Epilogue: Loose Lois

The average bout of anal sex is measured in minutes. The human asshole is not self-lubricating, and for those who engage in sodomy only occasionally, it is often uncomfortable. Tissues can be torn, and in extremity, even anal fissures and other damage can occur. Even most sex workers rarely log in more than an hour or two of anal sex a week, unless they are doing a particular series of cam shows, or making a film. Dedicated porn stars might manage four to six hours of anal sex, if making a film, but even they need dedicated time to let their asses rest, recover, recuperate.

By the end of the first week, Lois Lane had logged eighteen hours of anal sex from what she owed Blaze. The demon would appear at home, naked and hard and ready to go. After the first time, Lois had learned to adjust her schedule and clear herself out, and to have lube on hand. Blaze, for her part, cared little for preparations. Just burying her crimson cock in the reporter's ass. No foreplay, no smalltalk, and no kissing.

Most nights, as soon as Lois was done with her preparations she would bend over the bed, and Blaze was there, the hot hands pushing her ass apart, pressing her prick against the tight little hole. She would pound away, establishing her rhythm, grunting and breathing down the reporter's neck, her balls slapping hard against the reporter's pussy...and she didn't stop, or go soft, until she came two, sometimes three times. Then and only then would Blaze pull her cock out, wipe it on the reporter's lower back...and Lois would be away once more.

That first week, Lois cried through bowel movements, wiped blood from her ass, and sat on ice packs for twenty minutes at a time. At the Daily Planet, the reporter had shifted to a standing desk, because sitting was too painful, and she made frequent trips to the bathroom to rub aloe into her sore asshole, to promote healing and help cover the smell from any discharge she was unable to prevent.

Circe never came by while Blaze was there. Lois had never asked the sorceress or the demon about it; whether they arranged a kind of time-share with the reporter, or if their schedules just naturally synced. Mostly, the sorceress would arrive unexpectedly at Lois Lane's work. Slender hands would stroke the back of Lois's neck, and she would freeze...and then turn to stare into those hazel eyes, rimmed with green fire, and follow her mistress into a stall to lick her pussy until she came.

On the weekend, Circe took more time. She would have Lois strip for her, dress for her. Shave her pussy, perfume it...and then the toys would come out. Lois found herself squatting over thicker and thicker wooden pegs, stretching her pussy out little by little as Circe laid on the bed and frigged herself. There was some plan in the sorceress's method, and Lois knew she had **** but to go through with it.

By the end of the second week, Lois Lane had logged a total of forty hours off her debt to Blaze. She had shifted to adult diapers, the slim-profile kind that could be easily concealed beneath her clothes, provided she wore a skirt. Slept on her side or stomach, with a more robust diaper. There had been a few accidents the first week, and Lois had been embarrassed carrying the sheets down to get washed. Here she was, a grown woman, and...

The second weekend was much like the first. Only this time, Circe wanted to watch Lois finger herself. The reporter was embarrassed by her ass, which was often gaping and puffy now, but Circe had eyes only for her cunt. One finger slid in and out of Lois for an hour. Then two. Three. By the afternoon, Lois was covered in sweat, four fingers buried in her muff, the thumb curled up...and the sorceress came forward and grabbed the reporter's arm. Pushed...eyes wide and alight with lust.

They didn't stop until Lois Lane could fist her own cunt.

Going into the third week, Lois placed a mirror on the floor and squatted over her. Her pussy and ass looked gross. Clean-shaven, because that was how her mistresses liked it, but pink, puffy, and loose. She ran a hand down to her ass, and she could pinch the skin of the once-tight sphincter between her fingers. A little lube and Lois could get three fingers into her ass easily. Her pussy...the inner folds of the labia, darker now than they had been two weeks ago, hunger out of her outer labia. Burger flaps, some people called them. Roast beef lips. Lois almost wept...but then she recovered herself.

It was all for a good cause. She had saved those four women, after all. A few more months, and she'd be free of Blaze, and then...

If I have an asshole left, the reporter thought. I'll figure out what to do afterward.