Epilogue: If At First You Don't Succeed...

The message popped up while Lois Lane was at work. Just an image, of a pregnancy test. Negative. Followed by a frownie-face.

It was from Mercy Graves.

The reporter wasn't sure exactly why she had given Mercy her contact information that night, but ever since they had kept in touch. It was somewhat awkward...long hours of silence sometimes broken by mad tapping at their smartphones as they fired messages back and forth. Mercy, security-minded, preferred to use various apps she was confident were secure—and which, Lois noted, were not in any way associated with LexCorp.

The weeks passed. They talked about the events of the world, sometimes about their lives. The reporter found Graves intelligent, if stubborn and often recalcitrant to talk about herself, and dismissive of softer emotions. They disagreed on some issues of politics and policy, and Mercy's loyalty to Lex Luthor was absolute.

The pregnancy had been something they had danced around. Mercy had missed her first period, and Lois had hoped for her new friend's sake that everything was going right...but now, six weeks in, the negative test suggested that either she bodyguard hadn't "taken," or perhaps had suffered a miscarriage. Such things happened. It took some women multiple attempts to carry a child to term.

Which is why Lois Lane made the decision to type back:

"Want to come over tonight?"

After work, Lois Lane showered. She shaved her legs and armpits. Left a tiny black strip of pubic hair, because she always felt ridiculous to be completely bald down there. It was trickier now, to lift her cock out of the way and hitch up one leg on the toilet to shave her labia.

Despite their newfound friendship, the reporter hadn't felt the need to share with Mercy that the new "appendage" hadn't disappeared after the events of Lois Lane's night out. Mercy had apparently assumed that like most red kryptonite transformations, it would be gone within 48 hours...and that had not happened. Over the weeks that followed, Lois had come to terms with her new dick. It was a little odd at first, to stuff it into her panties and walk around all day. She'd had to re-learn how to pee, how to keep it clean...

The reporter spritzed some rose-water on her cock. Applied her hair and makeup. Bright red lipstick, just a touch of rouge...and carefully buttoned on the sheer, see-through negligee.

When was the last time I wore this? Lois Lane thought as she looked at herself in the mirror. She couldn't remember. The lines of the sheer fabric showed off her slim hips, draped down from her small teardrop-shaped breasts, and fell just short of covering her cock. The reporter's heart fluttered in her chest as she waited for Mercy to arrive...and Lois wondered, not for the first time, if she was doing the right thing. Mercy Graves wasn't expecting to come over to maybe get knocked-up again, after all. As far as she knew she was just coming over to have a shoulder to cry on, or...

The buzzer buzzed. Lois rang Mercy up. The reporter paced back and forth, until finally a quiet knock came at the door. She rushed to open it...

...and a blubbering woman dressed in a LexCorp tracksuit and reeking like a distillery almost fell into her arms.

With effort, the reporter managed to haul the drunk Mercy Graves into her apartment and shut the door. With more effort, she managed to pry what was left of a bottle of Old Crow from one stubborn hand. Experimentally, the reporter took a swig...and nearly gagged. She didn't mind whiskey, but Old Crow had always tasted like what was left in the bucket after they finished making the real whiskey. Lois set the bottle on the table as she hauled the half-limp woman into her bedroom.

The rose petals and clean sheets, Lois thought to herself, were, in retrospect, a bit overkill.

Lois dumped the drunken woman on the bed. Mercy Graves lay there, eyes shut, and breathed slowly but steadily. The bodyguard's eyes were red and swollen from crying. The reporter sighed and began the operation of getting Mercy's shoes and pants off.

The reporter had peeled off funky socks and track-pants and was gingerly stripping off the sweaty, stained boyshorts that Mercy wore when the drunken, emotional wreck of a woman stirred. Lois frowned as she saw the stubble on the labia...but something in her stirred at the sight as well. At least, the erection that now tented her negligee attested to her excitement. Mercy's smell was so strong as the reporter spread the bodyguard's legs, which hung half-off the bed.

"Wass...what're...doin'?" Mercy managed. She lifted her head as if it was very thin and fragile and made out of lead.

