End: To The Elbow...And Beyond

All her life, Lois Lane had heard that size didn't matter. That bigger wasn't necessarily better. A woman could flick herself off with a pinky. Bigger cocks hurt. Size queens were freaks, people to be pitied. Lois had never experienced it herself.

Until now.

Hands grabbed her arms and legs and lifted the naked reporter into the air. The hand inside Lois Lane's pussy pushed forward...and to her horror, she felt a wet finger slide up her ass. The reporter thrashed. She squeezed her holes, to try and push out the intruders. Hot, stinging jizz rained on her face and back, idle hands pinched her nipples, yet the reporter could not escape the things that were being done to her holes. Hot liquid poured onto her crotch, and fingers stretched out her tiny, once-virgin ass. The hand in her pussy moved back and forth, fucking her pussy, always pushing a little deeper. Filling her a little more each time. Hitting virgin territory inside of her.

Lois wasn't sure when the first climax was ripped from her. She knew that her body convulsed in the grasp of her unseen tormentors, that her back arched and her buttocks squeezed around the sticky hand that pushed into her colon. Her pussy was stretched taut over a wide forearm like a pink bracelet. Sliver likes exploded before her eyes, cum dripped from her face, and Lois howled as the unwanted orgasm overwhelmed her, just for a moment.

Yet they didn't stop. Not for the climax, or the one after, or the one after that. Not when Lois Lane ceased fighting and hung exhausted in the grip of those eager hands as both her sore holes were opened further, two hands inside pussy and ass, each moving independently. She panted and sucked in air, her body super-sensitive, overwhelmed by the smells and exhaustion of her muscles.

It should have hurt. Even with the seemingly endless sexual ****, all sense of time lost, the reporter realized that. The hand in her pussy had pushed further and further into her crotch, and now Lois was dimly aware that it should have hit the back of her pussy long ago. Should have bottomed out, or touched her cervix. Instead, it pushed deeper. The hard mass of the fist was past her navel now, deep inside of her.

Which was impossible. It's not like her pussy could get longer. Her womb couldn't retreat from the invader. Except Lois Lane recognized at this point that this **** was anything but normal. There was an inhuman power at work here. Superhuman, superscience, supernatural, Lois Lane didn't know what to call it. Yet she knew something was wrong.

Then the first pushed deeper. Lois lurched, suddenly nauseous. Something hard pushed against the underside of her clit. Stretched her already-taut labia, until it felt like the elastic flesh might snap. The reporter's exhausted inner muscles tried to squeeze, but she had no strength to resist as the hard knob **** its way in...

...and Lois Lane recognized it for what it was. An elbow.

The arm held itself there, as if to give Lois a moment to get used to it. Then the hand—no, the arm—in her ass pushed forward. Even tired as she was, Lois Lane shivered. Her poor abused asshole stretched, too far, too fast, and the sense of pressure briefly blossomed...but it didn't turn into pain. Her pussy and ass weren't numb, but Lois couldn't feel the pain at all. Even though her anatomy shouldn't have allowed it, Lois could feel the other second arm stuff itself deeper into her poor backside, pressing against her already-overloaded pussy. Until that same hard knob sensation pushed her overloaded orifice to the breaking point.

Tears cut tracks through the dried cum on Lois Lane's face as she felt herself impaled on those two arms. Her once tight holes stretched beyond anything possible for a human being. She had terrible visions of veterinarians checking horses with shoulder-length gloves. Sobs wracked the exhausted reporter, at the feel of those arms inside her body, the intrusion beyond anything she had imagined...and then a hard finger touched the underside of the reporter's chin, and **** her head up.

Through the cum that covered her eyes, the figure was only a dark red blob. The voice was feminine, with a strange accent...but the hubbub of the orgy went suddenly silent, so that Lois could hear her words clearly.

"Hello Lois," the voice said. "How do you feel?"

Lois sucked in air. She knew she should choose her words carefully. Yet she knew that whoever this wasn't going to beg.

"Like a Thanksgiving turkey," the reporter said.

