Lois Lies

As a reporter, Lois Lane knew how to deal with artists. As consummate bullshit artists, they could smell when a critic was buttering them up—but wanted to hear it anyway.

"I like the symbolism of the piece," she said. "How these women are literally fucked by God, and for all his pains and sacrifices all they do is piss on him. But why is it down here? This should be somewhere where many people can see it."

All the while, Lois could feel the eggs, slowly moving through her body. She wasn't sure how long they would take it make it to the end of her digestional tract...and wasn't looking forward to them coming out at all. Still, if she wanted to do anything for these women, she had to play along while she could.

"I don't know if the public is quite ready for my art," Blaze said. She stepped forward and tapped the black rope. As if by magic—which, the reporter realized, it must have been—the knots came undone. Somewhat awkwardly, the women began to remove themselves.

Lois watched as Jenny Dunlap grabbed the piss-covered crucifix by the middle, and holding it steady carefully wrenched her swollen pussy off of the wooden arm. The other women gave little grunts as the **** of shoved the other arms against their own pussies. The reporter barely suppressed a shudder as she saw the wet, square corners of the crucifix...if they had been stuck like that all day, then any little motion from one of them would have been felt by all three. Their cunts were probably sore and bruised, and as Tonya Wong took her turn, Lois could see the definite crease in her flesh, the pussy having for a moment a bizarre diamond-shaped gap the moment after release.

"You don't need them any more, do you?" Lois asked. "I mean, now that you have me. You could let them go."

The dickgirl slid behind Lois. Her arms underneath the reporters, hands resting on the slightly protuberant belly, thumbs and forefingers meeting to frame the navel. It felt weirdly natural.

"I suppose," Blaze said. "If you will do something for me?"

"Anything," Lois said. And she found, to her dismay, that she meant that. The demon's cock was hard again, and pressed between the cheeks of the reporter's ass. She prayed—to whom or what, she didn't know—that she would have strength to hold on until the women were free.