Epilogue: Lois Has A Demonic STI

It started so subtly that the reporter hardly noticed. A bit of a darkening to her labia and nipples. Bras that fit a little a little tighter. Waking up in the morning with panties wet. A greater sensitivity down between her legs, in her nipples, so that by the end of the day Lois Lane was often red-faced and rubbing her thighs together, counting the steps to her apartment, already planning what she was going to do with her pet cock next.

When her period came out as a black oil-slick, the reporter knew she had a problem.

Standing in front of the mirror, Lois looked at herself. Really looked at herself. The inner lips of her labia had darkened from a soft pink to a dark grey...and it had spread to her outer labia as well, the vulva looking distinctly splotchy. Swollen too; her box puffed out from between her legs, the center of her cleft a good inch below normal, the labia touching the top of her thighs. Her areola had turned grey as well, the nipples almost black.

She hefted her breasts in both hands—definitely fuller, she was on her period bra and even that felt tight. Lois knew she would have to go shopping soon, but she was more concerned with what changes were happening in her body. The reporter gave the girls a squeeze and almost fell to her knees. More sensitive too.

The problem was, Lois knew she couldn't quite go into a regular doctor's office. This was something weird and freaky, and the only thing she'd been getting weird and freaky with was the demonic dick summoned from the pages of the book...so that was where she went looking for answers.

Late into the night she pored over the tome of infernal lore, often digressing to look up terms online, tracking down research papers and dissertations on medieval demonology, sorcery. A picture was starting to come together, although not a very good one. Something hinted at in some obscure withcfinder manuals, an affliction of men and women who had lain with succubi and incubi. Couched in ancient terminology, before the codification of contemporary disease theory, but by midnight, her pussy burning for release, a thin grey drool dribbling out of her puffy pussy, Lois Lane could only come to one conclusion.

"I've got an STI," she said, slamming the book shut. "Fuck."

The book had no cure listed, only saying that "unleſs stayed, luſt would conſume ye afflict'd." The witch-manuals suggested prayer, chastity, and some sort of holy water douche—none of which Lois was prepared to try just yet. So that left...what?

"Option one, keep researching. Dig deep into demonology, try to find a cure. Except that could take weeks, and I'm already going to have to start wearing sanitary pads to bed and work." She muttered, trying not to rub her thighs together.

"Option two, hope it goes away on its own, like a yeast infection—yeah, I don't think so," Lois thought as she gave in, letting her left hand slip down between her thighs. Two fingers sank easily into the wet and ready cunt, which squelched noisily.

"Option three...call for help." The reporter set her mouth in a grim line. "I can't go to Superman for this, it's way out of his line. Someone magical, knows what they're doing, close enough I can ask for help but not so close that I'll die of embarrassment, discretion a must..."

The reporter worked her fingers in and out of her sloppy hole, knowing that what she really wanted was something thicker...longer...to scratch the itch inside.

"So that leaves...Zatanna? Probably knows about it but would totally judge me. Doctor Fate? Has doctor right there in the name, but I barely know him...maybe John Constantine...fuck!"

Lois laid her head on the table, a third finger slipping into her burning cunt, her gooey discharge dripping onto the kitchen floor. The heat was spreading, intensifying. Lois could feel her hard black nipples poking out as she finger-fucked herself, moaning noisily. It was so good, but she wanted more...needed more...and even as she looked she could see her areolas darkening, the grey corruption slowly spreading...and then closed her eyes and came, knees bucking as she fell off the chair, squirting slick black oil onto her wrist and hand.

The reporter stared in horror at her stained hand...and even though she had just cum, she could feel the burning itch inside of her, starting up again.

"What am I going to do?" she whispered aloud, trying desperately not to stick her hand in her mouth and lick her tainted juices right off her own fingers.