No One Answers, Leaving Lois Frustrated

The reporter agitatedly flipped the page, her eyes falling on a new illustration, the paint vibrant on the paper. Lois Lane's fingers worked angrily at her sopping slit. She couldn't remember such frustration, but as hard as she rubbed her pussy, and as good as it felt, something was missing.

Her nostrils flared as she drank in the page. The naked woman writhing beneath the weird, demonic thing that violated her. Lois hissed as her fingers slipped inside her pussy. She wished that it was something else...something that penetrated and stretched and moved inside of her like a living thing. It had been too long since Lois had anyone inside of her...

"Lucky bitch," Lois panted. Her eyes focused on the woman's face, down over her generous breasts with the hard nipples, down to where one raised leg hid the exact moment of penetration—but in her mind's eye, Lois knew that the slut was getting reamed deep, the strange crimson shaft pushing deep into her cunt, seeking out the entrance to her womb.

A leer curled on the reporter's face as she imagined the wriggling crimson tentacle pounding against that final defense...as if the simple sphincter could protect her holiest of holiest from the demon's defilement. No, Lois decided, her fingers working deeper into her pussy in sympathy, it would be like in those pathetic hentai comics of the Japanese, the cock pushing through, the bitch screaming in pain and terror...

The more that Lois stared at the picture, the more she wished it was her in the picture. The reporter drew herself up on the bed, in the same position of the woman in the book. Two fingers began to thrust in and out of her tight cunt, and Lois tried to imagine herself as the woman...