It Works

Lois Lane laid with her back against the wall, ass in the air, the vodka bottle emptying itself into her guts with a cold glug-glug-glug. A cold chill ran through her guts, down to where the gigantic sperm was wiggling painfully away. Lois concentrated on her breathing, which was shallow and labored, too much weight on her lungs, a curious burning numbness as the **** filled her asshole and worked its way down, down, down...

When the liquid chill met the terrible alien mass, it began to thrash in panic. Lois giggled, the room spinning above her, suddenly giddy. The **** was going into her bloodstream, and the pain of her predicament was fading, but more than that she the idea that the poison was drowning the invader was making Lois more and more excited.

"Die! Die, fucker, fuck!" she yelled, not caring if the neighbors heard her. Her fist awkwardly hit her stomach at about where she felt the giant sperm, and the pain of the blow on her abdomen was as nothing to the joy she felt at the idea that the damned thing was finally dying.

It spasmed. Lurched about blindly inside her guts, but there was no escape. Lois found herself grinning maniacally as the movements of the giant sperm slowed, the cold wash of the drink enveloping it entirely. She lay back, no longer upset at all about her sore pussy, about the bottle jammed up her ass. The beast was dead.

For several minutes, Lois Lane simply sat back, tired but happy and deeply, terrible **** as the vodka sank in.

Then her stomach gurgled. The pain hit.

Through the drunken haze, Lois remembered that most terrible and primal of rules of drinking: what goes in must come out.

Awkwardly, the drunken reporter slid down the wall onto her side. The call of nature was burgeoning inside of her, and she pulled the bottle out, asshole clenching as she crawled on hands and knees back to the bathroom, her legs not wanting to work right.

At the threshold, she stared and saw three toilets swimming in her vision. Carefully, she clambered toward the one in the middle. Hands on the bowl, she drunkenly pulled herself up in position.

Lois Lane would not remember the next hour. There was prayer, and grunts, and small wounded animal sounds. Yet when it was done, her body was empty. No giant sperm. No anything, her guts perfectly flushed. She felt oddly weightless as she left, her backside cleaner than it had ever been, inside and out. The whole apartment had a sort of rosy glow about it, and Lois felt...not bad, actually.

In fact, she felt positively...horny.