End: Putting A Ring On It

Lois tugged and pulled, but the suction of the devil's vulva was too great. In desperation, she lifted the book off the bed...only to see and feel it slide down her arm. Muscles clamped around her bicep, pulling the book along her arm, swallowing ever more of it.

In a sudden panic, Lois pulled desperately at the book, the sexy mood evaporated as she considered the peril she was in. Terrible visions passed through her head—what if the pussy didn't stop, when it hit her shoulder? Would she be pulled bodily into the demonic cunt? Or what if she called 911? She didn't want to think of the surgeons cutting away her arm, leaving her with a stump.

A stump. A lightbulb went off in Lois Lane's head. She flew to the kitchen, ripped open a door and grabbed the nearest knife.

Calm down, Lane, Lois told herself as she brought the stainless steel blade up to the book. The scarlet pussy was taut around her upper arm now. The reporter took a deep breath, let it out, and then another. Just cut the book away. Just a little. Not your arm, not your...

Lois blinked, suddenly paying attention to what was happening to that arm.

At first, the reporter had thought that it was just a strong, muscular tube, squeezing her hand tight. Having never fisted a pussy before, Lois didn't really have a point of comparison. But now she could feel...something else.

Some things else.

Soft, slimy things slid along her arm, like little tongues. Something like lips latched onto each finger, gently suckling. It didn't feel bad...almost like foreplay crossed with a deep tissue massage. The reporter hesitated, the knife still in her right hand. Maybe if she just...let it have its fill...the pussy would let her go?

Lois Lane was debating this when she felt...something else.

The very tip of the third finger on her left hand touched something hard. Not organic, not one of the sucking mouths. The tip of her finger traced an edge. It felt warm, but...kind of like metal?

Curiosity getting the best of her, Lois stretched out her finger. Her arm pressed a tiny fraction deeper into the pussy, meeting resistance, but her finger could trace the shape of it. A ring of metal. The reporter could put her finger through it up to the second digit. It felt like a plain band. Her other fingers, encumbered by the suckers, couldn't really feel it, but if she pressed just a little further...

The ring slipped onto her finger.

The tongues slithered away. The suckers retreated. As fast and hard as Lois Lane's arm had been sucked down into the pussy, now she felt the process reverse itself, muscles pushing against her arm, forcing it out, out, out of the crimson cunt.

Lois, knife still in hand, stared dumbfounded as her bicep emerged, then the elbow. She placed the knife on the counter and gently grabbed the edge of the book, guiding her arm out around the bicep, then the wrist...and with a wet, sucking slurp her hand was free.

The reporter blinked, staring at the page. Where once the scarlet, demonic pussy had been, was now only the livid illustration. Her hand...

A hard metal ring, like ruddy gold, was held fast to the ring-finger of her left hand.

It looked, for all the world, like a wedding ring.

Lois set the book on the table and, using her right hand, tried to twist the ring off—but it remained glued to her flesh as though stuck there.

"Oh hell," the reporter muttered.

It was not tonight that Lois would learn what the ring meant, or the consequences of what she had done. Her actions had brought her here, far from her original intentions on finding out what happened to the missing women, far from the club where this had all begun. In time, she would return and discover all—but that is another tale.