Struggle And Fight

Whatever else she was, or what she might do to get a story, there was one thing that even Lois Lane's worst enemies agreed upon: she was a fighter.

I'm not going to stay and get fucked.

In the recess of the tunnel, the reporter squirmed and fought. her ass never stayed still, not for a moment. She pushed herself up, against the wall of the tunnel, twisting and turning, anything to not present a stationary target. Her hands scrabbed at the walls and floor of the tunnel, her legs kicked, heels jarring whenever they hit a body.

Several times she felt the hard warm press of something press against her exposed cunt, but it never managed to penetrate her. It was only ever a fleeting sensation, and then Lois would shy away as if struck. Eventually the hand on her back moved, trying to grab at her legs...and Lois swiftly pulled herself forward.

The reporter's struggles didn't end there. Hands peeled the shredded remains of her pants off her legs, and by the time Lois finally kicked free of them, her knees and thighs had been scraped bloody against the floor of the tunnel.

When the final pressure of resistance was gone, Lois Lane stopped to pant...but only for a moment. There was no going back, no turning around. Forward was her only option...and the question was not where to go, but what she would find, sweaty and half-naked, crawling through the darkness.

Back the reporter crawled, to where the cement gave way to brick, gave way to damp warm earth, and finally to the patch of living flesh. Lois shuddered, hands slipping as she crawled through the now-fleshy tunnel, like the integument of some colossal beast. In the dark, excited as she was, the reporter's mind turned to dark fancies...

Was this what it was like when I was born? She wondered, the walls dripping now with some clear slime, reeking of unwashed panties. The reporter felt as if the tunnel was narrowing, her shoulders scraping the living flesh. Yet there was **** but forward, so she crawled on...though it grew tighter and tighter, and the walls closed in on her, yet she could see a light ahead. A light...

The air was close now, the tunnel blood-warm the hair stifling, the scent of it in every pore of her, hair slick with it, shirt drenched. Brighter and brighter the light grew as she squeezed forward, her breasts scraping against the walls of the tunnel now, having to turn herself sideways to slip through the final few feet.

Her hands gripped the soft lip of the tunnel, a ridge of pliable flesh as thigh as a couch cushion, and she pulled her head forward, into the light...

To find herself staring, from a very unfamiliar angle, at a familiar scene. She seemed to be at the bottom of a great pink pit, like a strange fleshy flower...one that Lois recognized from anatomy textbooks and staring at her own "flower" in the mirror.

"I'm in a pussy," she breathed. "A giant pussy."

AND WHAT, a giant's voice said, a woman's voice booming down at her, SHALL I DO WITH YOU?

Lois Lane stared up as a giant crimson hand, in scale with the pussy she was trapped in descended toward her.