Epilogue: Stockholm Syndrome

No windows. No view of the outside. One big room, so no privacy. Time passed, but Lois Lane had no way to measure it, except by counting how many times she slept, how many times Mercy Graves made meals for them. There were a few books—Lois was surprised to find that Mercy was a fan of Mark Twain—but no internet, no television, no contact with the outside world.

At first, Lois was afraid that she would be chained to the bed for her entire stay...but that wasn't quite the case. The chains gave Lois free range over most of the hideaway, long enough that she could go to the bathroom or grab a snack without asking. The door to the outside remained well out of reach, even if it wasn't locked.

Lois wasn't sure what to make of Mercy. She never offered Lois any clothing, and seemed comfortable in the nude herself. Hours of the day were taken up with exercises, one-handed push-ups and pull-ups, the slow kata of martial arts, an hour a day on the punching bag. The reporter found herself with renewed admiration for Mercy's body and discipline, if nothing else. The hard muscle, well-defined abs, the way the sweat ran down between her breasts and the crack of her ass...and when she was done, panting and flushed, the bodyguard would pad over toward Lois, a look in her eye...

The dickgirl reporter's cock was hard a lot of the time. Like a teenage boy, just the sight of that naked body was enough to get her erect...and Mercy knew it. Flaunted it. Sometimes Lois thought she bent over and touched her toes, just to bare her pussy and ass toward the reporter. Even though Lois didn't touch her dick, she'd find it standing uncomfortably stiff...waiting for Mercy to make the first move.

Which she did. Never asking, in so many words, but never sneaking around either. She always approached Lois from the front, her nose twitching a little, and she'd reach out and grab the cock. Lois Lane had thought about fighting back, but in truth she knew she couldn't take Mercy Graves in a straight fight. The reporter thought she was luring her captor into a false sense of security by going with the flow...of letting Mercy bear her down to the floor and press body against the reporter's. The bodyguard liked to like Lois Lane's nipples and get them hard, but her purpose was always to slide that hard shaft into her cunt and take another load.

The only thing that Lois refused her was a kiss; turning her head aside the few times Mercy tried...and eventually, she ceased trying.

Over the days, the number of times they fucked could not easily be counted. Aside from Mark Twain, there was little else to do.

One time...Lois wasn't sure if it was day or night, but they were both tired and nearly ready for sleep, and laying in bed next to reach other...the reporter asked Mercy to read to her. She picked, of all the books, A Connecticut Yankee in King Arthur's Court:

Ah, Sandy, what a right heart she had, how simple, and genuine, and good she was! She was a flawless wife and mother; and yet I had married her for no other particular reasons, except that by the customs of chivalry she was my property until some knight should win her from me in the field. She had hunted Britain over for me; had found me at the hanging-bout outside of London, and had straightway resumed her old place at my side in the placidest way and as of right. I was a New Englander, and in my opinion this sort of partnership would compromise her, sooner or later. She couldn’t see how, but I cut argument short and we had a wedding.

As she read aloud, holding the book in her left hand, Mercy Graves reached over with her left and grabbed the reporter's cock. Almost as if to assure herself it was there. Lois wasn't hard now, but the naked bodyguard's thumb and pink lightly gripped the balls, while the middle three fingers stroked it.

Now I didn’t know I was drawing a prize, yet that was what I did draw. Within the twelvemonth I became her worshiper; and ours was the dearest and perfectest comradeship that ever was. People talk about beautiful friendships between two persons of the same sex. What is the best of that sort, as compared with the friendship of man and wife, where the best impulses and highest ideals of both are the same? There is no place for comparison between the two friendships; the one is earthly, the other divine.

Mercy went on, until her voice grew a little hoarse and faint, and Lois closed her eyes and felt the time-lost love, trapped in that Arthurian age...and before the end of the chapter Lois was hard again, although her balls were feeling drained, and the last load she had shot had seemed small and watery even to her...but Mercy was obviously tired and stopped reading, let go of the reporter's cock. The lithe brown-haired woman turned to put the book away...and just for a moment Lois caught sight of that beautiful round ass, the slit just visible from behind...and just like that she turned suddenly.

Mercy was halfway off the bed. Lois placed her body on top of the lower half, spreading the asscheeks from behind. The cunt was already wet and gooey with her spunk, and Lois slid it in suddenly, reasily, without struggle. The reporter realized that it was the first time that she had ever taken the initiative in sex...but there was a certain burning need inside of her right then, and if Mercy minded, halfway off the bed and supporting herself with her hands on the floor, she said nothing. Only made one of those rare mewling noises, like she did right before she came...

It was a long one. Lois moved with desperation, pushing with urgent, driving need. It was like she had to cum, like there was some small something inside of her that had to get out, and as tired and fucked-out as she was that impulse drove her harder and faster than in any of their previous sex sessions.

The body tensed beneath Lois and the mewling reached a crescendo that somehow drove Lois on to even further efforts...until with a gasp and a cry she felt herself explode, almost painfully, deep, deep, deep inside of Mercy Grave's cunt. So that Lois could almost imagine the jizz painting the entrance to the woman's womb white.

Things changed, somehow, after that. Now it wasn't always Mercy that initiated things. Nor was Lois anymore a passive participant, content to let Mercy ride her dick. They came together now, and if Lois Lane never said no, then neither did Mercy Graves. Beyond that...Lois tried to talk to her more. Slowly, hesitantly, Mercy would answer questions. About herself. What she liked and didn't like.

The bodyguard was hesitant. She opened up only with difficulty...and Lois began to see, now, how hard it was for Mercy to let anyone get close. She lived so much on her own, in her own world...and when Lois did manage to draw her out into an argument, on politics of all things, Lois thought she got a glimpse of who Mercy really was...not booksmart, but fiercely stubborn, determined, practical, slightly paranoid, frighteningly competent...with a lean, fierce kind of beauty...

The reporter blushed as she pushed some of the thoughts out of her head. She knew she shouldn't be thinking anything like that, after all she was basically a prisoner here...except that Mercy Graves had saved her, hadn't she? And Lois had agreed to it...it wasn't really ****, not at first...and certainly not now...

Mercy did her exercises. Lois watched her. Her gaze fell to the taut muscles on that ass, way the bodyguard's entire form went into the movement when she hit the bag. Though she had seen Mercy do it many times before—How many times? How long have I been here?—Lois still felt her dick harden when she caught sight of the sweat fly off those hard nipples. The whole body flushed and ready for action.

A rare smile came to Mercy Graves' face as she walked toward the bed.

"Looks like somebody's happy to see me," she said...and then surprised Lois. Mercy licked her lips and dropped down onto her knees. Tape-covered hands grabbed the reporter's knees and spread them wide.

"You still have to finish in my pussy, okay?" Mercy asked, and Lois nodded, barely able to breathe...or believe it...as the bodyguard lowered her head, mouth open, to swallow the reporter's cock.

Oh God, Lois told herself, I can't be falling for her. I can't...