End: It Is Not Too Late To Phone A Friend

Lois Lane took a deep breath. She found her smartphone, sat on the toilet, and dialed a number. As her pussy ached and Satanic spunk dripped into the water below, somewhere in Las Vegas, it rang...and when it picked up, the familiar voice of a friend.

"Zatanna, I'm calling in that favor," Lois said firmly. "You know the one, from that time with the thing in the place. Right. Here's what I need..."

She hadn't intended to tell Zatanna the whole story, yet the reporter spared no details. Ran through her whole night out. Every decision she had made. Every time things could have gone differently.

When the reporter finished, Zatanna understood what Lois needed.

"knups tnetopmI," Zatanna incanted. Then, for good measure: ",B nalP .ehcuod lanigaV"

Lois Lane's pussy twisted and churned. With a sudden forceful expulsion, every drop of now-impotent black jizz exited the reporter's pussy in a torrent. An eruption of such terrible swiftness and power that the reporter swooned on the toilet, every muscle in her pevlis suddenly aching, labia on fire...and Lois could feel her cervix painfully spasm. As it would do all night, she had no doubt.

"Thanks, Zee," Lois said, and she meant it.

The reporter sat there for a long time on the toilet, too weak to stand, too emotionally drained to move. This night had been a disaster, and she had come so close to...giving in to a desire she had never really acknowledged. Lois wouldn't mind having a baby, one day. Just not to some evil, big-dicked demonic dickgirl.

It might have been minutes or an hour later when there was a polite knock at the door. Lois stared under the door and recognized the scuffed brown shoes of Clark Kent.

"Lois?" he said softly, in that warm, familiar Midwest accent. "Superman's dealt with Blaze. He figured you'd still be here. I have a change of clothes for you. I'd like to take you home."

He slid a bag under the door. There was a packet of wet wipes on top. Numbly, Lois Lane wiped her pussy clean, and then got dressed. She didn't even question where he got the clothes. Fresh new athleisure wear, straight off the rack. White cotton socks, also new. The exact kind of "tactical bra" that the Army used. Boyshorts. Sneakers from the one brand she liked, the kind that was sold to German police units. Fresh, shiny, and clean on her tainted and filthy body.

Lois winced in discomfort as she stepped out of the bathroom. Clark was there, and stepped forward to lend a hand. She clung to his arm as he guided her out of the club...and while he might not normally be imposing, she saw him straighten his shoulders and stand to his full height, and there wasn't a single person sober or drunk in that crowd that would have messed with him. Even years after highschool football, Kent was built like a linebacker. As they inched out of the club, Lois was glad of it.

She was very tired, as they got in the cab.

Silent and introspective as they drove to her apartment. He smiled and called the doorman by name. Rode with her in the elevator, and she clung to him even then, when Lois knew she could have held onto the handrails, or leaned against the wall...but she wanted that human contact. She wanted...but dared not finish that thought.

Clark seemed to understand, damn him. Didn't say a word. Found her spare key and let them into her apartment. In an instant, he had an icepad on a chair, and guided Lois down into it. He was making tea...sleepy-time tea...and put crackers and cheese before her. Suddenly, Lois realized how hungry she was. Ate mechanically, as the numbness and cold spread up through her pussy. The pain went away, a little. He found ibuprofen and aspirin in her medicine cabinet, and she washed the pills down with tea. Felt her eyelids sag heavily.

Then she was curled against his chest. She felt him pull off her new shoes. Pull aside the covers. He was about to tuck her in when her hand reached out and grabbed his wrist.

"Smallville?" she said, her voice soft and weak. "Get in the bed."

To his credit, Clark Kent didn't argue.

They didn't have sex. Her pussy still hurt. Her cervix spasmed all through the night. People think of the morning after pill as some kind of harmless miracle, but the aftereffects are unpleasant. No one that takes one cares very much; it's a sign that it worked. Zatanna's magic worked. Yet Lois needed...human companionship. Needed to be the little spoon. To feel those big arms around her. The heat of his body, which smelled like sun-dried laundry during summer. His soft breath on the back of her neck. Maybe even the aching bulge of the cock that was pressed up against her ass, that wanted to push through those layers of cloth but...chose not to.

Out of respect for her.

Maybe I wasn't ready for a baby, Lois admitted to herself, as they drifted off to sleep. But when my pussy doesn't hurt, I am going to rock that haystack-lifting cock's world.

This is how Lois Lane's night out finally came to an end. Not with a bang, but with a soft whimper of pain...and the promise of a better fuck tomorrow.