The Daily Planet

Legs wobbling, Lois staggered along the hallway to the back stairwell. Past the shrine, up the long, dark flights to the noise and light of the club—so filled with drunken revelers that none of them noticed the woman covered with dried strands of semen make her way along the outside of the crowd to the fire door, to make her escape into an alley.

The night air refreshed Lois, as it often did. The reporter's hands stopped shaking, her mind cleared a little. Getting out of the club, she had been on autopilot, instinct taking her away from danger, mind pushing away the dark things that had just happened until she could deal with them. Now Lois had space to think a little, and prioritize.

She stared down at herself, the dried cum on everything.

"A shower," Lois whispered to no one in particular. "A change of clothes. And..." she lifted her shirt to stare at the broken pentagram again. "...research."

Lois dug her smartphone out of her pocket. The ports were clogged with babyjuice, but the screen was intact and lit up at her touch. She ordered a Uber.

A part of her wanted to go home, to her apartment. But she didn't want to be seen like this. Perry White had a private shower at The Daily Planet, and Lois knew where he kept the key. There was a change of clothes at the office, and no-one would be there.

The car arrived—none to happy to see the reporter, who knew she must look and smell a fright—but the driver, a buxom black woman with long dreads, didn't say anything. Lois wondered what sights the driver must see, picking up people from clubs late at night...and the trip to the Daily Planet was spent in planning a taxicab confessions series, just raunchy enough to keep the readers thrilled. Not the kind of thing Lois normally wrote, but if she used a pseudonym...

Then there was the driver. She wasn't normally attracted to women, but her breasts were seriously amazing, jutting out almost to the steering wheel, and there were no signs she was wearing a bra. Lois ogled the woman's heavy teats out of the corner of her eye. No wedding ring-either...but sticking out of the driver's side pocket of the car...yes, a pair of pink panties. Either the driver was going commando or she had a little fun earlier.

The reporter smiled. There was probably a better explanation for the panties, but Lois liked her fantasy version—maybe the driver wasn't just a car for hire. Late night, some horny college girl, frustrated because they couldn't score, offered a little something extra by way of a tip...and the black woman was willing to oblige, pulling up that shirt to free those gorgeous tits, tearing off her passenger's pants...keeping the panties for a souvenir later...and by the time they arrived at the Daily Planet, Lois could feel the dampness in her own crotch, and knew she'd have to take care of that too.

"Around back," she directed the driver as they arrived at the building.

"A'right missy," the black woman's accent was faded, but present; something Caribbean. She pulled up in the darkened parking lot, and pulled out her phone. Lois pulled out hers, and they prepared to make the exchange...