End: It Does Not Work

Lois Lane drew nearer and nearer to the fire alarm. She smiled, acted perfectly naturally, balanced the tray and swayed her hips, like a good server. The perfect picture of a model hostess-cum-slut.

Then, the moment came. All Lois had to do was drop the tray and...

The reporter blinked as she walked right past the fire alarm. Unable to drop the tray. Unable, as she moved, to stop. Horror mounted on horror as Lois felt the smile on her face remain, her mouth did not move when she tried to speak, to scream, to do...something. Anything.

An imperious snap of fingers caught the reporter's attention. She turned and saw a small man in a ludicrously bad suit, with broad shoulders and narrow waist, the long red mustache curled at the ends. The blue eyes caught and held the reporter's own.

There was recognition there, on both sides. Lois knew the Toyman, one of Superman's foes; and he...he recognized the Daily Planet's greatest reporter, even in this ridiculous getup.

Rebecca didn't even stop. She continued back on to the party. Toyman held up a little remote control and pressed a button. Another waitress came in and took the tray from Lois Lane's unresisting hands.

"Nanites," Toyman explained. "In your drink. They take a little while to infiltrate the brain, but once that happens, what was a living, thinking, independent woman...becomes just another of my dolls. Isn't that right, 'Lola'?"

"Lola" smiled a little wider. The reporter hated the enthusiasm in her voice as she said: "Yes, master!"

"The condition isn't entirely flawless," Toyman said, and unzipped his pants. A little pink prick, limb and somewhat lopsided, fell out. "The nanites work through the pleasure centers of the brain. You've probably noticed your thoughts turning overly sexual, since you first had your little drink. Rebecca wasn't kidding about being multi-orgasmic, either. All of my dolls are. Something about the mental re-wiring makes sex acts that would provide no pleasure at all to be orgasmic. Blowjobs, for example."

He pressed a button on his control.

"On your knees, doll," he said.

With a smile, Lois Lane complied. Though she wanted to run, to scream, to pull that pathetic pecker from his body and feed it to him, she found herself lift her skirt and settle onto her knees before him.

The click of a button. A new order.

"Suck my cock, doll," Toyman sneered.

Her mouth opened. The outstretched tongue touched the small, soft head of the flaccid prick. A shudder of revulsion went through Lois Lane's soul, but her body showed no sign.

No, that wasn't quite true. A warm wetness built between the reporter's legs as her lips closed on the base of his prick. His entire cock fit inside her mouth...and as she drew back, ran her tongue around his cockhead, and felt the small shaft began to swell, the heat grew more intense. The need.

Lois Lane hated herself, as she sucked Toyman hard. Hated the decisions she had made in her night out that had led her to this condition, as one more human plaything to the dastardly villain. Most of all, she hated how good it felt, to suck this little toerag's pathetic prick...and the realization that this was only the first of many acts of degradation that Toyman had planned for her.