Epilogue: Lois Lane, The Daily Planet's Greatest Bitch

The cab was waiting for Lois Lane as the reporter left work. Right on time. No one looked twice as the Daily Planet's Greatest Reporter slid into the back seat. Then the car pulled away from the curb.

There was a vibrator on the seat. Small, discreet. About four inches long and an inch wide. Purple, with a simple on-off switch in the base...not even a speed control. Without needing to be told, Lois reached down and slipped off her panties. The reporter looked at the rearview mirror as she spread her legs. Turned the vibrator on.

Lois didn't slide it in right away. She pressed it against her pussy, rubbed it up and down her slit, than set the tip against her clit so that she could feel the vibrations all the way to her hips. Brown eyes caught hers in the rearview mirror as Lois slowly moved the vibrating rod up and down, until her hand felt almost numb from the vibration...and then, when she was wet enough, Lois slid it in, not moaning, just focusing on her breathing, on working the little purple rod in and out.

They drove in silence, except for the buzzing of the vibrator.

Parked outside the house.

They had never really discussed their arrangement. Lois still didn't even know the black woman's name, or much about her. At first she had thought the woman slovenly, but the cool calmness of how she handled things...of how she handled Lois...made the reporter wonder at who she really was. Something more than a cab driver with a fetish, that was certain. Yet Lois was almost afraid to break the complicity of silence. As long as she did what she was told, when she was told, it would continue.

That was all Lois Lane wanted or needed, for now.

The driver pulled open the drawer. Lois got out. Her panties were on the seat. The little purple vibrator was inside of her, held in place by squeezing her pussy to keep from letting it drop. Ten steps to the front door, and once inside...it was dark.

The door slammed shut, locked and deadbolted.

"Dogs don't wear clothes."

She didn't phrase it as an order. Just an observation. Yet Lois slipped the business jacket off of her shoulders, her feet out of her shoes. Unzipped the skirt and wiggled it down over her hips. There was a high-backed wooden chair to her right, and Lois folded and set her clothes on it. Blouse. Bra. Everything except her collar.

It was cooler in the house than outside. Lois could feel her nipples hard, jutting out. Eyes adjusting to the darkness. A hand lifted up the hair off her back...and the lead snapped into place on the collar.

"Drop it."

Lois stopped clenching. The vibrator dropped out of her pussy, hitting the floor with a hard clack. Still buzzing. There was a moment of silence, and the buzzing stopped. A tug at the collar, and Lois followed the black woman back into living room.

The couch was gone, and the sex toys. Newsprint covered the floor. On one side of the room, a webcam on a tripod, connected to a laptop on a tray table. On the other side of the room, there was another tray table with a tail-plug, a plastic circlet with fluffy dog ears. A cable ran from one side of the room to the other, about six feet off the ground. There was a click as the old woman attached the other end of the lead to it.

Of course, Lois thought. A dog run.

"Get youself ready," the woman said, and then left the room.

Lois walked over, the lead sliding along the cable. The tail was long, black as her hair, silky...and the plug was as big as the reporter's steepled fingers. Fortunately, the woman had left a bottle of lube on the table, and Lois knew by this point to clean herself out with a quick enema before getting into the car...but first things first.

The reporter slid the ears in place, the black plastic gripping her head snuggly. It tickled her how right it felt. She didn't feel so naked, with her ears on. Now as for the tail...

The reporter poured a generous handful of lube on the plug. Used her fingers to coat it evenly around the black silicone. That left her with some slick fingers, and she ran those down the crack of her ass and began to rub her little hole. This was always the hard part. She knew her butt could take it, but every time it felt like she was going to break herself apart.

Maneuvering the plug behind her, Lois gripped it by the neck and bent over as she pressed the tip against her bumhole. It was so much harder with a tail-plug. A regular plug you could set against the wall or the floor and sort of **** yourself on it, but with a tail-plug Lois knew you had to ease it into your distended ass with your fingers...and it was a slower, more delicate process. Which was probably good for the reporter's rectum, but definitely made for a longer, more drawn-out experience.

Lois was panting as she felt her ass stretch. Constant pressure was the key. Don't pause, don't let it slip out. Keep pressing...try to relax, to let the asshole slide open wider and wider...it always felt bigger than it was, and right now as Lois closed her eyes tight, it felt like she was fisting her asshole...and then, the moment before she was sure she couldn't take any more, it slid in, and her asshole began to close around the neck.

