End: The Guard Recognizes Lois Lane

"Lo...Lois. Dat's it. Dis is Lois Lane on my dick rightcher!" The guard said.

A moment later, the reporter's teeth sank into his stinking cock-flesh, nearly meeting in the middle.

The guard's yowl of pain caused the entire club to turn their heads...but Lois was already on her feet, barreling for the fire door at the back of the club. She felt someone's hand grab her jacket—probably Tyrell—but the reporter moved on instinct, twisted out of his grasp and kept moving.

Out the door. Down the alley. Heels cracked and shed, so that she pounded down the street in her bare feet, in blind animal panic to get away.

Nor did Lois Lane stop until some blocks later, as the adrenaline wore off and her wind gave out. She leaned against the corner of a brick building and panted hard. Her body trembled, her stomach lurched, but what caught the reporter's attention is there was something stuck in her teeth.

Nails picked at the thing, and then pulled it out...and the knot in the reporter's gut tightened as she recognized the brown scrap of skin. With a flick, she dropped it in the trash can...and then began the long, weary walk home.

There were a lot of decisions that Lois Lane had made that evening, and she had time to think about all of them. Things done and not done. Choices she had made. A part of her wondered how things might have turned out differently, if she had managed to get a little further in. No doubt they would move the bimbo pill operation now that they knew she was onto it. The reporter was laced with recriminations at the knowledge that she had failed those women, that even as she staggered back to her apartment they might be bundled up and carted off to Gotham or Bludhaven or who knows where. Out of her reach.

Yet there was one thing that ate at Lois worse than that.

The bimbo ****.

Because even though she hadn't had much of it, Lois could still feel the almost pleasant fuzziness to her thoughts. Her breasts felt bloated and swollen inside her shirt. Pussy wet and itchy, ready for action. The reporter shuddered as she thought about what had almost happened...what would have happened, if she'd had more of the **** than she did. How she might have ended up as a brainless, big-titted whore, ready to suck any cock that was put in front of her, not even able to sign her own name.

So why do I want more? Lois Lane wondered to herself as she arrived, bedraggled, in her own apartment. That felt like the capstone to an evening of failures. That need that gnawed inside of her. The desire to just not think for a little while...and how perilously seductive it all was, as if some part of her had always wanted to be a bimbo, and she had only escaped through luck...and by the skin in her teeth.