End: I Need You To Fuck Me. Right Now.

At those words Angelica Blaze relaxed...and the human semblance seemed to melt from it. She stood taller, dark horns on her brow above pure white eyes with no pupil or iris. The muscles were more defined on skin that was now red and wet-looking, like fresh blood on parchment. The angles of her face were sharper, more predatory; the ribs stuck out prominently. The demon Blaze looked built for speed...for the chase...

...and her cock was covered with soft pink spikes, the tip tri-sectioned by a Y-shaped slit. A dangling hairless sack beneath her shaft grotesquely taut and swollen.

"I warned you, sweetmeat," Blaze said. Her hands came up, tipped not with nails but sharp claws. Lois shivered in fear and sick need as they rasped gently against her skin. "I told you what would happen. Yet you are so curious. That's your only sin, really."

The Mona Lisa smile widened to show Lois rows of triangular, sharp, shark-like teeth.

"Well. One of them. I think the other is lust."

With effortless ease, Blaze pick Lois up by the arms and carried her towards the bed. Warm liquid ran down the reporter's legs, and she realized that in the sudden shock of the demon's appearance, she had actually wet herself. Her already flushed face burned brighter with absurd embarrassment at this loss of control.

"I've already lost, haven't I?" Lois said weakly as she was pushed back onto the bed, her legs **** open by the demon's knees, the impossible burning heat of the cock pressed against her aching, needy cleft.

"Let's say that, perhaps, we've both won," Blaze murmured. The demon's cheek nuzzled the reporter's for a moment, the sharp bone pressed against the reporter's face. "This next bit is going to hurt a little."

A dozen sharp points pricked the reporter's shoulder. Blaze's teeth. Not biting, not yet, just the promise of it, the demon's hands on Lois Lane's wrists, drawing her spread-eagle on the bed. Then the pressure increased...and Lois gasped in pain...

The cock drove forward. Lois screamed, her body pulling upwards off the bed, spine arching. Instinctively she struggled, throwing her head to the left and the right, pulling at the demon's grip. The demonic prick drove strain up into her core, and the suddenness of it was like nothing Lois had ever experienced. Worse than losing her virginity, or her worst period. She felt skewered in a way that she never had before, tears coming to her eyes.

The scream died down into a kind of choked sob. Blaze's took her teeth away from the reporter's shoulder. A long, wet tongue licked at the wound, which stung.

"There now. I know you think you've been fucked before Lois...but please understand. When I make love...I make sure my lover knows it. You will always remember this night."

Dread certainty in those words. Blaze began to move.

It wasn't all pain, being underneath the dickgirl. Yet it was nothing like the first time they had fucked either. No urgency, no impatience. The demon indulged herself, long, slow strokes scraping every inch of Lois Lane's pussy, as if memorizing the reporter's internal anatomy. When she bottomed out, the demon would arch her back so that her crotch rubbed against the reporter's clit, grinding the sensitive little nub mercilessly.

Perhaps it would have been a blessing, then, to retreat into madness. For Lois to pretend that she was not responsible for what was happening. Yet the reporter remained stubbornly sane, faced with the consequences of her own actions. A mouse cannot complain about a trap that they walk into willingly and with full knowledge of what will happen if they take the bait. Only a starving mouse would do such a thing.

Lois Lane realized she had been starving. She drew her legs up, to spread her cunny wider and ease the passage of the mighty demonic dick that speared her. Bent her head so that her lips could kiss, found Blaze's ear and explored it with her tongue, bit into the soft lobe and heard the demon growl in unexpected arousal.

There was a hunger in them both that could not be sated easily, or quickly.

When Lois Lane awoke, she was alone.

Laid out on the bed, the sheets torn to ribbons, bruises on her neck and wrists and thighs. A black sludge burbled from her raw, blood-soaked cunt. It stained the sheets, and Lois knew what it was. The demon's seed. She was overflowing with it.

The reporter tried to sit up and fell back, gasping in pain as her abs screamed from the impossible workout. Flopping over onto her stomach, the reporter dropped to the floor and crawled across the carpet on her arms, legs not wanting to work right.

Blaze was sitting on the toilet.

She smiled down at the reporter.

"Ah, sweetmeat. Ready for the next round?"

The reporter pulled herself over to the toilet...and then, grabbing at the scarlet lets and knees, pulled herself up until her head hung between the demon's legs.

Blaze leaned back. Something hard and wet slapped the reporter's chin. Lois opened her mouth and rolled out her tongue.

"I warn you," Blaze said. "I think I could get addicted to this."

Lois Lane ignored her. The reporter's mouth was full of dick, the tongue licking at the bitter Y-shaped piss-slit, the soft spikes weird against her lips...but not unpleasant.

That was how Lois Lane's Night Out ended...hunched over her own toilet, her growling belly **** for another injection of the **** which had spurred a night of passion that may have ruined her for all others. Lois Lane knew there would be consequences for what she had done...and what she was doing.

Right now, even sore and tired as she was, Lois was too horny to care.