Sit on the Woman

Somewhat guiltily, Lois leveraged herself up onto the folded body of the woman. The way the "chair" was arranged, the bare pussy was at the front of the chair; the head and mouth rested directly below the "back" of the chair formed by her legs. Lois debated, briefly, how best to handle the situation—to sit on the front of the chair would mean the jism she was covered in would drip directly into the unprotected pussy; if she sat near the back, it would drip down into her face and mouth—and finally reached a decision.

Careful not to put her cum-covered hands or fingers directly into the woman's sex, Lois sat as far back as possible, with legs spread. She could already see the white drips and globs on the fair skin of her "seat" and wondered what the woman would dream about as her the sperm reached her nose and mouth... would she dream of drowning in semen, as Lois almost had?

Shaking herself out of her reverie, Lois turned her attention to the woman across from her. It wasn't the body of a model, exactly; though she was thin and shapely, there was meat on her curves, wide hips and a generous ass, proud breasts that might have been fake if not for the slightest hint of teardrop sag, and the curling horns that rose up just beyond the hair line.

"A good choice," the red-skinned woman answered, with a sultry smile. "I prefer women myself."

Lois drew herself up. Tired as she was, she was a professional, and this was an interview.

"If you don't mind, let's start with the basics. Who are you?" She stared into the woman's eyes. The tiara shadowed her face, but the irisless eyes within seemed to glow with their own light, and Lois found it difficult to tell exactly what the demoness was looking at.

"I've gone by many names," the woman said. "And most of them would mean nothing to you. Call me Blaze."

Lois watched Blaze as she spoke, and noticed offhandedly that she was sitting on the edge of her chair—and though Lois wasn't normally one to look at another woman's crotch, her eyes flickered down and caught a flash of red—but Blaze leaned forward on the glass table top, her arms crossed and her generous crimson bosom resting on top of them, blotting that out from view. One question in, and Lois knew her interviewee was hiding something...

"This is all your doing?" Lois cut to the chase. "The club, the shrine, the Black Door, the missing women—you're the one behind it?"

"Guilty as charged," Blaze said, with a long slow blink. "Not exactly my normal modus operandi, but these aren't exactly normal times. So many things in flux. Universes shifting, magic changing...I won't bore you with the politics of hell, or the ennui of immortals. Suffice it to say, a woman has needs. And I'm half a woman, at least."

Lois raised an eyebrow. "Care to explain that?"

"I thought you'd never ask."

Blaze smiled, and Lois realized she had fallen for another, more subtle trap—letting the interviewee guide the conversation. The reporter knew she should have pressed the question, asked why and how, but now she had to wait for Blaze to answer, then try and regain the initiative.