Epilogue: V.I.P.

Blonde hair flicked. A bubble butt bounced, a pink thong run up between the crack as Lois Lane dropped down, until the bottom of her buttocks just crested the back of her three-inch clear heels, and she straightened up again. One tanned hand gripped the pole firmly, the nails painted pink. Glitter dusted the former reporter's cheeks like gold dust, painted eyes took in the whole crowd as she twisted her body into an acrobatic spin...her pink bikini-top came off midway and the crowd of the Daily Poon gave a ragged flutter of dollar bills as her mammoth mammaries came out once more...

The past moth, Lois had worked hard on her technique and her image. Her enthusiasm had driven her to try and master pole dancing, though she still had quite a way to go. Money went into new clothes, sessions at the tanning salon, and a gym membership. There were hints of muscle in her long, toned limbs now, and her flat stomach now showed abs. A part of the blonde had worried her tits would shrink from all the exercise, but her star attractions seemed as big as ever...and Lois was already in discussions about making them even bigger.

She finished her set with a flourish, on her knees, thrusting her hips toward the crowd in the nearest seat. Pulled her pink thong aside so that the customers could see and smell her wet pussy as they stuffed tens and twenties into the strong about her waist...and then she turned and blew a kiss as she exited the stage, damp with sweat and excited, high on life...

...and, moments later, cutting a line with a new credit card, she snorted a bit of white powder up her left nostril and was high on something much more addictive than life.

The Daily Poon's greatest stripper shuddered as as the cocaine went to her head. All the tiredness seemed to leach from her muscles, and she wet a finger with her tongue to wipe the mirror clean, then deftly slid the white-crusted finger in between her legs, up inside her cunny. Some of the old timers had showed her how to use it, how it helped to suppress the appetite and gave enough energy to keep up the hard work, and Lois had taken to the nose-candy like a natural.

Perri Black, the manager of the Daily Poon, counted to ten before she entered the dressing room. She stomped her heels on the floor, with the knowledge that all coke-mirrors, bongs, and crack pipes would be clearly stowed away. If she didn't see it, she could pretend it wasn't happening, and that was enough. She came up behind Lois, who sat before a mirror looking almost innocent, her enormous tatas resting on the tabletop.

"We have a...very important client for you. In the V.I.P. room," Perri said. Her hands reached out to gently massage Lois' shoulders. "He paid for the whole room. He wants you. A private dance."

The stripper smiled into the mirror. "Right, chief! I'm on it."

Lois popped-up with a coke-infused bounce, her tits jiggling like mad. Perri caught the reporter's arm and held it, so that Lois had to turn and look back at her.

"Normally," Perri said quietly. "I'd tell you to follow the rules. No touching. No sex. No hooking."

The dark eyes met Lois Lane's. There was worry there...or maybe greed.

"This client...whatever they want, okay? Make them happy. Whatever it takes. No one will disturb you."

Lois blinked...and the blonde wondered if she was actually being ordered to sleep with a client. That wasn't right. That wasn't how it was supposed to go...but maybe it was the cocaine, but the thought made Lois Lane's pussy tingle. She smiled and nodded, and Perri Black let her best big-titted stripper go, and watched that pert ass bounce away.

The suit said "money." Lois Lane entered the low-lit room by the stage entrance, and he was there, front and center, the only occupant. A dark, masculine shape with slicked-back hair in a Seville Row suit, custom made in a European fit. Utterly comfortable, utterly confident. Broad shoulders, narrow waist, strong jaw. There was only one part of him that didn't fit...the hands, which clutched his knees a little too tightly. White knuckles showed, the expensive fabric wrinkled.

There was a shock of recognition as the stripper came close enough to recognize him.

"Hello, Lois," Bruce Wayne said. "I had heard about your change of profession, but I needed to see it myself."

Lois gave a nervous grin. Her fingers touched the metal pole...she wanted to leap and twist around it, like she had practiced. She wasn't sure what this was, what she should do...all she wanted to do was dance...or maybe more than dance...wrap her legs around something hard. The coke made her jittery.

