End: Step On His Dick

In a quiet corner of the stairwell, Lois Lane **** Tyrell hard against the wall. Her grip on his wrist didn't relax for a moment. She pressed the stun gun against the side of his neck. Yet she left his left hand free.

Tyrell was angry, tense...but still more scared of whoever was behind this than he was of her.

"Undo your pants," she ordered. "And pull them down to your knees."

With his left hand, Tyrell fumbled with his pants. It was awkward work, one-handed, and Lois could almost see what he was thinking. How he waited for his moment to try and twist away, run or turn the tables.

Which is why, as soon as his pants were down, Lois Lane kicked the back of his knees. He crumpled, caught himself against the wall...and the reporter pressed the toe of her shoe against his taint.

"Belly down on the ground," she ordered, with steel in her voice. Nor did Lois give him time to think. She tugged at his wrist and he flopped onto his side, then onto his stomach.

It was an awkward position, for her. Balanced over Tyrell's supine body. The balls of her foot pressed against his own balls.

If only Superman could see me now, Lois thought, as she leaned backward, to apply a bit of her weight on her foot. Tyrell's body grew tense...and then, as the steel tip of her three-inch heel touched his foreskin, he gave out a little scream.

"Now, Tyrell," Lois said. "I can either crush your dick and balls...or you can tell me everything you know about what's going on here, and I'll leave your frankly pathetic manhood intact."

Men like to think that they can withstand ****. That they're tough. All their lives they're trained to think they have some secret core of strength and endurance, that in the face of adversity their true self will be shown.

As Lois Lane stepped on his dick, Tyrell found out that his true self was a whiny bitch.

He told her everything he knew. About the operation at the club, the ****, the girls, the mafia connections, and the person behind it all—an enigmatic metahuman named Blaze, whom some whispered was the devil herself. Able to put the fear even in grizzled mafiosos and would-be gangsters. Whose sole pleasure seemed to be the humiliation and degradation of women. Turning them into brainless fuckdolls.

How she had ordered Tyrell to do the same thing to Lois.

The Black man cried as Lois Lane leaned forward. Her heel lifted off of his foreskin, and he gave a high-pitched squeak. Yet the reporter let go of his wrist. She didn't want any skin contact when the tazer went off.

Tyrell spasmed as the electricity surged through his body. His dick jumped beneath her foot...and then, when Lois let go of the trigger, he lay still. Eyes rolled up into his head. Still breathing, though he'd need some ice on his cock.

As for Lois Lane...she left him there, and walked off into the Metropolis night with a new sense of confidence and power. She felt alive in the way she often did after an adventure, and strode the streets as if she owned them, and dared anyone to contest her. By her own wits, she had successfully sensed and evaded a trap, and gotten some crucial information. This was obviously a case for the Justice League, what with Blaze being a metahuman and all. Lois resolved to let them know as soon as possible.

Yet there was one other thing that had changed for Lois Lane during her night out, and she was conscious of it. She had enjoyed stepping on Tyrell's dick. Enjoyed the power that domination gave her. It felt...addictive.

Lois Lane licked her lips. She wondered whether she would ever get a chance to step on Superman's cock. To have the strongest man in the world against the sole of her foot...a spiked heel digging into the scrotum between his balls...sent a tingle between her legs. Even as Lois Lane composed what she would tell the Justice League, she imagined how she would make that little erotic daydream a reality.