There Is Nothing She Can Do

Lois groaned, her pussy burning and sore, but the constant dicking never ended. She plan had been to wait for some opportunity or opening, knowing that sooner or later her supernatural lover would run out of stamina or cum—and that, she realized, had been her critical error.

Because Angelica Blaze wasn't stopping.

Teenagers joked and fantasized about sex lasting for hours, but usually came within minutes of touching themselves. As an adult, Lois had learned to draw out sexual encounters...through switching position, oral sex, various forms of play. She had prided herself on being able to draw men out for more than one orgasm, to keep herself occupied and entertained for up to an hour or two, until her lover collapsed, utterly spent.

Now she felt a growing dread as her heart thundered painfully in her chest, lungs burning, thighs sore, buttocks feeling sensitive and bruised from the constant pounding, her pussy feeling aching and raw. She had prepared for a sprint and found herself engaged in a marathon. This was no race to the finish she realized, as the impossibly stiff rod erupted continuously into her overflowing depths, the cockhead drawing once more across her g-spot, eliciting a quiet, exhausted groan.

Blaze had said she would breed Lois all night—and only now, when it was too late, did the reporter realize the shemale could actually do it.

Too late, Lois tried to push Angelica away, to squirm from her burning kisses, but there was no escape. Always that plunging cock plugged her over-fucked cunt, those hands gripped and squeezed her ass and breasts, gripped tired thighs and ran up her spine. All around the bed the strange wrestling match went, leaving a trail of cum behind them, and ever did the reporter feel her strength ebbing, limbs weakening, protests softening.

Lois wanted to sob, to cry, to scream, but all she could do was gasp and moan and shriek as her traitor body was wracked with unwanted orgasms. In the end, Lois was on her stomach, legs spread, hands gripping the edge of the bed with the last of her strength as her demon lover pounded her from behind. Two of the servitors gathered there to stare at her, though they had no eyes, mouths opening and closing, tongues flicking out to taste the sex and despair in the air...

I asked for this, Lois remonstrated herself. Now, there's no chance...I must be pregnant by now. Or will be by morning.

A great weight settled on the reporter's eyes. Her pussy felt like an open wound, every stroke a scrape against raw and inflamed flesh, softened only by the constant lubricating heat of her lover's ejaculate. Slowly, her heartbeat slowed, her panting breaths deepened. Tiredness and languor settled into her limbs...and with the last of her strength, Lois fought off the approach of sleep...but there was nothing she could do...