End: Lois Lane Will Believe She Was Roofied

"A blank space in her memory will arouse too much suspicion...especially if tied to uncharacteristic behavior," Lex Luthor said. "Dose her with rohypnol. Leave her upstairs, in one of the toilets. She'll wake up with a terrible hangover, and if she thinks to go to the hospital for bloodwork, will come to all the wrong but satisfying conclusions. No one will ever know that this is Lois Lane 2.0."

In Lois Lane's head, a dinosaur chick tapped at the inside of her skull with its eye-tooth. When the lance of pain behind her left eye became too insistent, she opened her eyes...and like a groggy cat awaking from a visit to the vet, took a few moments to figure out where she was.

A bathroom stall. It reeked, and there were stale organic stains on the floor, dried puddles, empty beer bottles, used condoms, and other trash. Lois Lane's head throbbed as she dug her smartphone out of her pocket and checked the time. Almost 0600. The music had long since stopped, and there were no noises. There was an acrid, chemical taste in her mouth, and her arms and legs felt oddly weak and sore. Last night...

For several minutes, Lois Lane probed her memory like a tongue tenderly trying to find a tooth that has been knocked out or extracted. She remembered getting ready for the club, and then...

Nothing.

Carefully, the reporter tried to stand...but her knees were as wobbly as a newborn deer. She sank back down on the toilet, breathing hard. Her thumb found its way back to the smartphone screen. Drunk or ****, she needed to call for help. Someone she could trust.

Clark Kent knocked gently on the door to the stall.

"Come in, Smallville," Lois said. "It isn't locked."

The door creaked open...and there he was, her own personal Superman, without the cape and boots. He smiled shyly and pushed his glasses up the frame of his nose. Lois smiled back, glad to see him. The reporter raised her hands, and with surprising ease Clark knelt down and scooped her up, to carry her out of the bathroom, her head pressed against his cheek, his big strong arms around her.

They went to her apartment...and by that time, Lois had gotten enough strength back that she could actually walk on her own. Clark hovered around her like a great big pillar of a man, every one of his chivalrous instincts ready to wait on her hand and foot. The exhausted reporter...and she felt lucky, somehow, to have such a friend who would come to fish her out of a club so early in the morning, with nothing but concern, no judgment whatsoever...

...and maybe that was what made Lois decide to give him a little present.

"You'll probably want a shower," he said as they stood in the kitchen, a fresh pot of coffee brewing. "I'll get out of your hair, tell Perry White you're taking the day off..."

She had to get up on her toes to plant her mouth against his. That whole hard body stiffened as she leaned against him...before it relaxed slightly, his lips parted, and her tongue slid in, gently, to explore his mouth. How long they stood there like that, eyes shut and locked in their first kiss, Lois didn't know.

Yet she could feel him grow hard and poke into her midsection. Felt his hands, tentatively and awkward, explore her body through her dirty clothes. She did need a shower...but before that.

"Clark," she said, when at last she broke that kiss. "Call Perry and tell him we're both taking the day off."

By the time Clark Kent had finished the call, the Daily Planet's greatest reporter lay naked on her bed; the jumbled clothes from last night piled up on her laundry basket, knees up and legs spread, her fingers already rubbed at her clit. She felt sensitive...super-sensitive...as if she had never been touched before. Her whole body felt hot, alive, and she could feel her juices actually leak out over her asshole.

Clark Kent gulped audibly. He fumbled with his shoes, his shirt...Lois Lane was flushed, nipples hard, her chest with the small, exquisite breasts rose and fell in a pant like a bitch in heat. She mewled in need as, sensing her haste, he ripped his shirt, so that buttons went flying...his pants dropped...and she had only a moment to admire his body, which could have stood as model for any ancient sculpture of Hercules, trim and muscled yet somehow less the work of a bodybuilder than of a farmhand. It was working muscle, all of it, from the broad shoulders to the trim waist, the well-defined thighs and biceps to the hairy chest...and his cock stood rigid, the purple helmet so swollen it looked ready to explode. A little on the thick side, but not too long...not too big...

The condom he stretched on was a welcome afterthought. In her sudden lust, Lois had completely neglected to think about birth control.

He dropped to his knees, and before Lois knew what was happening she felt his cheeks brush against her thighs...and her first climax came almost after he touched her, those hot lips against her clit, sucking softly yet urgently, that impossible tongue running over her hot sex that made her toes curl and back arch, and Lois nearly screamed...

"Please! Please I need you in me!"

Never let it be said that Clark Kent was anything less than a gentleman. He rose slowly, but with tremendous dignity, as a mountain range might rise. the head of his cock found her dripping twat. Lois herself pulled her curtains aside to give him better access, the pink cleft shone wetly in the early rays of dawn through the window...and he pressed inside...

This time Lois Lane did scream...in pain, confusion, and horrible thwarted lust.

Because Lex Luthor, for all his foresight, had neglected to remove the clone's hymen.