End: They Are Caught...But There Is Still A Hershey Highway To Victory For Lois Lane

Lois Lane's nose was brown with chocolate syrup and buried in the bodyguard's ass-cleavage when they were discovered. A sharp gasp caught her attention, and the reporter's gaze flicked past the curve of the muscular buttocks to a transwoman, dressed only in stockings, heels, and corset that enhanced her surgically-augmented breasts. A tiny jewel glimmered from a piercing on the cock that dangled between her long legs, and her ears were pierced with at least five rings each. A needle that pierced the left nipple declared that her name was Helga.

"Oh my..." the showgirl said, with a sly smile.

"Please don't say anything," the bodyguard said. "I'm so fucking close!"

The transwoman reached down and rubbed her cock. Lois Lane felt her own demonic prick swell inside her red pants.

"Oh, I won't say anything," the transwoman promised. "As long as I have dibs on next!"

Lois Lane blinked, surprised at this turn of events. But without taking her tongue of the ass in front of her, she blinked and nodded her assent.

That was the start of the most bizarre and embarrassing sequence of events that Lois Lane had ever experienced in her life. Within five minutes, the bodyguard had brought herself to climax, rubbing her clit while Lois Lane slurped the sticky, sweet syrup from her hot, sweaty asshole. Even as she staggered away, the transwoman rolled over an office chair—one of those kind without a back, meant for effectively kneeling for long periods—and positioned herself in front of Lois. Without much choice, Lois Lane grabbed the Hershey's syrup and gave the pale buttocks a healthy squirt.

The reporter was aware of a difference. The cheeks of the showgirl were not so fleshy or well-developed, the skin cooler, the asshole looser so that Lois could push in deeper. Every now and again, Lois Lane's chin touched the shrunken, hairless balls that dangled beneath the transwoman's cock—and Lois was dimly aware from the moans and fapping sounds that the showgirl was jerking off as Lois Lane swirled her tongue in and around the hot, soft fuckhole.

It wasn't until Helga the showgirl gasped and grunted, pushing her face hard against Lois Lane's face as a hot drizzle of jizz squirted out of her fingers, that the reporter became aware that they had an audience.

In fact, a line had formed. Some of them had small bottles of flavored lube, maple syrup. Most were transwomen, and based on their dress and the nametags that pierced their breasts, they were all employees. Showgirls, bartenders, bouncers. The reporter's demonic dick ached and Etrigan chuckled mirthfully as Helga got up and the next ass took her place.

Lois Lane swallowed. She reached for the Hershey syrup.

The demon must have lent the reporter some of his strength. Lois could think of no other reason why her jaw, though it ached, never wavered as she sucked and slurped, where her tongue never grew thick and dull no matter how many assholes she licked. The conga line of customers seemed never-ending, and the reporter's chocolate-spattered cheeks burned with embarrassment when she caught sight of a tip jar that someone had set up for her, which was soon overflowing with dollar bills and loose change.

Yet there was no getting away from it, no matter what flavor of syrup she used, that Lois Lane was eating ass. Even though her "customers" were all remarkably clean, there was still the characteristic smell, the little earthy flavor underneath the sweetness. Lois Lane's stomach churned as she buried her tongue between sweaty cheeks, as her tongue traced the wrinkled assholes, each one unique, each one the same.

And a few of which had been used before.

The reporter glowered the first time a showgirl positioned herself before her, and a white dribble of sperm bubbled and leaked out of her shithole. She cast an apologetic glance back at Lois, as if to say sorry, she'd just come straight from work, and oh by the way, what is an ass-eating bitch like you going to do about it?

All Lois Lane could do is press her lips against that jizz-filled asshole and slurp the sticky, stringy semen into her mouth, to swallow it quickly and then pour on more syrup to try and cover the flavor. To listen to the appreciative moans as the reporter's tongue scraped the sore, well-used hole and cleaned out all the cum.

The last few customers were even worse. Their asses literally dripped with spunk. Idle chatter told her that the boss had set up an impromptu anal bukkake contest, and as the reporter faced the squishy cream pies, she could well believe it. In the back of her brain, Etrigan whispered assurances that he would protect her from all disease. There was an edge of expectancy to the demon's voice, as if he sensed something that Lois Lane did not.

What it was, Lois Lane did not find out until sometime past midnight, when the breakroom suddenly hushed.

Lois Lane, chocolate and cum dripping down her chin, looked up as her last customer pulled swiftly away and stared at the figure who had just entered. Her skin was red as fresh blood on parchment, and dark horns curled back from her dark brow. Orange straps covered her modest breasts, nad the skirt was cut to allow the long red legs to be bare; the only ornament were a belt of leering demonic faces, worked into metal medallion, which hung about her hips. White eyes burned without pupil or iris, and the black hair flowed in oily curls down to her shoulders.