Sniffing, Lois carefully stood up. It was always so weird to be plugged. Her butthole couldn't close completely, just grip the neck of the plug...but now she had her tail. With her ears, that made her feel more...complete. She gave an experimental wiggle, and the tail swished. There was a stiff wire along the spine, and the reporter carefully adjusted it so that the tail curled upwards.

The black woman returned.

She wasn't alone.

Lois Lane had seen fursuits before. The most expensive ones were amazing, and one look at this one told Lois that it must have cost a small fortune. The head was modeled after a wolf, more realistic than cartoonish. The build was sleek, dark. The figure padded forward awkwardly as the black woman tugged at his chain. Lois knew it was a man inside the suit.

The reporter could see his cock, incongruously human, sticking out of a hole in the costume.

There were silicone rings around the base, holding the brown scrotum away from the shaft, biting into the dark brown skin so that the cock swelled up past it, bigger than it would otherwise be. The glans was a vivid shade of purple, the skin taut, and just behind it was another ring, this one covered with little studs.

"You gonna get bred like a proper bitch today." The old woman said.

Lois swallowed, her mouth dry, as the black woman clipped the man's lead onto the same cable. Panic ran through Lois. She couldn't get away now. Not unless...she unclipped her lead. Or took off the collar.

He padded toward her. His cock was leaping with every step, and as he got closer Lois could smell the sweat and animalistic reek coming from the suit. Even though it was cool in here, she knew he had to be sweltering...and try as she might, the reporter couldn't find the eye-holes on the suit. Just the glassy yellow stare of the wolf-head, fixed on her.

The old woman turned the webcam on them. Lois quickly ran through her options. If she slipped the lead, she could easily evade the oncoming wolf...but if she did...then a part of her knew the game would be over. She doubted the woman would say so much as a word or raise a finger to stop Lois from leaving...but that would be it. Game over.

It's okay, Lois thought. I'll...I'll take a morning after pill. Start birth control again. It'll be okay. I can do this, I can...be his bitch.

With exaggerated care, Lois Lane got down on her hands and knees. She turned around, waving her tail at him. Felt the wetness running down her legs. Heart hammering in her chest, palms itchy.

Head down, ass up, that's the way we like to...

She could hear his breathing now. Straining through the mask. Soft paws with dull plastic claws scratched at her backside. Lois quivered with anticipation. She couldn't believe that she was doing this...unprotected sex...bred like a bitch...

He tugged at her tail, and Lois instinctively clenched to keep it in. His cock brushed against her pussy, but he obviously couldn't see with the suit. Lois actually had to reach down between her legs and guide him in...and then he was in.

The little bumps on the first cock-ring scraped against the insides of her cunt. The cock slid forward, not the biggest she had taken. His paws pressed pressed on her upper back, and Lois found herself having to press back against the floor, to make it easier for him to penetrate her.

"Whurf," he said. "Whurf, whurf…"

His hips slammed forward. The cock moved in and out of her pussy. Nothing sophisticated about this lovemaking. The male dog was humping his bitch. Spearing her cunt hard. No foreplay, no playing with her tits. Every time his cock slid home, the suit hit the base of her tail, and Lois shuddered as the plug was pushed in momentarily deeper. It was like getting fucked in both holes at once...at least a little...and it went on.

Lois wasn't sure if it was the cock rings, or maybe some Viagra, but what he lacked in length or girth he made up for in stamina. The reporter could hear the pad of the black woman's stocking-feet on the newspaper as she angled the webcam to catch them from different positions.

To see his black balls slap against her pink pussy. His dull claws scratch as her back. Her small breasts swinging so that drops of sweat fell off them. Then finally a close-up of her face. There were no words between them, but Lois knew what she wanted from her...what she needed...

"Woof!" Lois said. She let her tongue hang out and her eyes roll as she face the camera, cunny burning. There was a hot wetness dripping down onto the newspaper from between her legs, and Lois didn't think it was all sweat.

"Woof! Woof!" The Daily Planet's Greatest Bitch said as she was mated.

Little did she know, that was the shot that was going on the cover of the DVD.