"You can't feel it, but the...penetrations...you're experiencing right now have damaged your body. I've turned off your pain receptors, but you're suffering from internal bleeding right now. Even if I teleported you straight to a hospital, there would be infection to worry about. Septicemia is supremely unpleasant, I'm told. Of course, it doesn't have to be that way..."

There it was. Lois Lane knew it was coming. The offer, the ****, the betrayal. Call it what you will. The reporter's body convulsed as she hawked and spat, saliva, jizz, and snot mingled into a projectile that struck that red blob of a face.

Yet the figure didn't move. Perhaps it even smiled.

"Of course. But here's the thing, Lois. I can save you. I can heal your injuries. I can make it so that you can take those two arms in your cunt and ass and survive. To do that, I have to have your permission. The magic is so much easier, when the subject agrees. So what do you say? Let me heal you and live, or die from getting fucked to **** on the fists of my followers?"

Survival instinct warred with rebellion inside Lois Lane. Yet...even without pain receptors, she could tell there was something wrong inside of her. A growing nausea. A sense of weakness that went beyond the exhaustion inside of her.

"What's the catch?" Lois Lane asked.

The red finger slid forward. Lois felt a burning hand clutch at her throat. Not squeezing. But with the strength that said it could, easily.

"Magic has rules. If I changed you without permission, it would cost me more power to overwhelm your natural defenses, and it would be easier for someone else to undo them, as your spirit rejected my magics. But if you give me permission...if you let me in...then the changes become permanent. No going to Zatanna or Doctor Fate to fix you up. You'll just have to live with the consequences."

Lois swallowed hard. The weakness was growing inside of her. The reporter could imagine those two arms, buried up to the elbows in her guts, pulling back and turning her inside out.

"What do you get out of it?" Lois whispered, her voice suddenly faint.

"The pleasure of seeing you humbled enough to accept my help," her tormentor said. "Say, 'Blaze, please heal me,' and it will be done...swiftly, without pain. You will wake up safely back in your own bed, unsullied."

The reporter's jaw worked. She didn't want to say it. Yet a part of her was curious...

"Blaze, please heal me," Lois Lane said.

Dawn broke over Metropolis. The first golden rays burned through the glass door that led to Lois Lane's balcony. The naked reporter stirred on her bed. Her eyes opened and stared at the sunlight glint off the brass globe atop the Daily Planet. Memories of last night were sharp; there was no sense of loss. Just discontinuity. One moment, Lois had been dying, impaled, the next...

...Lois felt an odd heaviness and fullness. She sat up...and now she could really feel it. Her fingers went immediately to her ass and pussy, and her mouth frowned as she felt the soft, wide silicone suction cups. Immediately, Lois rolled onto her side. Left hand grabbed the wide base of the one in her pussy, right hand grabbed the one in her ass. She pulled...

...and pulled...

...and pulled. It wasn't until the great black sex toys, each modeled after a human arm right down to the elbow, was about halfway out of her that Lois felt the familiar stir of an orgasm. With an animalistic moan, Lois pushed them back into place, so deep that her eyes rolled up and she gave a whinny of pure delight. Like a sex-maddened beast, the first half-hour of Lois Lane's new day were spent abusing her gaping asshole and cunt with the massive toys, the silicone fists scraping her insides. Each time she almost pulled them out, the reporter could feel a terrible aching emptiness inside of her.

Blaze had healed the reporter's injuries, all right. But she had healed them while the arms were still in place. To stretch the reporter's ass and cunt out until they were two gaping, supersensitive fuckholes. Impossible for any normal prick to satisfy.

The new sizequeen Lois Lane didn't stop until a massive climax ripped through her body, and she slipped off the bed, the slick toys popping out of her ass...and the reporter's hands, which immediately went to fill the two holes, were not enough.

"This," Lois Lane decided, as something like sanity came back to her as the warm, wet, gaping holes closed on her own wrists. "Is going to take some getting used to."

Yet in time, she did. Lois Lane would truly learn that at least in her case, sometimes quantity was quality, and bigger wasn't only better...it was necessary.