Epilogue: The Daily Planet's Most Demonic Reporter

Monday morning at the Daily Planet was usually relatively quiet. Weekend buzz would be giving way to weekday routines. Staffers crept in, letting their hangovers settle, getting their coffee. Normally, Lois Lane liked Monday mornings, the quiet energy of the Daily Planet's news machine, which never completely stopped, whirring back into life.

Not today.

Getting to the office had been an **** on the senses. Lois could smell every rank and unique odor from every man and woman, from eighteen to eighty-five, on her morning route. The stale dribble of jizz from the clean-cut young twenty-something who'd suffered a nocturnal ejaculation and hadn't had time to clean it properly. The crotch-sweat and pussy-juice of the thirty-something young woman that jogged past the reporter, her body still flushed from being unable to finish masturbating before her run. The reporter's eyes were drawn to the hard nipples of the new mother, who had been breastfeeding her child this morning and hadn't put on her maternity bra, poking through her shirt. The crotch-bulge of the eight-year-old man who dreamed of a summer day long ago, when he had balled a nameless French girl on the beach, never to see her again.

It wasn't just the sights and smells that assaulted the reporter—it was the instinctual knowledge that came with them. It seeped into her brain, like an instinct, but sharper, clearer. Masturbation. Sex. Hidden affairs. Wet dreams. A wake of spontaneous hardons followed Lois as she rushed toward the building, feeling her own body flush in response as the eyes of men and women subtly followed her...and Lois couldn't tell, right then, whether this was an effect she always had on those around her and didn't know it, or if this too was a byproduct of her new demonic nature.

That has to be it, the reporter decided as she sped through the lobby toward the elevator. I have to call Blaze...see if there's some way to reverse this, or at least tone it down, or else...

She dove into the elevator just before the doors closed, and gave a sigh of relief...

"Good morning, Lois."

The familiar voice was a boon to her ears. Lois painted a smile on her face and turned, glad that she was sharing an elevator with the one person in the whole world who couldn't possibly have had a sexual anything...

"Morning Smallville," she said to Clark Kent.

Her nostrils twitched. her eyes dropped to his pants. She couldn't see the outline of his cock there, but a part of her could feel it. Something throbbed inside of her stomach in mute sympathy...and then the knowledge came to her head. Her eyes opened wide...and then wider still.

"Lois, what is it?" he said. "You look like you've seen a ghost."

She could smell the semen in his urethra. Worse, she could sense how it got that way. The image came to the reporter's mind suddenly, completely, so strongly and vividly now that she was concentrating on it, that it was like a waking dream of hallucination.

He was dressed in Superman's costume. On his bed. His steely prick out over his red shorts. Staring at a picture of her, from last summer. When Lois had worn a bikini for the company picnic. He was jerking off his cock, while looking at her. Imagining her. His breathing grew faster. Cock swollen and stiff, his fingers blurring, faster and faster...and then a grunt...

The first spatter of semen hit his face. She expected him to flinch, to turn his head, to aim it at his chest.

Instead, he opened his mouth. The next shot hit his top teeth. Lois stood there in the elevator, utterly enraptured as she watched Superman jerking off to her photo, cumming in his own mouth, eating his own jizz...

The reporter felt herself stab at the emergency stop button on the elevator.

"Lois?" His big blue eyes were full of concern. "What's wrong?"

"Clark," she swallowed. "I...have o tell you a few things about what happened over the weekend. But first...I really...really need to fuck your cock!"

Skirt up. The soaking wet panties hit the elevator floor with a squelch.

"Lois...I...you don't understand..." he stammered...but he stood rooted to the floor as she undid his pants, and freed the hard dick of her dream-vision.

The reporter raised one hand, spreading her scarlet pussy and going onto her tippy toes to impale herself on that Kryptonian cock. A strange, unfamiliar smile graced her lips. Like the painting of the Mona Lisa, that terrible half-smile from knowing something someone else doesn't.

"I know, Clark," she said. "And you're going to give me what I need!"

For the next few minutes, Lois Lane didn't think about anything. Not Blaze, not the events of the weekend, not her work. Her hips pistoned, her cunt clenched, and she grasped onto Clark Kent's shoulders for support as she fucked him standing, the most powerful man on the planet frozen helpless as her Satanic slit slowly sucked semen into her devil's triangle. Veins bulged in his neck as his Kryptonian manhood exploded, over and over, pent-up desire from years of being in the same office finally unleashed...and Lois Lane wanted it all.

Nor did she stop, until her quim quivered and her breath quickened, soft moans filling the elevator, now steamy with the heat of their two bodies...and when she cried out, it was more sudden and intense than any orgasm she had ever had with anyone...aside from Blaze.

Sated, at least for now, Lois pulled her skirt down. Her hungry cunt clamped tight to hold onto his seed. She tucked her panties into Clark's pocket as a souvenir, as he numbly put away his limp and exhausted cock.

The elevator lurched back into life...and it was only then that Lois wondered how she was going to explain to Blaze that she had just fucked SUperman.