Lois Lane Goes Down

The tension of the decision lasted only a moment before the reporter's insatiable curiosity took over. She hit the BB button, and as the elevator began to descend, Lois Lane's stomach gave a little lurch—which felt especially odd, given the shifts in her anatomy. Yet there were no regrets as the descending elevator came to a stop and the doors opened.

Lois Lane had to know.

The room was dark, lit only by the row of screens on the opposite wall, which showed various parts of the club and brothel above. A figure sat low in an office chair, facing the Daily Planet's greatest reporter. Dimly, Lois caught a glimpse of dark horns, long oily hair, a lithe body without a hint of fat, long nails that gripped the arms of the chair, long toes that rested lightly on the stone floor. The reporter was aware that the room seemed to be a natural cavern, the air still and cool on her naked pussy and legs, reeking of sex.

Yet what the reporter focused on was the cock.

It was human in outline, yet titanic in shape and form. Like a fire hydrant, the crimson cock stood squat yet massive. It towered at three feet tall, and the massive glans looked for all the world like an ancient Greek helmet, sized for a child. The reporter found her knees shake as she staggered forward, unable to take her eyes off the massive prick. The pendulous balls that hung over the lip of the chair rose and fell, the veins as thick as a garden hose pulsed and throbbed.

Impossible. Inhuman. Irresistible.

Behind Lois Lane, the doors of the elevator close. The reporter quivered, barely able to process that this cock was real, even as she came within arm's reach of it. Seated on her throne, the tip of Blaze's cock could still have touched the underside of the reporter's chin. Lois felt herself sucking in the scent of it, and beneath her shirt a trickle of sweat ran down her ribs. Tentatively she reached forward so that her fingers brushed the crest of that massive knob.

It twitched beneath her touch, and Lois flinched. Then she laid her palm against it. The heat of that soft, sensitive skin almost burned her hand. She could feel the warmth suffuse her flesh. Her pussy dribbled onto the floor below.

"I...I can't..." Lois Lane said, as much to herself. The reporter had an urge to fall to her knees and bury her face in that great scrotum, to throw her arms around that tree-like shaft and worship it as some pagan priestess might have devoted herself to a phallic idol of old.

"You can," Blaze's voice came out as almost a growl. The words were English, but the accent was strange, harsh to Lois Lane's ears.

"You will."