End: Stretch Lois Lane's Cunt

"You should count yourself as fortunate," the demon said. There was no smile on her lips now. The white eyes burned like coals. With superhuman ease, the demon grabbed both of the reporter's legs just above the knee and pulled the cum-spattered reporter up so that the pendulous balls pressed against Lois Lane's labia, and the inhuman cock lay flat against her body. The animalistic prick looked like it belonged on a horse, and went from a vivid blood-red at the base to a vibrant purple at the tip, which nestled between the reporter's small breasts.

"If I were a mere ****, I would simply tear through your pathetic pussy and spew my seed in your abdomen. Feel your guts churn around my magnificence. Send you back onto the street with coils of your intestines drooping out of the gaping wound that had been your worthless human cunt."

The urethra at the tip of the cock opened and closed. Lois Lane could see tiny, needle-like teeth inside that one-eyed snake...and when the urethra opened to its widest, as if tasting her fear, the reporter stared down the dark tunnel of flesh and saw a small spark of flame down in the depths.

"But I am not a ****. I am the demon Blaze, queen of hell, and I am artist who crafts suffering to fit the sinners," Blaze said, and that ghost of a smile returned to her stern countenance. That, as much as anything, sent a shiver down Lois Lane's spine. "And I've just been inspired."

Blaze drew the reporter up. Lois kicked. Squirmed. She felt the cock drawn along her pussy as the demon lifted her up. Until the tip of the prick fell away, and the reporter's thighs were passed over the shoulders of the scarlet succubus. Lois Lane, who struggled to keep her head up, caught a glimpse of Blaze's jaw crack open, of mandibles to emerge from beneath her upper lip...and then spiked tendrils that might once have been tongues pushed and squirmed their way into the reporter's cunny.

Then Blaze bit the reporter's cunt.

Sudden urgent pain made Lois Lane go rigid. She could feel every stab, every slice as teeth, mandibles, and spiked tongues sliced through her tissues. Skin and muscle, tendon and ligament, were swiftly torn to shreds, and blood splashed and splattered against the demon's face, dripped down her naked body to anoint the erect prick that dug into the reporter's back, and finally rained down on the glass slope so that the reporter's blood ran in rivulets down toward the pool of cum below.

The worst part is, Lois Lane did not die then and there. The second worst part was that she remained conscious. Utterly awake and aware as Blaze seemed to chew and gnaw on the reporter's cunt, to tear away mouthfuls of flesh until the teeth scraped against the bones of her pelvis.

Only Blaze had no intention of letting the reporter off that easily. The demon's cheeks bulged obscenely...and then her mandibles began to work. Lois Lane, frozen with shock and pain, saw pink linaments of flesh on the end of those small manipulators, which looked now more like needle-tipped fingers than insectoid mouth-parts...and the reporter shuddered as she felt them pierce and weave and sew her own flesh back together.

How long that painstaking endeavor went on, Lois Lane did not know. She saw that the naked orgiasts faded away, as Blaze's attention was focused on rebuilding the reporter's cunt, one stitch at a time. Unnaturally, the pain persisted so that Lois felt every piercing, every moment of terrible tension as a bit of sinew was drawn through a fresh hole.

There must have been some magic in it. The flesh knit together too swiftly, the blood continued to flow long after Lois Lane should have bled out. Dimly, Lois noticed that as the terrible mouth worked back, there were no livid wounds stitched together; they simply melded together before her eyes, leaving not even a scar.

Yet Lois Lane, when Blaze was done, was not as she had been.

With a shudder, the reporter felt the last tongue-tendril slide out of her. The pain had ceased, replaced only with a burning itching. Her abdomen looked oddly puffy, her hips wider, and there was a curious and terrible sensation of a breeze between her legs that seemed to go straight up to the core of her being. The scarlet succubus admired her handiwork for a moment, and then the world seemed to rotate around them.

Lois Lane blinked as she found herself back in her apartment, held in the same position with the towering demonic entity staring at her pussy. With a laugh, Blaze dropped the reporter on the bed...and then pointed to the larger mirror on the dresser.

"Look, Lois Lane!" Blaze said, triumph in her voice. "Look at what your once-tight twat has become!"

The reporter looked.

Vaginas are elastic. Over time, as they get older, as women give birth, they can become looser—although never quite to the extent that most men seem to think—which is why some women go for vaginal rejuvenation surgery. What Blaze had done to Lois Lane, the reporter understood, was the exact opposite.

The overgrown flaps of her labia sagged grossly on the bed, like the wrinkled flesh of a shar pei. She pulled them aside to see that her once bright-pink innards were a dull, ugly red...and a gaping tunnel of flesh three inches in diameter and at least a foot deep. In the mirror, Lois could see her cervix, a puffy donut of flesh that seemed to sag half-deflated at the end of a subway tunnel.

Experimentally, Lois tried to squeeze her cunt-muscles, but the massive pussy barely flexed. Trying as hard as she could, Lois could see the inner walls bulge a little, but that was all. She couldn't close her pussy.

Blaze chuckled as she saw the shock and disbelief on the reporter's face turn into a kind of despair.

"A souvenir of your night out, Lois Lane," Blaze said. "You thought a clean **** would have been better—and perhaps you were correct. Yet I shall enjoy your shame and suffering."

There was a sound like the rumble of thunder...and then Blaze was gone, leaving only a scorch mark on the carpet. Lois Lane, on the bed, couldn't take her eyes off of her pussy. Experimentally, she balled her right hand into a fist and pushed it inside her gaping cunt-chasm.

It barely scraped the sides. Anything smaller, and Lois Lane wouldn't have felt it at all.

"Great Caesar's ghost," Lois Lane whispered...and shuddered as she realized the implication of Blaze's words. Not only had the demon defiled her body, but she would be watching.

In time, perhaps, Lois Lane would find something to fill her cavernous cunny. Yet that is another story.