Falls Into Lois Lane's Arms

Flustered, frustrated, pissed the fuck off, the blonde tried to turn on her broken heel—and the shoe gave way entirely. Instinctively, Lois dropped off the stool to catch her. A warm, soft weight filled her arms, her hands clutched at a familiar pair of warm masses, and the blonde's face pressed against the reporter's own chest.

It would have been funny, if it happened to anyone else. The blonde squirmed, her shoes disintegrating as she struggled to get her feet under her, her hands clutched at the reporter's arms to steady herself, and muffled screams of outrage came from the direction of Lois Lane's breasts. The reporter, struggling to help, couldn't seem to control her own hands, which squeezed and clutched at those pillowy boobs.

The comedy of errors lasted only seconds, though it felt like an eternity. The blonde kicked off her shoes and stood in her stocking-feet. Legs steady, she pulled herself away from the reporter's chest—and Lois saw the woman's makeup was mussed, face flustered, and _Great Caesar's ghost, I'm still holding her tits! _Lois realized.

For the first time Lois took in the other woman's face. Sky-blue eyes alight with fury, high cheek-bones, a delicate triangular jaw, a pouting mouth, and a small, straight nose. The blonde drew herself up with great dignity, squared her shoulders, and said in a low, even tone.

"Please let go of my breasts."

By effort of sheer will, Lois **** her hands to unclamp. She swore the breasts actually bounced up into place, as though silently giving gravity the finger. Immediate regret filled her, but Lois managed to say.

"I'm so sorry, I'm not normally so grabby, I don't know what came over me..."

She was honest. Sincere. Open. The other woman noticed, her anger diminishing by degrees. The blonde looked down at the stain on her white dress, her broken shoes on the floor—and instinctively, Lois blurted out:

"Let me make it up to you!"