The Fucklock Cums Open

It was amazing, what Lois Lane could feel through her demonbreaker. The heat inside the fucklock's ass was amazing. The reporter's thrusts grew too quick to feel the beat of the woman's pulse, but she could feel the ass squeeze down around her, trying to milk Lois of her seed—but that was the one thing Lois couldn't allow. She needed to win.

Her hand attacked the fucklock's clit with savage intensity. Hips pounding away on automatic pilot, the reporter's fingers rubbed the sensitive nub of flesh furiously. The reporter almost imagined she could hear the muffled moans, and wondered what it must feel like...trapped in a door, fucked up the ass by a complete stranger as they diddled your hard little clitty, balls slapping into your labia...and then the hot hole clenched so tight within her that Lois hissed, unable to pull her cock back out, afraid for a moment that she had gone too far...

...and then the fucklock's knees gave out, the asshole spasmed, and somewhere inside the door bolts opened with a heavy clunk. The woman fell away, pulled off the reporter's dick as the door swung open. To reveal Blaze's office.

Once, as a cub reporter, Lois Lane had gone into a salt mine. This reminded her of that. It was cool and dry, the walls and ceilings carved from the hard rocksalt, a pale off-white with streaks and striations. She had seen a room that the miners had carved for themselves...benches and chairs that couldn't be moved, with a chandelier hanging from the ceiling. Blaze's office was like stepping back into that room...except this room didn't look like it had been carved. Grown, maybe. Extruded. There was a wet slickness to every surface, a pearlescent sheen to every curve. No corners or hard edges at all.

Blaze stood behind a white slab that looked like it demanded the blood of virgin sacrifices, tapping at a laptop. Screens had been bolted to the wall, which looked vaguely ribbed, like they were in the fossilized remains of some ancient beast, showing what was happening in the brothel out front and the club up above. Lois looked the demon over.

She was a tall, strong-featured woman. Dark horns rose from her brow, and oily black ringlets of hair fell down over slim shoulders. Skin like fresh blood on parchment, impossibly smooth and hairless, clung to a thin, lean frame; all muscle and bone, athletic and with no spare fat. The small breasts were hidden by a kind of orange V-shaped tunic, the hard nipples tenting the fabric, and a belt of leering demonic medals seemed to hold it in place above her hips...yet it was the face that held the reporter's attention.

The eyes were pure white, with no pupil or iris, and the lips were twisted, just a little, into a Mona Lisa smile...as though she knew a secret that Lois didn't.

"Well," the demon said, her accent strange to Lois Lane's ears. "I've seen what you can do with that thing. I guess it's time to show you mine."

So saying, the demon unbuckled her belt, and let the tunic fall from her shoulders...and laid her dick onto the table.