End: There Was Never Any Choice, Really

"Grab her arms and legs," the big man said, one hand wrapped around the base of his prick.

"L-look guys, it's been fun, but I can't..." Lois Lane said...but then things were out of her control. The big man dropped to one knee as she was lifted into the air. Clothes disappeared. A hot, wet tongue lapped at her asshole. Someone poured a beer in her face, Lois half-lapping, half-sputtering...and the alley spun in her vision as the big man stood up. The tip of his cock nudged at her asshole.

There was something wrong with his eyes. They were pure white, without pupil or iris. Lois hiccuped, and a strange, knowing half-smile twisted his mouth. Then he moved forward.

"Aaagh!" Lois cried out as the head of the cock, the size of an apple, punched through her sphincter with more speed and **** than she expected. The shock of the penetration shook the reporter to her core—and for a moment, just a moment, she experienced total clarity.

How did I end up here? This isn't like me! I'm not some complete slut! Lois thought, the big guy holding the head of his prick in her painfully stretched anus as though waiting for her to get used to his girth. I have to get out of here...call for help...something's wrong...

One of the men pressed a beer bottle against her lips. Lois was going to push it away...and then the big guy slid forward an inch, forcing her asshole open a little further...and the reporter's mouth opened, the beer pouring into her mouth, and Lois swallowed more than half of it, the rest splashing down across her chest.

That set the stage for what happened next.

With infinite patience, the elephant trunk of a prick never wavered in its stiffness as it drove in, slowly but steadily, never retreating an inch. The men leaned in to gob their spit on the pole, their collected saliva lubing the monster that crept forward in its total dedication to destroying Lois Lane's asshole...and any time Lois opened her mouth to complain, or moan, there was a beer in her face. Even when she kept her lips closed, she would hiccup, or they'd push it between her lips and pour it over her teeth, and it always seemed like some of it ended up down her throat.

Slowly, the **** had its effects. The reporter's muscles loosened. The massive cock reached the end of her colon, where it turned into her large intestine—but the massive fifteen inches had a long way yet to go. Lois gave a drunken moan, her whole body flexing against the sweaty hands that held her, the cock pushing past the obstruction...and Lois swore it felt like her internal anatomy was rearranging itself to let that cock push deeper inside of her guts, the hairs on her arms and legs standing up. Around her, the men waited with bated breath, their eyes intense on the sight of the distension in her stomach as the cock pushed forward, on and on, deeper and deeper.

Huge hands grasped her waist above her hips, to pull the drunken slut of a reporter onto his dick...and Lois moaned, pussy spurting spontaneously as the cock plunged home, the big man's balls pressing against her ass.

"You were made for this, slut," the big man...and drunk as she was, Lois could have sworn it was two voices speaking at once, one masculine and the other female...and foreign. "You just need to be awakened to your full potential."

Hands found the reporter's neck, bent her head backward, black hair falling down toward the filthy floor of the alley, mouth open...and sure enough, a stiff cock slid into her mouth, the tip just tickling her throat.

They took turns. Like Lois Lane had thought, it took all night. The big man never left her ass, though he moved back and forth, his impossible prick hollowing out her ass with each stroke, the men watching with feverish disbelief as he gut-fucked her, the outline of the prick visible on her distended abdomen. When they couldn't take it anymore, they plunged their stiff pricks, so minuscule compared to the monster turning her ass inside-out with each stroke, into her mouth to dump a load of watery jizz into her throat.

Lois Lane drank more semen that night than in the rest of her night combined. Exhaustion engulfed the reporter near the end, when she felt herself passing in and out of consciousness, eyes falling shut by themselves, only to be awakened again by a splash of beer, a warm burst of jizz in her throat, or the big man suddenly getting rough, drawing his dick back until only the massive head remained in her ass and then plunging the whole thing into her with one stroke, which inevitably made Lois nauseous like her gut was being punched from the inside.

She didn't remember him cumming in her, though she knew it must have happened. Dawn was a misty grayness in the fraction of sky above the alley.

"Hold her open," that oddly echoed double voice said...and Lois felt fingers plunge into her poor, overstretched anus.

He pulled out...and to Lois it felt like her guts were being dragged out of her ass, the once tight pink sphincter now a thick and swollen donut, an angry red, fucked raw, spots of blood showing where something had torn.

Vaguely, Lois was aware she was being carried out of the alley...but she wasn't aware of what was happening until the cold roughness filled the gaping emptiness that was her ass.

Ironically, the parking bollard at the entrance of the alley was a little thinner than that massive cock...but it was longer, a good thirty-six inches, and Lois Lane sank down on it almost half-way, the drunken reporter's feet scrabbling on the bare concrete. They left her there, naked and drunk, impaled on the painted metal shaft, to face the new day...and Lois Lane knew she would always remember her night out, wondering at the decisions she had made that had brought her here to this terrible fate.