Lois Makes Her Move

As the elevator lurched to a stop, Lois Lane moved. The **** reporter braced her feet against the floor and shoved hard as the elevator jittered. Tyrell, focused on the door, was caught completely unaware—but as he fell against the floor, his left arm shot out, the needle from before in his hand.

Which would have worked, if Lois wasn't waiting for him to do just that.

Her hand closed on his wrist and twisted the arm upwards. The Black man gave a surprised squawk of pain as the needle punctured his own abdomen. She grappled with him as her finger found the plunger and pushed...and big and strong as he was, Tyrell was not trained for ground grappling. The reporter, dizzy and weak, was.

Desperately, Tyrell tried to break away...which gave Lois the opportunity to grab and twist his arm. He yelled aloud as she tightened the grip on the arm bar, her feet pressed against the back of his neck as she curled up around him. No **** on Earth could help him move his right arm, and with little leverage, he was restricted to yelling and scrabbling on the ground, trying to drag the reporter toward the controls that would open the freight elevator's door.

He never made it.

The **** he had intended for Lois Lane worked swiftly. Tyrell, eyes bugging out of his head, stiffened...and then he went limp. The eyes went glassy. Lois held on, watching his chest rise and fall, before disengaging. The Black man did not move. Rising to her feet, shaking from exertion and the remnants of the **** in her system, Lois took several deep breaths.

Combat tended to get her wired...but now she was excited. Very excited. Her knees felt weak, her thighs rubbed together unconsciously, cunt throbbing. The fight had done nothing but work with the aphrodisiac to knock her sexual arousal into overdrive. The elevator seemed to spin as the reporter, hot and feverish, jabbed the button that would open the doors...

"Now," she said aloud. "Let's see what these Stepford Wives look like."