End: Lois Lane Enlists His Help

"Did you like that, Stanley?" Lois Lane said. Her violet eyes bored into his. Her hands never left his cock. She tugged gently at his balls and stroked his shaft. Against that constant attention, his erection could not soften much at all.

"Jeez, yes!" He said. "Feel like you sucked part of my soul out, sweetheart!"

She grinned up at him—but her smile was icy. Now that Lois had gone over the edge and violated her principles, there was no reason not to go a little further.

"You want more?" Lois whispered. Her fingers rubbed along the soft, sensitive taint between his balls and asshole. "We can do a lot more. I know ways to make you cum more—harder—than you ever imagined. I just need a teensy little favor..."

Stanley gulped, his courage instantly wavered. Yet even as his cock rose back to an achingly hard erection, he nodded in agreement as Lois told him what to do.

"I-I-I'm terribly sorry," Stanley said to the receptionist. He grinned like an idiot, nervous sweat beaded his forehead and his upper lip. "It's just...I just left her the other day, and I went to check my wallet, and my American Express card is missing...do you have a...lost and found?"

The old woman behind the counter was dressed like a Roma out of some 1930s Hollywood movie. A handkerchief on her head, heavy makeup, hoop earrings, heavy rings on her fingers, and a heavier accent when she spoke. A perceptive person might have noticed that 'Madame Alexa' was nowhere near as old as she appeared to be, her wrinkles a part of the makeup. Yet she shuffled the cards with a professional interest. After all, some people did come here to get their palms read, not just a handjob.

So it was that the "old" woman carefully went to the front door, locked it, turned the sign to "Back in Five Minutes," and escorted Stanley into the rear rooms to look for his missing credit card.

From a lockpicking point of view, the front door lock was a polite suggestion. Lois was inside in less than thirty seconds, her cover companion tool tucked away as she slipped behind the counter. She headed straight for the computer that ran the shop's credit card reader and probably held other business records; she slipped a thumbdrive into a USB slot and waited as it blinked. Two minutes later, she pulled it out again, the virus she'd bought from Oracle insinuated deep into its digital guts.

The next time it connected to the internet, Oracle—and Lois—would have complete access to it.

As an afterthought, Lois took a few snapshots with her camera. The stars and moons, the props and everything weren't interesting in and of themselves—but the lack of normal security measures was, and some of the symbols painted on the wall behind the hangings were particularly interesting.

Lois pulled a curtain aside and gasped at an enormous pentacle, which showed a five-hoofed goat-like figure with five vaginas that spat flame, traced in something dark brown that looked quite a bit like dark blood.

Then the reporter was out the door, before Stanley could come blubbering apologies, the AmEx card he'd held up his sleeve "discovered" wedged under a bed.

There was a family bathroom at a nearby McDonalds. Once again, Lois Lane was popped into a squat. One spit-lubricated finger squirmed inside the tight, once-virgin hole of Stanley, who grasped onto the support handlebar mounted to the wall with dear life as the reporter slid it deeper between his hairy cheeks. Sought and found what she sought, the tight little bump of Stanley's prostate.

"Margot Kidder," whore-for-hire, sucked hard at the tip of Stanley's prick and stroked his shaft as she fingers his asshole...and Stanley's eyes rolled back in his head as his stubby dick exploded, balls squeezed tight as her erupted inside of her, despite having already cum once. It was as if he was trying to impregnate her mouth...and the thought made the reporter's asshole itch and flex.

A part of her wanted him inside of her. But she wasn't ready to go that far. Not yet, anyway.

"Uugggh," Stanley sagged, utterly spent, against the rail as Lois stood up. She smiled and opened her mouth, showed him his seed on her tongue, the nasty bitter pool of it. Let him see it as she swallowed it all down—and the smile on his face was almost pathetic in its gratitude.

Next time, I should charge him, Lois thought to herself as she turned to the sink...and repressed a shudder at how swiftly her mind had gone to "next time."

I really did it, Lois thought as she washed her hands. I whored myself out. I let men fuck me in the ass. I sucked his cock. Twice. I swallowed his jizz, fingered his asshole...

The reporter raised her face to stare at herself in the mirror.

And why not? It worked, didn't it? I know "Madame Alexa" is up to something. Those women might be held captive in that brothel. I did good work tonight. A case isn't always cracked in a single night out, and I know that. Sure, I got fucked. So what? I'm a grown woman. It's not like I did it just for the money. Even if I did...why not? Lots of women get things with sex. Nothing wrong with it. Just society being bullshit.

Stanley left the restroom ahead of her. "Margot Kidder" a few minutes later. Maybe one of the cashiers saw her, and knew. Lois studiously ignored her.

Somewhere, the demon Blaze wondered what had happened to Lois Lane. Had lost track of the reporter after she had left the club. Yet the scarlet succubus was sure that what she had slipped to the reporter was working through her. Lowering her inhibitions. Dampening her conscience. Pushing Lois Lane to sin. It was so easy, sometimes, with these white knights—one little crack in the facade, and they did the rest themselves. Tried to justify their lusts, their greed, their pride, and vanity...

Blaze would wait for the reporter. She had a feeling Lois would show up again. A little tarnished. A little more susceptible. The demon grinned as she thought of how she would give the Daily Planet's greatest reporter every opportunity to fall deeper and deeper...until there was no way out.

Yet that is a different story.