Lois Is Still Thirsty

"No," Blaze said, sotto voce, making no effort to take the chalice from the reporter's lips. "Don't. Stop."

The plea was a formality; Lois Lane could tell there was no **** behind the words. She tipped the cup and drank her fill.

The liquid heat flowed through Lois, the liquid mass of it piling up in her stomach, oozing through her guts, but it was the energy of it that diffused through her body, shifting things around inside of her. There was a mass between her legs now, dangling between her thighs, growing heavier with every moment.

The visions came stronger now. The dark-haired woman with her own face...but was she a woman? Lois could see more clearly now the tool between her legs, the great hairy sack hanging down. There was the sensation of time passing, the ageless hermaphrodite passing barefoot over field and forest, onto dirt-stricken streets, driven more by instinct than reason now, in perfect communion with the terrible gift between her thighs, the legion of dark-haired children left in her wake...

Once, the other-Lois stopped at a convent, drawn by the secret lusts there. It was her undoing.

Light-headed now in the throes of her first erection, Lois saw the woman with her face bound to a rack, the Black Grail taken from her, and the fiendish sluts in holy garb took their turns slaking their thirst...not with quim but with their mouths, all that seed wasted, devoured, imbibed. Unmarriageable daughters of lords caged away tormented her, fondling and pinching, whipping and scraping. The bones grew prominent against the flesh, but the organ hung there, like a fat leech on her thinning frame, spilling forth its white treasure again and again for hungry mouths.

They changed. Little by little, the tormentors found themselves altered. Drawn back again and again to that source, their bodies grasping at their new appendages; ugly, stunted shadows of the stranger's magnificence. But other-Lois, grown grey now, only smiled. Though a prisoner there, they too were prisoners of her, bodies and minds enslaved to the seed they had consumed, the dark god's final gift.

Light-headed, Lois Lane did not see the end. She wobbled on unsteady legs. Her center of gravity felt shifted, the mass between her legs drawing her down, something knocking against her knees.

Blaze caught the chalice as the reporter steadied herself on the altar. Lois Lane looked down, almost without comprehension. Her cock was hard, erect, larger than that of any man she had ever fucked, but the balls...the balls...

Cantaloupes was the word Lois settled on. They hung in a pouch of taut flesh that seemed barely to contain them, dark purple veins visible through the hairless sack. Angelica Blaze came around and gave Lois her arm for support, led her away from the altar.

The reporter staggered, ungainly. It wasn't just the swinging of her massive testes, it was the pressure building inside of her body, some hot point building deep inside. Her cock, swaying with each step, was already leaking a fluid like thin milk.

"Let's get you hooked up," Angelica whispered, half-leading, half-carrying Lois out of the chapel. Briefly, Lois Lane considered escape. Something terrible had happened to her, but the pressure inside of her was growing moment by moment, verging now on the point of pain...