End: Two...But There Can Only Be One

Lois Lane (#3) floated in the limbo of hypertime, her black hair streaked with pussy-juice. Bite marks pock-marked her naked body, especially around her breasts. With each of her alternates that had been vanquished, the others had gotten stronger...and more sexually aggressive. Her asshole was a livid red, long scratches marked her back, and her clit was a swollen red button that throbbed painfully.

The golden loop of her lasso, taken from her as the other-Loises had piled on their most powerful member, slipped over her neck and pulled taut.

Lois-Prime reeled her other self in. The reporter looked just as worse for wear as her doppelganger. Without the Superwoman's durability, Lois-Prime looked like one great bruise. Her small breasts were blackened, knuckles raw, and twin cuts beneath her eyes had let bloody tears fall down her cheeks like a mask.

Yet she held the Lasso of Submission, and she recognized Lois Lane (#3) for what she was. The part of the reporter that she had long hated and repressed. Venal, vain, aggressive, egotistic, controlling, dominating, needy—all the parts of herself that Lois Lane wished she could cut out.

Except the reporter was wiser now. She knew that this Superwoman was simply another part of herself. A vital part of the whole. Unfortunately for her, Lois-Prime knew there could be only one.

The reporter's hands and arms moved in unfamiliar ways as the memories of other-Loises guided her. Lois (#12), who had spent her summers roping cattle. Lois (#44) who had learned Japanese shibari. In their hands, the Lasso became a golden thread that swirled in loops and drew tight in knots.

Superwoman lashed out as she fought the compelling influence—but all she had was power and rage; it was Lois-Prime that knew how to use it. That predicted each strike and wove the golden net tighter...until the Superwoman floated, trussed, hands and feet behind her. Golden strands encircled her breasts, to constrict and squeeze the teats until they hung like purple tomatoes ready to burst.

A single golden strand ran between the fucked-raw lips of Lois (#3)'s pussy, to rub against that stiff little clit. With the lightest tug, the rope moved...and the Superwoman's body responded. Lois-Prime let her tongue play over the stiff little nipples, calmly. She knew this body, because it was her own. Knew her weak points. Her kinks. Everything that she needed to make her doppelganger cum.

"No!" Lois (#3) screamed as she thrashed against the golden cord that bit into her skin. "I will not permit it! I will not lose! I won't! You will fucking cum for me..."

Lois-Prime smacked her doppelganger's ass, which sent a shiver through the bound woman's body.

"Let's both cum," the reporter whispered, and ran the free end of the golden rope between her own legs.

Superwoman fought against her bonds. Tears streamed down her eyes, and the harder she fought the deeper the golden rope bit into her flesh...and the faster she came toward her climax. Lois-Prime was right there with her, sawing at her own cunny with the golden rope, her moans louder and louder.

Because the reporter had glimpsed the truth, and was ready to take the step that was beyond power.

Until, exhausted and defeated, Lois Lane (#3) mewled as her body betrayed her. As her naked form shook and shivered, and an electric wave exploded up from between her legs. To overwhelm her body...her mind...her self...

...and then there was only one an eternal Lois Lane. The sum of all her parts...and yet more than that. A goddess who existed in every universe. Through her flowed the energy of each timeline and dimension. In her mind were all the memories and experiences of every Lois Lane who was, had been, or would be. Who had finally, because of the machinations of the demon Blaze, found herself.

Lois raised her hand, and in it a black flame flickered. Within, a tiny red figure, naked and afraid, screamed defiance. The multiversal Lois Lane looked at Blaze with pity...and with understanding. Much of the demon's spirit echoed that of Superwoman. The anger, the ego, the vanity and pride...the deep heartache and grief, the sadism that masked loneliness and pain. There were timelines, Lois Lane knew, where she redeemed the demon, or destroyed her.

"They will get their chance," Lois whispered as she closed her palm...and willed herself not to be.

In fifty-two universes, Lois Lane woke up. Tried to snatch at the faint fragments of a dream as it faded from their waking mind. Ran a hand down between their legs, wet and eager, sensitive and aching. Some of them succumbed right then and there and began to rub furiously. Others turned over to their partner, to coax their lover into a morning tumble. A few chose stranger options...yet none were untouched.

For all those Lois Lanes, their night out was over...and a new day had begun, full of sexy possibilities.