. Pressed far back, along her tongue. The reporter couldn't remember the last time she had done this—how long it had taken her to stop doing this.

It started with just a moment of not being able to breathe. Her throat convulsed. Lois didn't try to fight the feeling. She felt her stomach compress, the hot bile burned as it rose up her gorge. Kept her fingers there until the half-digested demonic jizz burst out in a torrent.

There had been nights at university when Lois would purge after dinner. She'd been so busy, and it helped keep her thin. The freshman fifteen was a terrible thing, and Lois had been determined not to pack on the pounds like so many of her fellow students.

Except that made her ****. She'd had a boyfriend who was into it. He'd buy her dinner, watch her pack away the prawns and beer, then excuse herself...and Lois Lane would be bent over the toilet when he'd slip in behind her, pull her panties down, and then his bare, unprotected cock slid up inside of her...and as he fucked her, her stomach would convulse, each time her abs flexed her pussy would squeeze and he'd pound her harder.

It had been unhealthy, in more ways than one...and it took Lois time, and therapy, to overcome her eating disorder.

Here she was again.

Black jizz and yellow bile poured out of the reporter's guts and onto the floor. She puked so long and hard that her ribs hurt, and Lois wondered if she'd actually broken one. Even after the last glob of Blaze's Satanic spunk had drooled past her lips, Lois sat there, weak and shaky, to spit and scrape the foulness off her teeth with her tongue.

It worked...or at least, Lois hoped it had worked. The headache had faded to a dull throb. Her stomach growled. The reporter managed to stagger upright...and she could feel a black stickiness against her legs. She looked down and saw...just a pussy. Covered with a black slime, a foulness. Lois frowned, not sure what had happened.

All the reporter knew was her throat hurt, she was hungry, and she needed a washup and probably a beer...and she resolved, right then and there, to put this whole episode behind her. To move on with her life as though it had never happened. The world would not hear about Lois Lane's night out.