Epilogue: Party Favor

Lois Lane, naked except for a domino mask, lay still on the table. She breathed in slowly and shallowly, her chest barely rose and fell. Angelica Blaze had given a little taste of something to chill her out...and it was different, from the cocaine. A sort of pleasant languidness filled her whole body. The reporter thought that she could sleep...but not, she knew she had to stay awake. Awake but unmoving. She needed to be absolutely still for this job...that's why Blaze had insisted she pee before she even gave her the ****. Nothing unusual about that; Lois had found that it was common practice in the **** trade, to make sure she wasn't wearing a wire or smuggling anything. Yet the reporter remembered blushing as the dickgirl watched her, utterly intent as the stream of yellow piss had hit the bucket that Blaze had provided. Lois wanted to know why she couldn't just use the toilet, but Angie hadn't volunteered that information.

With a clean pastry brush, Tonya Wong painted clear egg white in long lines on the reporter's skin. Following along behind her, Jenny Dunlap held a small paper funnel, leaving lines of white powder on the skin—pure Peruvian flake. The egg white kept the powder from immediately falling off, and Lois felt the two women draw the coke lines on the naked woman.

In the last month, Lois had done lots of little "favors" for Angelica Blaze. Mostly it involved delivering small packets—****, money, that sort of thing—and Lois had done her job and gotten her payment in nose-candy. In her mind, she was still undercover. She took notes, made contacts. Her knowledge of the Metropolis underworld was growing by leaps and bounds, she had found those missing women...and if she was doing a little more coke today, or if Blaze pumped her hard every now and again...well, Lois assured herself she wasn't too far gone. It just felt so nice, doing a line and taking that long, hard dick...

"Party favor," Blaze had called this little job. She was catering a meeting with some big-shots from out of town. Lois had agreed, eager for the opportunity to listen in. Eager too for the little bonus Blaze had hinted at. As much as Lois tried to ration out her supply of coke, it was hard these days, and she always seemed to be coming up a bit short.

The women left. Lois lay on the table, her nipples hard. It was cold in that room, but that wasn't why. Lois could feel the sensual flush on her skin. The lights above seemed to be covered in halos, and everything had an almost dream-like quality. Whatever downer Blaze had given her was pretty good...Lois wondered what it would feel like if she had a little coke to go with it. To hold onto that languid smoothness and still be able to move, to dance, perchance to fuck.

Before Lois knew it, the party started.

She lay still, and listened. Nasal New Jersey accents of the Gotham mob. The rough grumble of Killer Croc. The high-pitched, almost womanly giggle of the Joker. Something else...something unexpected. Accents...Russian or Eastern European. Their words seemed to flow over and through the reporter, and she had a difficult time holding onto them. Shipment. Biological. The docks. Tomorrow night...

Lois wasn't aware she had closed her eyes until a thumbnail peeled one open. Her dilated eye tried to focus, failed. There was a white-and-green blob in front of her face...and then a red gash of a mouth opened.

"Now that business is over, gentlemen," the Joker said. "Let's sample the goods!"

Nostrils pressed against the defenseless reporter's flesh. A cacophony of snorts rang through the air as the assembled gangers ran their faces up her long, slim arms and legs. Across her stomach and down her chest. Killer Croc extended a tongue that seemed nine inches long and licked her forehead, leaving behind a swathe of saliva that smelled like swampwater.

The reporter could offer no resistance as they manhandled her, some roughly. She was limp as a ragdoll as one Russian took her entire teat in his mouth, tongue rudely swirled around the nipple, and then he bit down, hard enough to leave toothmarks, and sucked hard. Lois couldn't even moan at that ****...and the rest of them weren't any more gentle. Rough fingers plunged into her pussy. Her mouth was **** open, and a limp dick lowered into her throat...and the reporter was glad, now, that she couldn't move her lips, couldn't suck that cock. Only had to taste the foul smegma that he wiped off on her tongue, before dropping her head in disgust.

"Stupid ****-addicted whore," he muttered in a Russian accent. Lois had her his name...Sergei Mogilevich. She vaguely noted how small his cock was, compared to Angie's.

"Just a taste Sergei, just a taste!" Joker said as he slapped the Russian on the back. "A pick-me-up. The whores are in the next room..."

They were, too, Lois knew. Her missing women. The ones she had come to save. They were all hooking full-time now, for Blaze. Living off of coke and champagne, the skinny little sluts. A part of Lois wondered what it would be like...but no. Sex for money was a step too far. She had a job, a career...and Angie gave her all the coke and sex she needed.

The dark figure of Angelica Blaze came into view. She scooped Lois up off the table, surprisingly strong for a woman of her size, and carried her back into her office. The naked reporter managed a smile. She had done the job, and now Angie was going to give her the bonus she had hinted at...

Angie stepped out of her skirt, cock already hard. It felt massive against the reporter's bald pussy...shaved clean for her job tonight...so much thicker and harder than that Russian prick...and as the dickgirl pressed the unresisting reporter's legs back, she dropped something onto her breasts.

It took a moment for Lois' eyes to focus on it. A plastic wand. Familiar in shape. Her eyes focused on the two blue lines...and her chest grew tight. She remembered the bucket of piss, and now knew why Blaze had wanted it.

"Congratulations, Lois," Angie said as she slipped her cock into the well-worn channel. "You're going to be a mommy."

She leaned forward, to impale the reporter completely and smile triumphantly into the reporter's dilated eyes. "You might want to start cutting back...unless you want a crack-baby!"

The dickgirl's laughter echoed through Lois Lane's head like a bad dream...yet underneath it, the reporter could already feel the edge of the narcotic slipping away, and the ****, hungry need for a little taste to help her through the night...