End: A Kingpin On A Throne Of Weed

As Lois Lane stepped out of the bathroom, bottomless and clean, inside and out. Pants, panties, jacket, and bra were carefully folded on top of the toilet. Lois feeling oddly naked, stepping out into the **** warehouse in just her white t-shirt and heels...but she let out a sigh of relief as she saw that the women were gone.

Except before they had left, Angelica Blaze had given them a task.

The bales of marijuana had been stacked into a kind of throne...and lounging on it, naked, her balls resting on the leafy green mass, was Angelica Blaze.

Maybe it was the ****. Lois sniffed, heart hammering. The lithe, naked figure that lounged on that throne smiled that knowing smile at Lois as the reporter sauntered forward, hips swaying with each step. A fat joint, as long and thick as a cigar, lay on one of the chair's arms...and a bright red condom encased the dickgirl's cock, slick with lube. Lois let out a sight of relief. As excited as she was, she probably would have sat on the dick anyway...but she was glad at least one of them had a clear head.

Remember, Lane, Lois thought to herself as she reached the throne, the smell of the weed heady and rank. You're just doing this to get the story. That's it. One time only. Pump her for all the information you can get.

Angelica reached out with one slim but surprisingly strong arm to help the almost-naked reporter up, Lois turning around...and then she felt the slimy tip of Blaze's condom-clad cock press against her freshly cleaned backside.

For a moment, Lois wanted to run...and then Blaze's hands gripped her waist, calmly but firmly, and pressed down.

Lois gasped as just the tip of the dick slid past her sphincter...and her legs immediately began to wobble, heart thundering in her chest. She held onto the arms of the weed throne for balance and realized, weirdly, that it didn't hurt...thanks in no small part to the lube...but she had the sudden overpowering urge to go to the bathroom. She wanted to stand up, but Blaze held her.

Then Lois realized that one hand was on the immense joint.

"Smoke it," Blaze said. It'll help you relax.

The reporter brough the huge blunt up to her face. Itwas neatly and tightly wrapped, but she had no lighter or matches...and then Blaze did something. Lois blinked and missed it, but she swore that she felt the demon's right hand leave her hip, for just a fraction of a second, reach up and snap her fingers...and then the end of the blunt was alight, and the hand back in place on the reporter's hip as though it had never left.

Tentatively, Lois brought it up to her lips. She hadn't experimented with smoking anything since university, but she knew how this was supposed to go: breathe out, stick it into your mouth, breath in, hold it...

The coal at the end of the blunt flared. Hot smoke slid into the reporter's lungs, like a blast from an oven. She scrunched up her face as the ****-laden smoke slid down her throat. Instinct wanted her to expel it immediately, but she held on.

Then Blaze pressed down, and Lois felt more of the dick slide up her ass. That triggered a coughing fit, and as Lois coughed and hacked and wheezed, the dickgirl drew her down until Lois Lane's ass filled her lap. Now it did hurt, a little. Her ass burned. Except Blaze didn't try to fuck her, not just yet. Ran her fingers and palms over the reporter's thighs, letting her get used to the feel of it.

"Keep smoking," Angelica said. "You're so tense. You need to relax. Find that sweet spot between the coke and the weed...let yourself go..."

Lois coughed a little. She wanted to ask a question about the operation...and as if Blaze read her mind, she began to talk. So Lois leaned back against the dickgirl, the hard cock in her ass, smoking that enormous blunt, letting the cocaine sing along her nerves and the weed do its thing.

She spoke of having been born in a prison, somewhere far away. How she and her brother had fought for their place in the prison hierarchy. Relied on each other inside and out—and they had always been criminals, whether they were in prison or the real world. It sounded to Lois like Angelica Blaze had been in and out of trouble her whole life...

...and now she was here, in Metropolis, with a new business.

"The ****, good money, good opportunities," Blaze said, her chin resting on the reporter's right shoulder. One of the dickgirl's hands had moved up to stroke Lois Lane's slit, the other was under her shirt, squeezing and exploring the reporter's small breasts. Lois sat and smoked, her hips moving a little on her own, Angelica's joystick still firmly up her bum, but now it was...not as intrusive. Maybe it was the weed, but the sharp clarity and urgency of the coke had been cut somewhat, and Lois felt like she was almost floating. Here, aware, sensitive, hot, but no longer as jittery.

"Really, I invest in people," Blaze said. "Like the ladies you saw here earlier. Women who would have fallen through the cracks of this life, on their way down and they couldn't see it. Now I've given them employment, purpose..."

Lois Lane thought of the women who had gone missing. They had been incollege, learning, ticking the boxes towards a degree. Had they really set those lives behind to deal ****? There had to be something else, something more.

"...now they can explore other things. Like you. Just look at you. Smoking weed, doing cocaine, getting fucked in the ass on camera...isn't it fun to just let go?"

The reporter smiled to herself. In truth, she realized that she was having fun, that she had slipped past the stage of professional reporting and now here she was doing **** and getting laid.

It's just once, Lois told herself. I can just let myself go once and never do it again, it's fine...

Then her brain clued her in on something Angelica Blaze had said, something the reporter had missed.

"Camera?"

Blaze took one hand out of her shirt to point straight ahead.

Lois had thought that the women packing the **** had gone. She had thought that they were alone. Now she stared straight ahead and wondered how she had missed the women with the cameras, the boom mic, the lights... The ones filming her as she rode Blaze's dick and smoked that fat blunt, now more than half-way gone, astride the weed throne like some total whore...

"Don't worry, sweetmeat," Blaze assured her and kissed her neck. "It's just for the two of us. I'll give you a copy when we're done here. Something to remember your night out by. You'd like that, wouldn't you?"

The reporter's throat was so dry she couldn't say anything. She just stared into the glass eye of that camera, and by instinct she brought the blunt up to her lips and sucked, her hips grinding a little faster and harder.

It was so easy to fall from grace. One little slip, one little mistake...and as Lois Lane thought back to the events of her night out, she realized she'd made a series of very bad decisions, and now here she was. If that recording got out, her professional life was over. If the police saw it, she could go to jail...

...and Lois Lane realized with a sinking feeling that she would never be able to write about this for the Daily Planet.