Lana Lang

A familiar carrot-top stood framed in the doorway. Lois blushed at the sudden flash of her cellphone. The flash went off half a dozen more times as Lois held up her hands, to try and disguise her face.

"Lana?" Lois gasped in surprise...and she stopped. She lowered her hands, and saw the Smallville woman lower her camera, mouth open in shock.

Lana Lang was dressed in rather conservative club gear—red miniskirt that flashed her panties if she bent over an inch, with matching jacket; black sleeveless silk blouse that left little to the imagination, black heels just tall enough to give her an inch in height, but which let her dance.

"Lois Lane?" she said in a whisper. "Is that..."

Lois felt the dick go soft within her, and pull out.

"Lana," she said. "I can...I can explain."

Lois moaned as she something else probed at her nether region. With a yelp, she felt fingers begin to probe her wet cunt.

"Oh, I think I understand," Lois said with a smirk. "All you big city girls think you're the only fast set? I figured you had a thing for superheroes, but looks like you're into something a little different..."

Lois frowned, but could only gasp as the fingers dug and swirled within her. She pressed her ass against the hole in the stall.

"Look, you can't...you can't tell anyone about this."

"Oh, I won't Lois." Lana said, all smiles. "I know you have an image to maintain, and I personally don't care about how you get off. No, my tongue won't wag..."

Then the smile became a leer, and Lana slid her panties down, and stepped out of them. "...as long as yours does."