End: Superman Has Arrived

There was a crash.

The lights in the club died.

Twin points of red light illuminated the darkness. All eyes turned toward the source of that light. The classically handsome face, twisted in a frown. The S-shield across the chest. The little black curl of hair on his forehead. Fists clenched in anger, cape swept back over those broad, muscular shoulders.

"Oh shit," Poison Ivy muttered. "Shit shit shit..."

She turned—to run, to flee, to issue a command—and a piece of the shadows moved toward her. In the dim glow of Superman's burning rage, she made out the familiar outline of the Caped Crusader.

"Oh fuck," Ivy swore, a moment before Batman's fist crunched into her nose.

Lois Lane, limp and sore, cum leaking from every hole, felt a surge of satisfaction as the villain hit the ground.

Many people were arrested. Yet no one died that night. The missing women, Lois was later told, were found. Ivy had been using her new formula to control several women. The details of her plot would come out, sometime after they let Ivy out of the medically-induced coma that kept her from using her powers.

"Just until we can build her a new cell at Arkham Asylum," Batman assured her.

The Caped Crusader had insisted that Lois Lane return to the Batcave for a full medical check-up. Batgirl played nurse. Swift, methodical, clinical, compassionate.

"It's happened a lot more than you'd think," the redhead had assured Lois. "In this line of work. You'd think there'd be an unwritten rule, but...there are always perverts. Villains that get the drop on us. Goons who take advantage of us while we're incapacitated."

Batgirl took a card out of her utility belt. "My therapist. She's very good. Discreet. Paid through a grant with the Wayne Foundation. You should call her."

Lois Lane promised she would. Fortunately, there was a shower in the Batcave. When Lois Lane came out into the dressing room, she found a change of clothes—loose pajamas of raw silk, a lovely grey—and a pill with a glass of mineral water. The reporter knew what that was, and swallowed it without hesitation. The discomfort of some vaginal cramps over the next few hours was worth not carrying a ****'s baby.

When she emerged, she found Superman waiting for her. Relief on his face. Lines of worry around his eyes. As easy to read as an open book. Batman, behind him, sipped his coffee from an antique china cup. Utterly inscrutable.

"Lois! Are you...I mean...can I do anything for you?" Superman ended lamely.

"No permanent injuries," Batgirl said. "No sign of disease, either. Our blood tests are faster than the hospitals. You'll be sore, but there's nothing more than bruises. They'll heal. Use ice or hot towels if you need to reduce discomfort."

Lois smiled, nodded. She grabbed onto Superman's arm. Went up onto her tiptoes. Whispered into his ear.

"Take me away. Someplace far away. Not Metropolis. I just want to be somewhere away from everything for a while."

The Man of Steel nodded. He knelt to take her into his arms, nodded a goodbye to the Caped Crusaders, and was off down the tunnel toward the entrance. Out into the night sky over Gotham.

Up, up, and away.

She nestled into his chest. The heat that radiated from his body was like a warm summer day, and she burrowed in against it as the wind whipped past them. Not wanting to watch the forests and mountains, cities and rivers and highways go by beneath her. Not wanting anything except his embrace.

They came down, at last, at the edge of a cornfield. He carried her past the old wooden fence, The steps creaked beneath her weight as he carried her up the steps of the porch. The door was open before he reached it.

"Hello, son," an old man said, with a Midwestern accent that spoke an entire life lived in one small town in Kansas. "Who's your friend?"

"This is Lois, Pa," Superman said, and instantly the reporter recognized the tone of his voice, the echo of that same accent she heard every day in the newsroom. "Can she use the guest room for a while?"

"Of course. Miss Lane, welcome to the Kent farm. You're welcome to stay as long as you like," the old man smiled and nodded. "Go on, Clark. I'll be about the chores."

Clark had once told her about how his great-grandparents—adopted—were free-staters who had come to Kansas before the Civil War, determined to free the slaves. They had built this house, though it had been expanded and modernized by each subsequent generation. Lois saw quilts that had been wrapped around children in conastoga wagons, a tattered flag from some ancient war, framed photographs...and a grey-haired old woman measuring coffee grounds.

"Morning, Ma," Superman said.

"Morning, dear," she smiled a greeting at Lois. "Miss Lane, the bed's all ready, and there are some clothes in the dresser that might fit. If not, we'll find something. You get some sleep. Breakfast whenever you're ready."

Lois smiled, nodded. Superman carried her up the stairs, walked past rooms. Lois wondered which one was his. Then at the end of the row, her opened a door.

The guest room was built so that the sloping roof of the house made a sharp angle of the ceiling, like a block of cheese. The curtains were drawn on the window, but Lois made out a bed from another century, with a much more recent pillow-top mattress; clean sheets and a brilliantly knitted blanket. Clark laid Lois down onto the mattress...and she caught his face then, and pressed her lips, very gently against his mouth.

"Thank you," Lois said. Her eyes were wet with tears as she pulled away. "I want to...but not right now. Not tonight. Later, when I'm ready. Okay?"

Clark Kent smiled. All semblance of Superman had fallen away from him in that moment. He looked like he wanted to say something...but he just smiled. Then he kissed her forehead, and pulled the sheets and blankets up to her chest. Closed the door as he left.

To leave Lois Lane, after a very long and horrific night out, with a warm, fuzzy feeling in her midsection that had nothing to do with the morning-after pill that would bring its cramps, or the discharge as some of the cum in her pussy leaked out of her. Her hand found its way inside her pajama pants, between her legs. She hissed in pain as she touched her clit, her labia...but she knew, deep down inside, what she really needed, once she had healed up.

That was the last thought that went through Lois Lane's mind before sleep took her.

The sun would rise over the Kent farm. There would be coffee, bacon, grits, a hot water bottle. Chickens to feed. A scrapbook with baby pictures of "our boy." A snifter of the 'shine Pa Kent made out in the barn. No internet, not for a few days, though Clark would bring the newspapers from Metropolis every evening. Time enough for the bad dreams to die away.

Until one night, Lois Lane knew, she would slip out of her pajamas. Tip-toe naked down the hall to his room. Slide beneath the covers into those big, strong arms...and maybe reclaim a little of the dignity that she had lost.