Lois spread the lips and stared at the pink insides. They were a bit dry.

"Well, first I'm going to eat you out," Lois said.

Mercy processed this. "Yay?"

"And then I'm going to fuck the shit out of you and pump a bunch of semen in your slutty pussy," Lois added.

Mercy frowned. "Not...a slut."

Lois knelt down next to the bed. Her nose crinkled...but she had smelled worse, from cocks she had sucked.

"No, you're right," the reporter said. "That wasn't fair of me."

"Damn...right," Mercy's head flopped back down on the bed. Lois Lane got started.

Her tongue ran over the stubbly labia first, each hair like a sharp little bristle. It was a bit like licking a hairbrush, or so Lois guessed; she'd never had occasion to try it. Carefully, the reporter spread the pussy wider. Mercy definitely hadn't washed it recently—she knew that the bodyguard had said she liked to work out her emotions on the track, and the reporter judged by the smell that Mercy Graves had run at least five kilometers...or maybe she just didn't wash her gym clothes every day. Either way...

Her tongue dipped into the tangy cleft. It was sour, as Lois had thought it might be. She could feel her salivary glands start to go crazy, but Lois didn't really mind that. The reporter's tongue wiggled into Mercy's tight cleft, unfucked all these long weeks, and the feel of that hot cunny against the reporter's face brought a flush to Lois Lane's cheeks. As Lois licked and slobbered, she could feel her hard-on, stiff as a teenager on prom night...and Mercy breathed faster, her thin chest rose and fell, soft moans escaped her lips.

Lois closed her eyes. Let her tongue and lips do the work. She knew what she liked when a man ate her out. Not penetration exactly, but the stimulation. A little suction on her clit, the way a tongue could scrape around her hole. With men, it never seemed to last long enough. They always wanted to stop just when it started to feel really good, and jam their pricks inside of her, usually so hard it hurt.

The reporter kept licking Mercy Grave's pussy until the juices dribbled down her chin and the reporter had to unbutton her negligee and shrug out of it to keep it from getting stained. Until her jaw ached and her tongue felt numb. Until she lay there and panted her hot breath into the pussy...and Mercy's thighs quivered and clamped onto the sides of her head.

The naked dickgirl gently pushed the knees apart as she stood up. Her dick throbbed as she rubbed it against the bristly pussy. Precum dribbled down from the head, to mingle with the spit-sloppy slit.

"Mercy...you want this, right?" Lois said, even though she knew the bodyguard was too far gone to make an informed decision. By many accounts, what she was doing right now amounted to ****.

The eyes opened, just a little. Hazel eyes. Dilated. Mercy Graves' face was flushed absolutely scarlet. She opened her lips.

"Yurrr...my...bessht friend," Mercy managed. Then closed her eyes again. "Fuck."

Maybe it was just a reflex that made Mercy shift her hips. Maybe if Lois hadn't held her cock at the entrance to the bodyguard's pussy, the head wouldn't have slipped in. Maybe this was all a mistake.

Yet Lois Lane took it as a sign.

Six weeks was a long time to hold a load. The dickgirl felt ready to explode almost the moment those hot folds engulfed the sensitive head of her prick...but the reporter held on as she buried herself deeper and deeper. Until she could feel that bristly pussy press against her crotch. She unzipped the bodyguard's jacket and pulled up the sweaty exercise-shirt to get at Mercy's tits as she slowly began to slide her cock forward and back. A part of her had wanted this...a long, hard part of her that remembered the feel of that tight pussy clamped around it, that wanted nothing more than to go back there. That had been thinking about taking another shot at this pussy and pumping a load into that tight hole and maybe putting a baby in her and...

"Aaaaugh!" Lois bit back a scream as she burst, too soon, deep inside Mercy Graves' hole.

The drunken woman was utterly oblivious as Lois pressed in deep, as millions of sperm flooded her cunny once again...and Lois didn't pull out. Not right away.

"It's...it's okay," Lois said. "We've got...all night. If at first you don't succeed...try...try again..."