No, Lois Is Helpless

Weak as a kitten, the naked reporter could do nothing as Angelica Blaze carried her into the bedroom. Lois moaned a quiet protest as the dickgirl bent over and laid her in the bed...looming over her, that smug, knowing smile on her face. The reporter's eyelids were heavy, and she tried to tell Blaze to go away, leave her alone.

"No...don't...don't..." Lois muttered as she strove to rise.

Except then the dickgirl brought the covers up to the reporter's skin. Grabbed the weighted blanket from the foot of the bed and spread that over her as well. The naked reporter found herself breathing slowly and deeply, trapped beneath the blankets...and Angelica bent over and pressed a kiss against her sweating forehead.

A fever gripped Lois Lane...and with it, fever dreams. Hours passed in minutes, and a hundred scenarios played themselves out throughout her dreams. In some, Lois was still back in the club. In others, Angelica Blaze was a horned demon, thrusting her inhumanly huge cock in and out of the reporter's cunt. The reporter tossed and turned as she imagined Blaze jerking herself off into cocktail glasses, which Lois picked up and sipped, the salty and bitter splooge so thick it stuck in her throat. Wandering into the bathroom and seeing her own face in the mirror, skin blood red and with dark horns jutting from her forehead. Signing a contract in blood, only the pen was a pregnancy test, two inverted crosses showing. An illogical sensation of images, over and over...

Sometimes Lois thought she saw Angelica's face looming over her. Or smelled the rank, heady odor of her prick. Felt hands grope her through the heavy blanket. Or claw along her thighs, comb through the wet hair above her pussy. The reporter's nipples pinched, her tongue pushed into her mouth as some invading thing filled her mouth. Lois could not move to respond to these attacks, her body refused her commands, the covers to heavy, limbs moving as in molasses...

The fever broke a few hours before dawn. Sweating and weak, Lois stared into the darkness. A cool, wet cloth was laid on her forehead. The bedroom television was on, the volume off, tuned to a Spanish channel showing some 70s Mexican horror movie with the closed captioning on. Lois watched, with strange fascination, as a vampire drained the blood from some topless victim. Angelica Blaze sat on the edge of the bed, rubbing the bulge in her jeans...and then turned, as if notified by some sixth sense that the reporter was awake.

"Hey, sleephead," the dickgirl said. "How you feeling? Need some water?"

Lois blinked, and managed to croak a "Yes." Blaze rose and went to the bathroom, returning a moment later with a plastic cup. The naked reporter managed to sit up, her blankets spilling into her lap, bare breasts plastered with sweat. She took the cup from the dickgirl's hands, the bare brush of Angelica's fingers so warm it was shocking.

"Must have been those **** he slipped you," Blaze said. "You were out of it. Didn't want to just leave you here unattended."

The reporter nodded. Her dreams were already fading, but cobwebs remained.

"Did you...do anything to me...while I was asleep?" Lois asked.