Disobey

"You're not my mother." Lois set her job, and defiantly kept her shirt on. "I don't know who or what you are, but my mother's dead and I'm not taking it off for..."

"Lois Louise Lane," the sound of Lois' full name was said in a tone that reached down past her conscious layers of thought, to the part of her that would always be eight years old and with her hand in a cookie jar. "You may be a grown woman now, but you are not so big that I cannot still put you over my knee. If you want to stifle in that shirt, you may, but I will not tolerate such rudeness."

The topless woman that appeared to be Ella Lane poured a slurry of off-white goo into two glasses, setting one in front of Lois and ringing the other up to her lips.

Lois, sweaty from the heat and thirsty, reached out and took the glass sulkily, slipping the salty, familiar mixture. Part of her felt ridiculous sitting there, perspiring away; the shirt was already sticking to her skin, great circles under each arm pit and along the neckline, and she swore she could feel it soaking through her bra.

They drank in silence.

"What do you remember of how I died?" Ella laid down her empty glass, and reached for the pitcher.

"A sudden heart attack. We argued in the morning. I went to school. I came back in the afternoon and dad was there—home early for once—and you were dead." Lois struggled to keep her voice even, and set her own glass down. Ella filled that one too.

"Your father had come home for a nooner," the older woman's voice seemed a bit distant. "Found me in the kitchen. Didn't even bother with any of the niceties, just pulled my skirt up—I didn't wear panties. He didn't like anything between himself and my quim. You were too young to understand, then, how he was." She licked the salt off her lips. "Insatiable."

Lois drank, and said nothing.

"Your father had a fat prick, and he knew it. Like a beer can. He flipped my skirt up and shoved it in, all at once. That was a thing he liked, and he was angry if I wasn't wet enough to allow him to go balls deep with the first thrust. I used to masturbate throughout the day, just to keep wet for when he would bend me over a table, or pin me in a corner and take me. It didn't matter where, for him, or when. I had married him when he was a lieutenant and stayed with him all those years, letting him hump me with impunity whenever he wanted. It was nothing special to see him appear at the door, grab me from behind, and pump me full. No matter if I was on the phone or the toilet or...doing anything. That was his right."

Lois just stared at the woman, who looked suddenly older. "Why didn't you stop him?"

Ella smiled. "Because I loved it. That's how we were. He couldn't get enough of me, and I loved to be used by him. Oh, we weren't any of those fancy BDSM people you have now. We didn't know anything about all that. I just loved to be slammed down hard on the kitchen table, to feel my breasts mauled through my dress, nipples scraping across the wood as he fucked me so hard that the edge of the table would leave bruises on my thighs for days..." She looked at Lois. "You must remember."

Lois drank, not meeting Ella's eye. She had remembered the bruises. The strange noises from other rooms, and at night. When Lois and Lucy would be sent outdoors to play with strict orders not to come back for at least an hour... But a child doesn't piece those things together. Not even a reporter. Until that one night...she had walked in on her parents in the bedroom, to see her father reaming her mother. Just holding her thighs apart with his hands and plowing her, while she screamed herself hoarse into a pillow. Not quite a year later she had a baby sister...

"I did have a heart attack," Ella gulped her drink. "Not from the physical exercise, but from something he said, as he plunged that fat pecker into my twat for the last time. He had his eyes closed and was pounding away, and one word slipped past his lips—almost a moan—a name..." She set the empty glass down. "'Lois.'"

The reporter almost dropped her empty glass.

"It was the first time I was really afraid—of what he might be capable of. My heart stopped right there on the kitchen table. He finished, of course. It wasn't the first time I'd passed out during sex, and your father didn't mind a limp fuck, sometimes. But as my life dwindled away, I was worried so much about what he might do to you and your sister when I was gone."

Ella refilled the glasses. "That's when she came to me."