With inhuman grace, the figure strode toward Lois Lane, an odd half-smile on her generous mouth. The proportions were all wrong for a human, Lois realized. Arms and legs too thin, no trace of fat at all—like if a human had been made on the scale of a greyhound. Ribs showed , and the elegant, long-fingered hands ended not in nails but in sharp black claws.

"Curious," the demon said. "I don't remember inviting you here..."

For the first time, Lois Lane realized what a mess she looked like. Her face utterly covered in cum and chocolate, the tip of a cock poking out of the waistband of her pants, her jacket taken off hours ago. She must have looked, to the demon, like a veritable cumslut.

"I am Blaze. This is my establishment. You seem to be enjoying yourself...so I will consider you for future employment. Provided you pass the interview."

There was a tinkle of metal as the belt was unhooked. Lois Lane stared dully as Blaze took her skirt and orange sashes away, to stand naked in the breakroom, from which all the employees had fled. Utterly untroubled by the sticky stains left by the transwomen before her, Blaze assumed the position on the kneeling-chair...and clicked her fingers.

Lois Lane felt the bottle of Hershey syrup writhe in her fingers. She stared down and realized that the brown bottle was now reddish-pink. Transmuted from chocolate into strawberry.

"You may commence," Blaze said, her voice bored. "You won't make me cum, but do a good job and I'll let you spend the rest of your miserable ass-sucking life fleching cum out of my girls."

Lois Lane stared into the demon's bunghole. Most of the assholes she had licked were darker than the surrounding tissue, literal browneyes. Not Blaze's. Her ass was the softest, palest pink imaginable. Not a thick donut of meat like some of the well-used holes that Lois has rimmed earlier, either. It seemed impossibly delicate. Heart hammering in her chest, Lois drizzled the sticky red syrup down the crack of the crimson ass, the color hopelessly fake and artificial against the more natural red of the demon's skin.

In her pants, Etrigan began to make his move.

The tip of Lois Lane's tongue just touched the bottom of Blaze's pussy, then she scraped it up over the demon's taint toward her virgin hole. Despite Blaze's claim, Lois could feel the demon shudder a little, hear her sigh softly. The pink pucker flexed, and a soft, hot wind hit Lois Lane between the eyes, the lightest and least offensive fart imaginable. Meanwhile, down below, the demonic dick grew. Unseen by Blaze, it stretched upward, far beyond any human measure, a wavering tentacle of cock-flesh that grew toward the demon's dangling labia like a budding flower searching for the sun.

The heat of Blaze's buttocks increased as Lois Lane pressed her tongue against the very center of that pink pucker. Blaze moaned and leaned back. Lois wondered how often the demon allowed herself little pleasure like this.

"That's it...suck on my sweet strawberry. Maybe I'll give you a little something..."

Lois Lane quailed to think of what the scarlet succubus meant. Yet before she could imagine that horror, Etrigan struck.

The demon's sphincter squeezed tight around Lois Lane's tongue as the Satanic shaft pierced her pussy. The gasp of Blaze turned into a wordless, animalistic moan. Lois Lane had heard cows make that sound when bulls mounted them. Titanic forces tugged at the reporter's crotch, and all she could do was grab onto Blaze's burning buttocks with both hands and swirl her tongue around inside the hot oven that was the demon's asshole.

Beneath the strawberries, Lois Lane tasted sulphur, and a weird metallic flavor, bitter, salty and unpleasant. She **** her flushed face against those taut cheeks and buried her tongue in deep, as though trying to dig her way to victory through Blaze's asshole. Just beneath her chin, Etrigan's demonic dick pounded and pulsed...and against this double ****, Blaze had no defense. Too lost in her own ecstasy to murmur a spell or unleash a blast of hellfire to reduce Lois Lane to ashes. All she could do was clutch the chair with both hands as she pressed her ass against Lois Lane's face and scream, louder and louder.

"Yes...Yes...YES...YES...YES!"

The final word reverberated with a clap of thunder. a sulphorous cloud erupted from the crimson cheeks and bowled Lois Lane head-over heels. The cock was torn from her body...and the last thing that Lois Lane glimpsed was a snake-like yellow prick, coiled around a crimson female figure.

Then, it was gone, and Lois Lane was left with a bad taste in her mouth, and $98.75 in tips for a long and strange night.

She would, when she recovered and washed her mouth and face, find the missing women, get her story. Without Blaze's influence, the club's employees would wander back into their old lives. This particular evil plot was over.

Yet Lois Lane would not forget her night out. The things she had done and experienced would haunt her. Ever after, she found her eyes drawn down to buttocks. Would wonder how they would taste, what they would look like. She found herself in grocery aisles, staring at syrups and jams and wondering how and where and when she might...but that is another story.