End: "Hi, I'm Lois Lane, A Reporter for the Daily Planet"

It was the right move. Another prostitute would have been viewed as competition, but a reporter? The ladies were happy to talk to Lois, in between dealing with their customers.

Which is how, in the end, Lois Lane got her story. The stories were all variations on the same theme: bored, broke young women taking a break from university to earn money selling their bodies. All of them had some background in sex work—modeling, cam shows, compensated dating, stripping—and together they figured they could watch each other's backs, provide more variety, make more money. So far, that had worked out.

So Lois left the club some hours after midnight, with all the notes she needed for her story. Mission accomplished.

So why do I feel so empty inside? Lois wondered to herself.

Not that she needed to search her soul for an answer. The truth was leaking down her legs. Her quick fuck with Angelica Blaze. The dickgirl had cum and gone, leaving Lois behind like a spent condom.

So why does it haunt me? Lois thought, so wrapped up in herself she walked right past the pharmacy, where the reporter had planned to buy Plan B. It was the sensible thing to do, after all. Months of celibacy had seen Lois cease her birth control. Blaze hadn't used any protection. The reporter knew she'd have to get tested for STIs...

...but for now she smiled and nodded at the doorman in her apartment building, took the elevator up to her floor, fiddled with the key in the lock...and all the time, all she could think about was that throbbing cock. The terrible, urgent need that had overcome her, made her act so out of character.

"It was the ****," Lois said aloud. "Or maybe I was just sex-starved. Or both. I'm not a slut. I don't do that...normally."

Even her voice lacked conviction.

She peeled the tight red pants off her legs, nose wrinkling as the stench of the cum on her legs wafted up to her. The reporter stared down at her panties, absolutely soaked. Lois peeled them off with disgust.

"Great Caesar's ghost, how much did she cum in me?" Lois said, staring at the jizz-soaked panties in her hand...and maybe it was exhaustion, or the drinks she'd had with those prostitutes, or just some idle curiosity that made the reporter bring the panties to her face. To breathe in that strange and terrible musk, the ammonia-smell from Angelica's cum so strong it seemed to burn her nostrils.

The reporter's free hand slipped down between her legs. She closed her eyes, the memory of that dick replaying in her mind's eye...and Lois collapsed backward onto the bed, still half-dressed, two fingers sliding easily inside her spunk-slick slit. Lois let a little moan burst forth from her lips, and her tongue tasted the tainted fabric as she pushed her fingers in and out of her cunny with urgent need.

Rubbing her own soiled panties into her face, hips bucking as she fucked her own fingers, Lois Lane's night out finally ended with a shudder, a cry, and a collapse into a panting, quivering mess, the reporter, past disgust, licking the globs of semen off her fingers as her leaking cunt oozed out what was left of Blaze's load...except for that which was too deep inside for the reporter to reach.