End: Lois Lane Has But To Be Mercy Graves' Bitch

The Daily Planet's greatest reporter swallowed her pride as the **** chain slipped around her neck. As much as she'd like to shove the chain right up Mercy's twat, the reporter's pussy was in so much pain that Lois doubted she could even stand. The reporter had to admit to herself that Mercy had the upper hand—at least for the moment.

But when I get the chance, Mercy, I'm going to feed this chain in one end of you and out the other! Lois thought harshly.

The chain tightened around Lois Lane's neck. The reporter gasped...and as she stared up the taut, quivering length, she saw that Mercy was tapping something against the metal chain.

A tazer.

The reporter's heart sank. Mercy studied her eyes, and then loosened the chain a little. Lois gulped in the air...but she noticed that the tazer was pressed right up against the chain, and Mercy's hands were gloved. She was obviously taking no chances. As the staring contest continued, Lois felt her resolve waver. Finally, she dropped her gaze.

"Glad we understand each other, Lane. You do as I'll say, you'll get out of here with your body intact. Now, ladies..." Mercy's lip curled into a cruel grin. "...we're going for walkies."

Lois and Maria left all their clothing behind; including the reporter's smartphone. It was a weird, slow, human centipede-esque shuffle as the two naked women crawled forward. Mercy held the chain around Lois Lane's neck. On her hands and knees, Lois inched forward. Behind her, Maria shuffled along on her knees, her hands buried up to the forearm in the reporter's aching, overstretched pussy.

"Those 'eggs' in your ass?" Mercy said, as the weird trio re-traced their steps back toward the club. "Concentrated libido enhancers. You've been feeling horny? Lower inhibitions? Making irrational decisions? That's the little chemical cocktail dissolving in your rectum. Of course, in large doses they're addictive...and can have permanent, long-term effects."

Lois Lane's mouth was a thin line as they approached the door to the club. Her heart pounded in her chest.

She can't...she can't really expect us to go out there? With all those people? Naked? I won't do it, I'll...

"All the way to the bathroom on the other side of the room," Mercy said. "There's a door to the alley there, a box of clothes from the lost-and-found. You two bitches are going to crawl, and the people in the club are going to take some pictures of some of the nastiest, kinkiest display of public nudity they've ever seen. LexCorp owns all those smartphones, which means we own all those photos and videos. But the internet is never going to see them...as long as you continue to be a good bitch."

The reporter's nails dug into her palm. Her whole body tensed as they neared the door. A part of her couldn't believe this was really happening. Not to her. Not to Lois Lane. She froze as the door opened wide. It was too fucked up, too terrible, and worse...too terribly exciting. Her nipples felt hard as diamonds, and her stretched and gaping pussy dribbled as it leaked onto the floor.

"Walk out there Lane, or I'll zap you and drag you out, and leave you chained up by the toilets for the boys to piss and wank off to. Either way, we get our photos," Mercy warned.

Lois sniffled, once. Her head hung low, but her hair wasn't quite long enough to cover her face. There was no way around this. Only through it.

So she started forward. Maria kept pace behind her, even though Lois knew the hard cement floor must be **** on her knees. The reporter could feel the aches and pains in her own knees and palms. They didn't make it three feet into the club when Lois heard the first gasps. Laughter. Hushed whispers.

Then the flash of cameras.

Mercy carried herself imperiously, the chain just taut enough that Lois knew there was no escape. They moved straight for the bathroom, which meant going across the dance floor, the most crowded spot in the club. Cameras flashed and flashed. Men wolf-whistled. A bright blush of shame burned across Lois Lane's features, and her heart felt as though it would burst in two. Behind her, Maria slipped for a second, and the tug of those hands impaling the reporter's cunny brought them both on the floor.

It only lasted a moment. Then they were back on their knees, crawling forward.

Yet it was long enough for someone to get a bright idea.

The first half-finished drink splashed over the reporter's back. More people got the idea. Cheap beers were emptied on the naked women. Lois felt a margarita upended on her hair, the **** burned her eyes as it trickled down over her face. By the time they reached the relative safety of the dirty tile of the women's restroom, the two women were soaked in ****. Shivered with cold as their wet, naked bodies dragged themselves toward the door in the back...and yes, there was the cardboard box of clothes Mercy had promised.

Mercy pulled the loop off of the reporter's neck with the easy economy of long practice. The reporter didn't have to touch her neck to know there would be a red mark there, dimpled into the flesh from the tugging and pulling. Behind her. Maria pulled out her hands...and Lois Lane grunted softly. The reporter sank onto her haunches as her cunt burned from the prolonged ****.

"We have you now, Lois. Thanks for visiting us on your night out. If we see you around here again, I'll take you for a walk around the building," Mercy promised. "And Maria? Big man wants to see you. When you're dressed."

The bodyguard watched as Losi and Maria got dressed in ill-fitting clothes. No bra, no panties, no socks. Lois pulled her beer-sodden legs into a pair of oversized sweatpants, a man's dress-shirt that didn't instantly stuck to her nipples, and a pair of ratty Doc Martin's. Maria got a pair of booty-shorts and a child's t-shirt.

They stared at each other, these two women who had just been through such an ordeal together..and all Lois Lane could feel was emotionally numb. Maria lowered her eyes first.

Lois Lane left the building. Staggered with pain, physical and emotional, as she aimed her exhausted body toward home. Knowing that the events of her night out would follow her for a long time to come.