"Come here," he said, and she slipped off the stage.

He wasn't prepared for Lois to slip into his lap. For those big tits to be shoved into his face, so that Lois looked at him sandwiched between her boobs. The reporter smiled as she rubbed her crotch against his. Even with the thong in place, she could feel how hard he was. She'd wanted to give him a lap dance, but if Bruce wanted to go straight to the fuck.

"Stop," he said. His dark brow furrowed. "Lois, just...I came to talk to you."

"But...you paid," she said, blinked, not able to understand. She reached between his legs and found the zipper on those expensive European pants. "Isn't this what you wanted? Perri said...we're not supposed to hook in the club, but she said you could have anything?"

Her breath died down into a husky whisper as she pulled down his fly. "She said you could have me."

His cock popped free, and those big, strong hands gripped Lois about the waist and tried to lift her off as he stood up. The billionaire playboy was stronger than he looked, effortlessly rising even though he carried all of Lois Lane's weight, but the stripper grinned and wrapped her legs around him, her hand dove into his fly and pulled at his hard cock.

Bruce Wayne looked at her sternly.

"Let me go, Lois. I didn't come here for...that."

Lois leered at him. Her heart hammered, and it wasn't all the cocaine. She flexed her thighs and lowered her ass as far as his grip would allow, so that the tip of his prick just brushed her dripping cunt. It wasn't so different from dancing...only Bruce Wayne was the pole. Hard and inflexible.

"Lois...what happened to you?" He said. "Why are you here?"

The stripper blinked. Her brow furrowed. "I'm a stripper," she said, as if that explained everything. "I guess, sometimes I have sex for money, but that's all under the table."

Bruce Wayne's frown deepened. "Are you working on a story? What about your breasts?"

Lois Lane's brow unfurrowed. "You like my tits? I want to make them bigger, but it's expensive."

She bit her lip and leaned in toward his face. He studied her carefully. The tip of his cock rested against her cunt now.

"You want to know a secret?" she whispered.

"Yes," he said, voice wary.

"I want the biggest titties ever. Of anyone." She giggled...and then suddenly her hands stole under his armpits.

He wasn't very ticklish, but Lois didn't need much. His grip loosened for just a fraction of a second, and her hips slid down, to stuff her pussy with his cock...and then she clung to him, her dance-trained muscles cinched tight about his frame. Now her big boobies pressed against his broad, muscled chest.

For a moment he stood there, cock inside Lois. The stripper was sure he could have thrown her off, if he really wanted to...but probably not without hurting her, and Bruce didn't seem to want to do that. Finally, he seemed to reach some sort of decision.

"If I let you continue...will you answer my questions?" he said.

"Are you going to pay me?" Lois said. Her arms closed behind him, to wrap him in a bear hug. "I really want bigger titties..."

"Yes," he said. "I'll pay. Now...what happened the night of..."

It was a long conversation, but nobody bothered the V.I.P. as Lois Lane ground away at his dick. Lois couldn't understand exactly what he was getting at...Bruce seemed so frustrated with her answers, with her lack of attention, lack of caring...he only seemed annoyed when she pushed her titties in his face. Lois could feel the anticipation rise in her as she bumped and humped his dick, twisted around so that her ass bounced in his lap, reached down and fingered herself so that her answers came in between shuddering gasps and moans as her slit spasmed on his dick...over...and over...and a third time, very hard, her squirt soaking the legs of that expensive suit...

He sat there, interminable as a rock. Except his cock didn't lie. Especially not at the end, when she was literally begged for it. When she broke the last rule of the V.I.P. room and kissed his face...the corner of his mouth...and then her tongue slid in between his lips and she held him as his dick spurted and pulsed inside of her, and the hot runny spunk oozed back out of her cunny and down over his balls.

Perri would be mad about the upholstery, but it was leather. Easy to clean.

Bruce Wayne got his answers the hard way...and he didn't like them one damn bit.