Lois Is Not Allowed To Sleep

Hands massaged Lois Lane's weary muscles. Groped her naked limbs, scraped the inside of her thighs and down ribs, before flipping her over to hammer at her back and buttocks. The reporter was almost ready to weep. She couldn't remember the last time she had been this tired, yet the constant prodding of her aching muscles would not let her fall asleep.

Then the hands on her were wet. Lois smelt unfamiliar floral fragrances, something spicy and exotic. The scented oils were being spread across her skin, hands running up around her neck, down over her breasts. A wet hand hit her poor pussy with a wet slap, and Lois Lane's body shook with silent sobs as the uncaring hand rubbed the weird-smelling oil into her cunt.

She wanted to ask them to stop. To let her alone, to let her sleep. The reporter could feel her nerves on edge. The events of the night left her numb and boneless, and all she wanted was for them to...

"Stop."

A familiar voice, a woman's voice. Trace of an unknown accent, something vaguely Mediterranean, that could have been from Greece or Egypt or Khandaq. Lois felt a shiver go down her spine as the hands immediately slid away, leaving her all alone. Gooseflesh pimpled the reporter's wet skin as she lay on the soft bed.

Warm weight deformed the mattress beside her. Lois felt hot, naked skin against her outer thigh. A hand passed over her face, brushing hair away from her closed eyes with minimal contact.

"My beauty wishes to sleep," the woman said, a trace of amusement. "Isn't that right?"

Lois parted her lips, but no sound came out. Her eyelids felt so heavy, her tongue sat in her mouth almost numb. She could feel her chest rise and fall as she breathed slowly, deeply. The reporter's mind raced, as it always did when she was on the cusp of sleep.

"Sex releases chemicals that help you sleep," the woman said. The whole of the reporter's body was cold, except that one warm spot where her thigh touched the woman on the bed. "Would you like me to help you sleep, beauty? Would you like me to make love with you until you pass beyond the gates of deeper slumber?"

The reporter made her lips move. The stubborn tongue squirmed. She was past caring. There was no part of her body that had not been fucked already. If this is what it took to let her finally rest...

"Yesss..." the reporter choked out, the last syllable rattling out into a hiss.

"As you wish," the woman said, as a warm hand slid between the reporter's legs.