Lex Luthor's Personal Superman Submission Program

Hanging from her X-frame, cock-twitching, **** and saline fluids being pumped into her veins, a fat dildo stuffed in her ass, the reporter sagged in her bonds. Her body glistened from where the technicians had rubbed her down. Fat seemed to have melted from her frame, leaving her ribs prominent, the hint of a six-pack on her tight abs, her breasts no bigger than when she had started the evening as bare handfuls. There were red lines on her body where she had been wrestled and strapped into place, and the VR helmet was pinned back, a chin-strap keeping her from falling out of it. Her breath came in ragged gasps, at the limit of her endurance...

...and then the audio and video feed suddenly cut out, leaving her in the darkness, alone.

Lois Lane sucked in air, confused, tired. Her brain felt fuzzy...too many competing thoughts, compulsions, orders twirling around in her head. She needed to sleep, perchance to dream...something to sort out the confusion of strange and unfamiliar impulses. Her cock twitched, tried to rise, and fell back down over her massive testes, the serpent at least temporarily spent.

Then a voice...a very familiar voice...came to her ears. Not like the mechanical, computerized tone from earlier. This strong, crisp, almost as if he was speaking directly to her. Lois found she had closed her eyes, but now she opened them...

Superman was there, floating in an endless grey mist. Those broad shoulders, the cape blowing in a breeze. Sky-blue eyes fixed on her beneath that dark hair with the little curl that fell down his forehead, his jaw set as it always was when he faced criminals—and that was how Superman was staring at her now, like she had just robbed the First Bank of Metropolis, that look of profound disappointment bordering on contempt.

"Pathetic," he said, and Lois Lane shivered as the blue eyes caught and held hers, seeming to pierce into her very soul. The sound of his voice brought back terrifying memories of schoolgirl days, or iron-willed nuns with rulers and aching knuckles and sore buttocks.

"Do you really expect me to fuck you...with a body like that?"

Lois Lane recoiled as if slapped. He had not so much as touched her, but the slight grimace to his face showed his disgust, his absolute abhorrence. She wanted to crawl out of her skin, she wanted to slink away like a whipped dog, do anything to please him.

"You know what a real woman looks like, don't you?"

He snapped his fingers, and a figure sauntered on screen...a figure that made Lois Lane's head throb, like a spike of pain right behind the eyes. She had an impression of long, thin, athletic limbs, a trim body, breasts that bordered on the obscene, hanging down until they were almost at her navel, a cock that would put most male pornstars to shame...and when she turned and bent, Lois could see, ass, pussy, and balls, all on display...

...but the one thing she didn't understand is why the futanari was bald.