Epilogue: Powerless

Prenatal vitamins replaced the ****.

Her manacles were wreathed in velvet and soft mink fur.

None of the blows rained on her stomach.

Yet Lois Lane was still a ****. Her ****.

At the Daily Planet offices, Lois Lane smiled at Jimmy Olsen, bantered with Cat Grant, turned in her copy to editor Perry White, and playfully straightened Clark Kent's tie. Smallville looked at her strangely these days...she had noticed how careful the lumbering gentle giant was around her. His usual clumsiness disappeared, and he was always there to get a door or a chair...and a part of Lois was suspicious if somehow he knew, even though she wasn't showing yet. It was only ten weeks, after all, and her stomach was barely protuberant, her occasional bouts of nausea explained away as food poisoning or a stubborn flu.

Yet when she went home...when she stepped across the threshold...the reporter's whole demeanor changed. Hands floated out of the darkness to strip off her clothes, and that was the first part of their homelife...because Angelica Blaze had moved in, that very night when she had learned about the new life in Lois Lane's belly. And her first rule was that the only clothes the pregnant **** was allowed were those Angie herself permitted.

"Mistress treats me like the **** little whore I am, deep inside." Lois said aloud, as Blaze stripped her down to the skin. The dickgirl placed one palm on the reporter's stomach, as she did more often these days...and then reached down, her fingers ran through the reporter's pubic hair. Curled and entered her suddenly, without warning.

Lois gasped in pain as the hooked fingers tugged roughly at her pussy, dragging the reporter onto her toes. Blaze leaned forward and **** her tongue into her ****'s mouth. The pregnant woman closed her eyes, lost for a moment in that perfect knife's edge between ecstasy and agony. The dickgirl's free hand groped at the reporter's breast...and then stopped. The tongue retreated from the ****'s mouth.

Violet eyes opened...and that look appeared on Blaze's face. A bestial, hungry look that Lois knew all too well. A shiver went through Lois as the fingers in her cunny shifted so that her mistress' whole hand gripped her cunt, and with an almost superhuman burst of strength and animal vitality Lois was lifted off her feet, her whole weight now resting on her quim.

The door jarred Lois as she slammed roughly into it. The reporter's legs opened to wrap around Angie as the cock found its mark and thrust. Harsh and fast, those first half-dozen thrusts, the door shook and thudded as the pregnant woman's ass was slammed against it again and again...the hungry mouth found her shoulder and bit, until Lois had to clamp a hand over her mouth to stifle the scream.

It was always that way, when Angie was really turned on. So fierce, so violent, it was almost ****...but Lois welcomed it. She loved it.

"I love being tossed around like a ragdoll," Lois said as the nails of her right dug into the dickgirl's shoulder. "I love to be her jizzrag, her cumbucket, the worthless spunkhole she dumps her jism into every morning and night. I love it when she takes control and treats me like the worthless bitch I truly am."

It was what Angie had taught her to say, in lesson after lesson, week after week.

Sometimes, Lois Lane no longer had to say it out loud. She just said it over and over in her head.

Until she practically believed it.

Yet somewhere...out in the dark night of Metropolis...a superkeen pair of ears was listening. A brilliant mind could pick apart the millions of voices in city that didn't sleep and find the one stifled moan among all others. The one person he wished most desperately to save...but he was powerless to do anything.

They were moans of pleasure.

Everything was consensual.

He wrapped his hand around his steel-hard shaft, wishing it was her.