End: Explanations, Reciprocity, and Counting the Money

Smooth fingers massaged the reporter's pussy. Three fingers slipped deep inside the bruised and battered cunny, and Lois Lane moaned softly as they pushed some cool, tingly gel deep into her most secret places. She was aware, then, of lying naked on some unknown bed. The sheets smelled fresh. Her body felt clean, as though fresh-washed. There was a faint feminine odor to the air, and for a moment Lois was still and warm and those fingers left her pussy to get more of that healing gel, and Lois felt a sudden unwelcome absence.

The reporter's eyes opened as mere slits—and she was not surprised to find the naked Lana Lang carefully pushing some faint green goo deep into the reporter's well-fucked twat. Though she gave no outward sign of wakefulness, Lois watched as Lana gently spread the reporter's legs a little wider. Lois was so loose that it was no surprise how easily her cunt spread as Lana gently pushed four fingers into her aching fuckhole.

Several minutes passed that way—and not unpleasant minutes, from the reporter's perspective. She took in her surroundings. An iron-rail bed from a previous century, a picture of a farm on the wall, photos of Lana and Clark Kent as teenagers. Not much furniture, but what there was didn't seem to be the typical IKEA grade. All real wood, sanded and polished planks, put together by someone that knew at least the basics of woodworking. The room itself was open-space, with exposed beams; some sort of loft apartment, then, a converted factory space.

Then Lana tucked her thumb into the palm of her hand and pressed her whole hand into the reporter's unprotected twat. A fingernail stabbed into her tender cervix, and the reporter was unable to stop a flinch, a yowl...and then Lana paused and stared right into Lois Lane's eyes.

"Oh, you're awake," the redhead's face was flushed, right across her cheeks and the bridge of her nose, and as Lois stared the flush deepened and spread to the tips of her ears. "You, um, probably want to know what this is about?"

Lois Lane nodded, and then some imp of the perverse made her add: "But don't stop."

So the tale came out. Kansas farm girl came out to the big city. Away from the strict religious upbringing, that kept so many people in the closet their whole lives. A discovery that she liked girls. Really liked girls. But not just girls. A few casual encounters had led Lana to a club...a club that was really a brothel. At first she had just watched. Then the owner, Blaze, had allowed her to taste...

"I, um. I get really turned on, eating pussies. I never though of myself as a cum slut, but tonight I saw you just...filled..." The redhead's whole face burned, and she licked her lips as she began to gently push her fist in and out of the reporter's slick, well-oiled slit. "And I asked her if I could clean you out and you were...you were just so awesome. I came a little as I ate you out."

The last sentence came in a mouse-whisper, and was so sincere that Lois Lane immediately believed her. There was just something so innocent about it all. Lana Lang knew nothing of the people she had been dealing with, about who Blaze really was or the fate of the missing women or any of that. She was just a young woman indulging her repressed sexuality.

"So after you passed out, I told Miss Blaze I'd take you home. You were, um, bleeding a little down there, and I have this cream I use when I...I really got into toys for a while, and I bought these big ones, and..."

Lois couldn't repress a smile. Her eyes glittered. Curiosity aroused.

"Show me," Lois said.

The largest of the toys was a realistic depiction of a horse's cock, modeled in silicone, which stood on a firm suction-cup base. Lois watched and fingered her still-sore slit as Lana lubed herself up, then lowered herself down. The pale fingers with the carefully-manicured nails **** the flared head in, but to the reporter's eyes, Lana wasn't getting off from the penetration as much as having someone there to watch her.

The redhead sank down the dark silicone shaft, until she reached her limit. As far down as she could go.

Then, and only then, did Lois decide to reciprocate. To slip beside the naked redhead and press her fingers on Lana's clit, her breasts against the redhead's back. Seated on the edge of the tub, while Lana's legs quivered, utterly impaled on that horse cock...and the redhead leaned back, against her, just to take some of the weight off her poor pussy, to gently slide up and down that well-greased shaft, her head on the reporter's shoulder. Until Lois dipped her head.

They shared their first kiss with both of their pussies aching. Perhaps there were better ways to do it. More traditional. At the moment, and ever after, neither of them cared.

Lois Lane's fingers were a blur. She held Lana with her other arm, as the redhead bobbed up and down on the shaft, faster and faster, until she almost slammed her cunt down on the thing—until she gave the most adorable little squeal of pure, unadulterated bliss and her body quivered and shook. The reporter kept diddling that little nub of flesh until Lana stopped quivering and seamed to melt and go limp, and broke the kiss to pant and suck in air.

As they broke that kiss, still able to taste each other's lips, Lana's eyes went wide.

"Oh! I have your money too. It's on the table."

Near dawn, as Lana made coffee, toast, and eggs—it was too late for wine, and the sex seemed to put them both in the mood for breakfast—Lois examined the hundred dollar bills. Held them up to the light. Smiled in that way she had, when a missing pieces falls into place.

"They're counterfeit!" Lois said, with an idiot grin. "They look perfect—but they all have the same serial number."

"What does that mean?" Lana said, as she cracked an egg. "Oh, how do you like your eggs?"

"Sunny-side up, and with a side of cunnilingus," Lois Lane said, before her exhausted brain could stop her.

Which is exactly what she got. The redhead gave a mischievous grin as she shoved the egg onto a piece of toast on Lois Lane's plate, then dipped under the kitchen table. The reporter stared at the stack of fake hundreds as warm kisses were planted down her inner thigh.

"You may have gotten the drop on me this time, Blaze," Lois said as she stared at the incriminating evidence. "But I'll get you next time! Oooh, fuck, right there babe—"

The reporter clutched the table with both hands as Lana Lang's lips sucked gently on Lois Lane's sensitive clit...and a partnership was forged that night which neither woman would ever regret.