Epilogue: 3 Months Later

The paper hit the end of the driveway. Lois Lane was already awake. She'd put the water on for coffee. As the light of dawn broke over Metropolis, the naked woman stepped out of the door to fetch it for her mistress.

Anyone who had known Lois Lane three months ago might be hard-pressed to recognize the former reporter now. The tattoos on her face had just about healed, dirty words stamped across the woman's face in black and red ink. The lip fillers plumped her cunt-sucking lips into plush pillows. The gold grill gave her teeth a gangster look. The hardest part to get used to was the tongue split. Her mistress had laid a hand on the back of her neck, just above the collar, as the tattoo artist had used a pair of surgical scissors to snip the tip of her tongue in half.

The rest of Lois still felt naked...but her mistress had plans. It was better to get quality work done, slowly and deliberately, than to get all the tattoos and piercings done at once by poor artists. Sometimes, Lois shivered when her mistress and her friends talked about what they were going to do to her. What they would make of her.

As Lois stepped back into the house, she glanced at the paper. The Daily Planet. Buried at the bottom of the page, an article by Clark Kent:

WHATEVER HAPPENED TO LOIS LANE?

Lois felt a flutter, deep inside of her stomach. It was an unwanted memory of the life she had left behind. She had just walked away from it all...her job, apartment, friends, family, her whole life. To live naked in a cage, as her body was slowly altered. For a moment, just a moment, the reporter's resolve wavered.

"Bitch." Latisha's voice was a whisper that shook the house.

Lois dropped onto her hands and knees. Paper in ther plump lips. She crawled on all fours into the bedroom, where her mistress sat on the edge of the bed, the grey dreads loose about her naked body. Dutifully, Lois delivered the paper.

"Toilet," the old woman said softly. There was no **** behind the command. There needed none. For the first month, she had punished Lois harshly for each failure. Lois had learned her lessons well. Now the naked white woman crawled into the bathroom and assumed the position in the shower. Ass resting on her heels. Hands held up in front of her small tits. Face raised.

The hot piss sprayed messily on Lois Lane's breasts. Ran down her body in long, yellow rivulets. Her mistress loomed over her, two fingers tugged her labia apart to better aim the spray. Piss was sterile. She could have peed on Lois Lane's new face tattoos without any risk of infection. Yet the mistress had other plans.

The bulk of the old woman squeezed into the tight shower. The former reporter's mouth opened and clamped on the puffy labia. She sucked at the sour pussy as the hot water burst from above. The sharp odor of African black soap came down to Lois as Latisha scrubbed.

It was a work day, Lois helped Latisha towel off. Poured her mistress' coffee into her travel cup. Coffee and paper would go into the cab with her. Later, tonight perhaps, when the paper was used to line her cage, Lois might read what Clark had written about her.

Before she left, Latisha locked Lois in her cage. The reporter backed in, so that the lubed dog-dick-shaped dildo could impale her ass. Queen had said that the reporter's ass needed to be trained to take something bigger.

The flatscreen in front of Lois Lane's cage was turned on. A constant stream of porn was all the stimulation Lois Lane had during the day. White women eating black pussy. White women being whipped. Petplay. **** enemas.

"Good bitch," Latisha said, patting the former reporter's head before she closed and locked the cage. A warm, hot glow filled Lois Lane, as the moans of the television filled the room, and her mistress left to drive her cab.

By the time she was back, Lois would be hungry. Thirsty. Pussy dripping. She would have rubbed herself raw. There was nothing else to do except masturbate, to fuck her ass against that cock. Sometimes she tried to sleep, with her ass still stuffed with that dildo. Not knowing what was going on in the world outside her cage.

This was her life now.

Just a bitch.