Lois Is Losing

You've always been a whore, the voice said.

"No..." Lois Lane whispered...and shivered as she found herself in a familiar time and place.

It had been her first interview for her job as a cub reporter. Nineteen years old, wet behind the ears. Her roommate had suggested the wonderbra and heels, and Lois had put on lipstick and a bit of rouge and eye shadow—more makeup than she normally bothered with—but she wanted to make a good impression.

The woman interviewing her was grey-haired, big-breasted, showing more cleavage than Lois was. Shoulder pads and a tight belt gave her an exaggerated x-shape, but she had an easy smile. Twenty years of experience as an investigative reporter, with a voice that spoke of fifty thousand cigarettes and jaded eyes that had seen a thousand would-be-reporters come through these doors and sit down across from her. No desk between them

"Journalism major. You were head of your school paper. Letters of recommendation," the woman's voice rasped, throaty and dry. Lois tried not to stare at her hair; it had been dyed red, but needed to be reapplied, because the grey roots were showing. Crow's feet wrinkled at her eyes. "I'm afraid it's a very competitive position this year. Lot of students want a job that pays something. There's never enough positions at the university newspaper for all the journalism students."

Lois felt her heart in her throat. In her head, she remembered the speech she'd given...the one that had led to her hiring. Yet what came out of her mouth was:

"Please, miss...I'll do anything...whatever it takes..."

She felt herself lean forward. One hand touching the old woman's knee. One grey eyebrow arched, a glimmer of amusement in her eye.

The old reporter hitched up her skirt. A grey frizz appeared, in between pale thighs marked with varicose veins. Garters held up her stockings, but there were no panties.

No, Lois thought to herself, this isn't how it happened. This isn't how I got the job.

She fell onto her knees as the old woman spread her legs wider, the soft ass sliding to the edge of the chair. The smell of her—even her bush smelled of cigarettes and old fish—hit Lois so hard that she almost gagged—but then the young woman's backbone stiffened, her resolve strengthened, and she pushed her face in between those thighs, tongue sliding over the dry lips.

That...I didn't...did I? Lois Lane thought as she felt her tongue slip into the woman's cunny, a soft moan coming from the old woman. In her mind, Lois Lane's memories grew confused. Things shifted inside of her...and Lois was less sure than ever what was real and what was not.