Yesssh

Lois Lane frowned as she slurred the word. She must have been more **** than she had thought. The reporter glanced at the glass...she thought it was empty, but now she saw that it was half full. It took an effort of will to not reach for it. Instead she focused her gaze on Angelica Blaze, wanting to see her "true form."

The air in front of the naked dickgirl grew momentarily hazy, indistinct...the reporter wondered if this was some alien technology, a hologram or some innate ability. It was odd to think of her in such ways, like something stepped out of Star Trek, and yet there had been a time when Lois Lane had stayed up late at night watching Captain Kirk seduce green-skinned women, and fight to the **** against Spock when the Vulcan was locked in ponn-farr...the mating frenzy...

As quickly as it appeared, the haze vanished. Blaze stood there in her real form...and the sight of it made Lois completely forget her drink.

The skin was blood-red, flexible and shiny like new leather. Dark horns twisted up and away from the forehead, which now sported ridges just like a Klingon from Star Trek: The Next Generation, running right down to the tip of her nose, and pointed ears. Six fingers on each hand, each one tipped with a dull, dark-red claw rather than a nail. There was no spare fat on the lean, boney form; Lois could pick out the hard ridges of her ribs, the sternum between the breasts graced with small bumps like vestigial spikes. The breasts themselves were not any bigger—the nipples puffy and standing out like small, ripe strawberries—but immediately beneath them were a set of smaller, supernumerary breasts with their own nipples, pierced with heavy golden rings.

Lois followed that line of sight down the well-muscled stomach, which seemed unbelievably ripped, real cum-gutters, a tense eight-pack of crimson muscles that led down to a smooth-shaved plain, prominent hip-bones...and between those legs a familiar-looking cock and balls. Almost human...except that as Lois looked at it, it rose up, not like a human cock but like a cobra; the foreskin flared out like a hood, and laid back on the back of the dick, and the tripartite urethra opened up, revealing a series of backward-facing soft pink spines that reminded Lois both of a cat penis and of the sandworms of Dune—another of her childhood favorites.

I must not fear, Lois recited in her mind, as she and the cock stared at each other. Fear is the mind-killer, the little **** that brings total obliteration. I must face my fear...

"Do you like it?" Blaze said, with that strange accent thicker now. "I...didn't want to frighten you, earlier."

Lois stared at the dick. It had already been inside of her once. She could remember how that felt. What Blaze wanted to do with it.

Ponn-farr. Biological clocks. Last survivor of an alien race. Lois licked her lips, suddenly feeling a familiar itch between her legs. That long ago teenage nerd-self of hers had wet dreams that started out like this. Back when she was in braces and breaking out in pimples every other day and her father would only buy sanitary pads because he thought tampons unseemly for a young lady.

"I think...you need to hand me my drink," she said, suddenly feeling far too sober.

"Why?" Blaze asked.

"Because I'm going to need more **** to sit on that again." The reporter said, with utter seriousness.