End: Batgirl!

The familiar cape and cowl, the latter spread like wings to slow her descent. Yet the bright yellow insignia on the chest was stretched across a modest bosom, and a waterfall of red curls fell out the back of the cowl. Batgirl landed on her feet and rose to her full height with easy grace.

"Lois Lane," Batgirl said, her head inclined just an inch by way of greeting.

"Batgirl," Lois said. "Am I glad to see you. We need to leave. My leg..."

The caped crusader understood the situation in a moment. She knelt and lifted the wounded reporter in a fireman's carry. Lois Lane would always remember the breakneck ride through the streets of Metropolis, as she clung onto Batgirl's lithe body. Shifted with her in the turns. The hum of the engine between their legs. Moving as one.

They pulled into the parking garage, and Batgirl drove the bike right into the freight elevator. The caped crusader turned off the engine on the way up, and walked bike and reporter to her apartment. A few minutes later, Lois Lane was stripped down in her tub, as the redhead cleaned and bandaged her wound.

The after-effects of the venom as it wore off hit Lois then. She half-collapsed, almost paralytic. Heart thundered too fast, and her blood felt like oil. Swollen muscles twitched, but she clung onto the sink as she told Batgirl what had happened tonight. The missing women...the ****...the strange hypnotic state with the computer...all of it.

Lois Lane was only dimly aware when the hot, wet sponge scrubbed at her breasts. Batgirl had been quiet, as Lois had talked. The reporter realized she had said more than she meant to. The weird sexual programming she had broken free from had left the reporter confused...the crash of the **** had left her weak...and as the Caped Crusader slid the sponge between Lois Lane's legs, the reporter quivered and moaned like a whore in heat.

Fever-bright, Lois Lane's violet eyes took in those plump lips, the lithe limbs, the slight swell of Batgirl's breast—and she wanted to feel that hard, athletic body against her own. To feel those lips against hers. Her cunt against hers. Lois must have murmured something to that effect, because Batgirl caught her gaze and held it.

"I've had some experience with venom users," Batgirl said. "And with mind manipulation. I know what you're feeling right now...what you want me to do. But that's not you. Not really. Not yet."

The reporter mewled as the spong was taken away. Then Batgirl wiped the naked reporter down with a towel. With easy strength, she lifted the reporter and carried her to the bed. Lois was too weak to resist as Batgirl tucked her in, and turned out the light.

It was a rough, feverish sleep. Strange dreams haunted the reporter, and her leg ached. Yet at last, something like rest came, and when dawn came after her night out, the fever had broken. Lois Lane pulled herself out of bed—still weak and fuzzy, but not so much as last night, when she had propositioned Batgirl.

Still not willing to put any weight on her injured leg, Lois hobbled into the kitchen...to find that Batgirl had already set up the coffee, ready to go. All the reporter had to do was press the button.

Plus one more thing.

The card was pure black, with a yellow bat-insignia. The reverse was blank, but in silver sharpie a simple message had been scrawled: "Call me." With a phone number.

Lois Lane bit her lip. She remembered now, had Batgirl had said "Not yet."

The Caped Crusader obviously wasn't going to take advantage of a wounded woman, delirious with pain, ****, and the lingering effects of mental reprogramming. But now that Lois was awake, more or less clear-headed, and still unrelentingly horny.

The reporter licked her lips. She fingered the sharp corners of the car. Maybe her night out wasn't wasted after all.