Questions

Warm, salty liquid entered her mouth, not like a normal ejaculation—at least not one like Lois had ever experienced with her boyfriends. This was like swallowing the end of a garden hose, or letting a warm jet of piss strike the back of your throat. And Lois swallowed—instinctively, convulsively, feeling the burning seed travel down her esophagus and pool in her belly, quelling the ache.

The stream cut off, as sudden as it has begun, and Blaze's dick softened in her mouth. Lois pulled it out of her mouth, lips still wrapped around the shrinking cock, all the way to the end, where she licked the last dollop of cum off of the slit.

She stared up at Blaze, who looked down at her with a strange smile—not smug or ugly, or even a leer, but a sort of world-weary knowingness.

"I'm sure that will see you right for a while. Now, I'm sure you have more questions. Don't be shy."

Lois swallowed again. "How often...do I have to do that?" She rasped. Her throat felt burnt.

"About once a day...at first. Then the hunger pangs hit. The shakes. Hallucinations. You body starts to enter withdrawal. Vomiting. Unable to keep food down. Muscle fatigue. Inability to sleep..." Blaze's eyes, those glowing orbs in the darkness, withdrew to pinpricks. "...not everyone survives. Of course, the more you drink, the worse the symptoms."

Lois stared at the demoness in horror, hands clutched into fists in impotent rage. "Why?"

Blaze cocked her head to the side. "My mother was a succubus, darling. It is my nature."

"I mean, why...me." The reporter asked.

Blaze threw up her hands. "I didn't **** you to drink anything, Lois. That was you. All you."

Lois nodded, clicking pieces into place. "The missing women?"

"The work for me downstairs now. They like to keep close so that they get their...regular dose." The demoness replied.

Lois eyes narrowed. "Is there an antidote?"

Blaze smiled wider. "I thought you'd never ask."