Lois Lane Tries To Fight The Possessed Black Man

Instinct moved the reporter. Even half-drunk and ****, Lois Lane had a keen sense of danger, and a sudden surge of adrenaline gave her strength. She grabbed at the towel rack above the toilet...

...and his brown hands closed on her forearms. When he pulled her back, it ripped the metal bar off the wall. Lois twisted and turned, bringing the end of the bar against his head with a sickening crunch.

Yet his grip never faltered. With inhuman strength, Tyrell turned Lois around until she faced him, the reporter kicking trying to twist out of his grip...and then, as he pressed her against the sink, she saw him.

There was a bloody gash in the side of Tyrell's head. His eyes were rolled up in their sockets, only the whites showing. A strange, alien half-smile graced his big lips...and there was something more happening. Two little bumps bulged out at his forehead, pushing out from within. The Black man pressed his crotch against hers...and the denim tore as something unraveled and lay against the reporter's stomach all the way to her navel.

There were scraps of brown skin around the base...but more of it, the long, hard length of it, was blood-red, and utterly inhuman. Soft pink spikes crowned the glans, which had a Y-shaped piss-slit. There were raised ridges along the length of it like the back of a crocodile, and the leathery red skin had a kind of scaly texture. The heat was incredible; Lois could feel it even through her tight red pants.

"You can go ahead and pee now, Lois," Tyrell said—except there was hardly anything of his voice there now. It was a husky feminine voice with an unfamiliar accent. Lois had heard of voodoo practitioners that let themselves be ridden by spirits, but this seemed like something else.

"Because I think I'm going to piss in you."