End: A Good Whore Does As She's Told

In her life, Lois Lane had done many unpleasant things. Shoveled yak shit in Tibet. Helped birth a calf in Texas. Cut the throat of a pig in Hawaii. She had cleaned the carcass of deer in Virginia and fish on the shores of Lake Michigan, eaten raw eggs taken from a cliffside nest overlooking the sea, and gone down into the sewers of Metropolis to interview the homeless community down there.

All those memories conflicted with other, newer compulsions. She knew she was a whore, but Lois couldn't remember being with a customer that repulsed her the way the Penguin did with his flabby, oily body. It took all of her self-control not to wince at his touch. Lois tried to rack her brain, to draw strength from previous sexual challenges she had faced and overcome in the line of duty...but all she could bring to mind were normal sexual experiences. Lovers who hadn't paid her for the evening. Drunken frat boys she had let paw at her so she could play with their dicks. An uncut one-night-stand whose cock was so filthy with smegma she'd made him go wash it before she rolled a condom over his prick. A bearded man who kissed like a Neanderthal, who had tried to taste her tonsils with his tongue.

Doubt assailed the reporter as she rubbed her clit. A sense that there was something wrong grew within her. That she didn't want to be here, on her back, the Penguin's stubby dick stuffing her hot box.

"Come now, my dear." The Penguin said, his beak-like nose bobbing up and down as he admired her naked body. "I know I'm not much to look at, but I enjoy seeing a woman in ecstasy. Close your eyes, if it makes it easier for you."

Her eyes shut. He was the customer, and the customer was always right.

A good whore does as she's told.

The words echoed in the reporter's mind as though Blaze had whispered them in the reporter's ear. They dispelled the doubt that afflicted the reporter, chased away the memories. They weren't important. She was here to do a job.

Lois Lane's fingers rubbed her clitty a little faster. Her free hand groped one breast, and then the other, gently teased each nipple so they stuck out swollen and erect. The Penguin pressed on the reporter's legs so that they spread wide, and let him press his stubby cock deeper into her snatch...and with her eyes closed she gasped at his thickness, able to imagine someone else...a familiar muscled figure, with a bright smile and a cock as thick as her wrist...

She moaned, first softly, and then with more abandon as the heat and anticipation built inside of her. Lois panted and her back arched, her free hand roamed over her body as she rubbed her clit faster and faster. In counterpoint to her masturbation, her lover continued to move inside of her, not far, but with all his bulk behind each short thrust, so that the whole bed seemed to move beneath her. Faster and faster they worked, and if Lois Lane had thought about it, she would have thought that it was less like having sex together than if they were masturbating at the same time...except the Penguin was using her body like a rubber doll.

The whore-reporter would always remember that squawking cry, when the Penguin pulled out and let loose a hot drizzle over her body, the salty dicksnot reached as far as her face, and Lois was too lost in her own pending climax to do anything but gawp, and even swallow the few drops that fell into her open mouth.

They lay there, and Lois panted softly. She could feel her body dappled with sweat, the heat slowly faded from her body, to be replaced with a sensual languor.

The Penguin sighed, and she heard the click of a lighter as he lit a cigarette. The smell of burning cloves and marijuana filled the room.

"A lovely start," he said, as he collapsed backward. "Now, suck me off for a little while, my dear. We have all night, after all."

Lois Lane moved. She didn't even really think about it. A good whore does as she's told...and as Lois brushed the hair out of her face and knelt down over the Penguin's stout body, Lois realized that some subtle shift had happened in her psyche. That she was now, in some way, a bit more whore than reporter.

Her tongue teased the dribble of cum that oozed from his piss-hole, bitter and sticky as glue. The reporter closed her eyes and bent her head to take the shaft in her mouth...and a part of her had never imagined that her night out would end with her here, with the Penguin's cock in her mouth. Or that later she would find herself taking a cab home, his jizz leaking out of every hole, his money in her wallet...and Blaze awaiting her next visit, where she was sure to have more customers for Lois to service.

A good whore does as she's told. Lois Lane's lips mimed the words as they echoed in her head...and she wanted to be a good whore. The best whore. As good a whore as she had ever been a reporter.

Then there was an odd throb, deep down inside her pelvis. A twitch. She could still feel some of the Penguin's jizz, deep down inside of her. Neither of them had mentioned condoms...and another part of Blaze's programming asserted itself.

As good a mother as I am a whore!