Lois Lane

Michael observed the scene for a moment. Claire was in ecstasy, her back arched against the concrete, but there was a sudden movement at the terrace door. Lois Lane had just arrived, breathless, notebook in hand, wearing the expression of someone expecting to find Clark for a last-minute report.

Lois stopped. Her eyes swept over the scene: Michael, naked and radiant; the two Amazons, like statues of flesh and lust; and Claire—the female, hyper-sexualized version of the man she loved—in a state of absolute, scandalous surrender.

"What the hell... Clark?" Lois began, her voice faltering.

Michael didn't move. He didn't need to. He simply looked at the journalist and felt a sudden whim. Lois was intelligent, tenacious, and possessed an inner fire he found fascinating. But for Michael, intellectual curiosity was merely the appetizer for physical hunger.

He wrote mentally: *Lois Lane will see no horror, only an irresistible need to be part of this.*

The effect was like flipping a switch. The look of shock on Lois's face melted away. Her journalistic indignation vanished, replaced by a moist heat that instantly flooded her panties. She dropped her notebook—it hit the floor with a dull thud—and her eyes locked onto Michael's body.

"You..." she murmured, her breathing growing shallow. "Who are you?"

"The man who’s going to give you the story of a lifetime, Lois," Michael replied with a predatory smile.

Ele estalou os dedos. As roupas de Lois — sua camisa de botões e calças de alfaiataria — simplesmente evaporaram, transformando-se em partículas de luz. Ela ficou ali exposta, sua pele pálida contrastando com o sol de Metrópolis

He snapped his fingers. Lois's clothes—her button-down shirt and tailored trousers—simply evaporated, transforming into particles of light. She stood there exposed, her pale skin contrasting with the Metropolis sun.

"Come here, sweetheart," he commanded.

Lois didn't walk; she ran. She knelt before him, her trembling hands touching Michael’s thighs, while Claire—Superwoman—let out a moan of approval, pulling Michael closer to claim her space.

"Don't forget me, my love," Claire whispered, biting Michael’s earlobe as her hips continued to move in a hypnotic rhythm.

Michael laughed, feeling himself the center of a whirlwind of power and flesh. He grabbed Lois by the hair, tilting her head back, and kissed her with an intensity that left her breathless, his hands sliding over the journalist's curves.

Meanwhile, Diana and Hippolyta, sensing the encounter needed more intensity, surrounded the group. The *Daily Planet* rooftop transformed into an altar of pleasure. Lois felt small before those goddesses, yet Michael’s rule amplified every touch she made. She began to explore Claire’s body, her hands finding Superwoman’s diamond-hard skin, while Michael lost himself in a feast of mouths and hands.

Lois felt Michael’s virility fill her with a force she hadn't known existed—an electric shock that made her arch her back and scream his name out to the Metropolis sky. She was crushed between Claire’s raw strength and Michael’s omnipotence, feeling like a tiny flame being consumed by a sun.

The sex became chaotic, visceral—a symphony of moans, sweaty skin, and impacts that made the building vibrate. Claire, Lois, Diana, and Hippolyta—four of the most iconic and powerful women across those realities—were now merely extensions of Michael’s desire.

When the final climax arrived, Michael didn't just ejaculate; he expanded his consciousness across the entire city. For a second, every inhabitant of Metropolis felt a shiver of inexplicable pleasure course through their bodies—an echo of the divine orgasm unfolding atop the building.

Lois collapsed beside Claire; both were breathing heavily, their bodies intertwined and marked by teeth and fingernails. Leaning against the building's parapet, Michael gazed out at the horizon.

"You know, Claire..." he said, as Superwoman kissed his chest with devotion, "...I think Gotham is in need of a new kind of 'vigilante.'"