Lois Makes It, But The Cocks Are Right Behind Her

The bottomless reporter slammed through the fire door. Stairs led up and down. Behind her, she could hear the stamp of naked feet, the mouths that moaned the same word, over and over and over...

"Pussy."

Upstairs, she heard a noise...and instinct drove Lois Lane down stairs. She hoped that at the bottom the door would still open. Otherwise she would be trapped in here...and then what?

Gang-**** to ****, probably, the reporter thought. She wished her pussy wasn't so wet at the thought. Away from the faux-Vixen upstairs, Lois Lane felt her head clear a little from the weird lust that had come over her.

She must be a metahuman producing pheromones, the reporter reasoned as her bare feet slammed into the concrete. Took the corner at speed, descended...yes, there was a door...and a fire door at that, one that would normally be locked from this side. Except someone had stuck a wad of paper into the door to hold it open.

At the cries of "Pussy!" came from above, Lois quickly opened the door, tossed the paper, and slammed it shut. The bolts fell...and she allowed herself a sigh of relief.

Then she looked around to see where she was.

A large, circular room done up in red velvet and mirrors. The middle of the room was dominated by a circular red bed that had to be twelve feet across. Mirrors on the round walls, long lines of them, with red velvet couches beneath them. In the middle of the bed lazed women...naked, except for the jewels that glittered at nipple-piercing and navel-piercing. Women with painted eyes and painted breasts, who lolled in a haze of marijuana smoke. The reporter's nose crinkled at the herbal reek.

A toilet flushed. Lois turned to look as a statuesque woman with blood red skin and dark horns emerged from a bathroom. She had to be at least six feet tall, the body toned and lean, all whalebone and sinew, breasts small with puffy pink nipples like unripe strawberries. A mane of dark hair fell down past her shoulders, and the head reminded Lois of the profile of the bust of Nefertiti, the wide mouth in a Mona Lisa grin. Dark horns curled back from the wide brow, and beneath them pure white eyes without pupil or iris gazed at the women that lounged on the bed...and then she froze and sniffed.

Turned to face Lois Lane. Their eyes met...and just then, Lois noticed the scarlet snake that hung limp and inhumanly long between the demon's thighs.