Two Hours, Six Minutes

Lois expected to make a mess, when she finally got onto her feet. Or maybe she simply hoped that all the semen would flow out of her, once she was out of the stirrups. When her bare feet hit the cold floor, however, the reporter didn't feel any unusual wetness down there—and there was still the uncomfortable fullness inside of her. She looked a question at the Nurse.

"Cervical cap," the black woman said smoothly, as she worked to get the room back in order. "Don't want you to leak."

The reporter said nothing, only let Maria take her hand and lead them both to the lounge.

It was a fair-sized room, with a mammoth flatscreen, and a couch, and blankets. Lois, lost in her own thoughts, let the younger woman pick the movie and set everything up, dimming the lights and squeezing down next to her on the couch, a blanket over Lois' naked legs.

How does that happen? Lois muttered to herself as a young Angelina Jolie wandered onto the screen. How does the Daily Planet's star reporter let herself get pumped full of semen during an illegal and experimental breast augmentation procedure? Even if it works, I can't report it—I'll be ruined.

"Lose the clothes," the photographer said on screen...and Jolie did. Stripping down, that thin, nubile pre-pregnancy body, pre-breast implant tits...not flat justice by any means, but smooth and soft and so damn unselfconscious about being naked. The woman on the screen exuded confidence.

I don't have that kind of confidence. Lois admitted to herself. Not that I'd be afraid to strip down...I did it quickly enough in there. But in front of a camera? Maybe that's why I went through with it. Maybe I do want bigger breasts.

The other woman was getting naked now. The plain-jane, first time lesbian, camera flashing...Lois felt so absorbed in the movie that for a moment she forgot her own internal recriminations. Lost in that first kiss, the flash of the camera, the tangle of limbs.

It isn't porn, Lois knew. Not even soft-core porn. That makes it...better, somehow. The production values are higher. She wondered what the actresses felt like, touching each other on camera, playing lesbians. How far was too far? What would they do if one of them went off-script, pushed the envelope? They look so into it. Would anyone stop them, or would they just...keep filming, edit it in post. Watch them make love.

Despite herself, the reporter could feel her body responding. Nipples hardening a little. A trickle of wetness between her thighs. A flush across her cheeks, that she was glad Maria couldn't see.

Maria. Lois was suddenly very aware of the young woman's presence. Their bare knees were touching, under the blanket. But the barmaid wasn't groping her openly, like she had when they were around the nurse. The reporter tore her eyes away from the screen for a split-second, side-eye glance, and Maria was staring straight ahead, attention rapt on the screen...and her hand was moving beneath the blanket.

Lois turned back to the screen, but something else was impinging on her consciousness now. The little shft-shft noise coming from the blanket next to her. The sound of Maria rubbing her pussy, quietly, rhythmically. On screen, a naked Angelina Jolie was in the hallway, exasperated, uncaring, focused on her relationship...

Slowly, the reporter moved her hand to her own pussy. Her fingers hovered over her lips, so recently spread apart, penetrated...but still hers, that familiar part of her that she had been touching just like this since she was a teenager. Lois thought back to all those late nights in her bed, glad she had her own room, away from her sister, so she could explore herself without any interruptions.

Shft-shft.

The muscles were not as sore as before. The speculum had spread her cunt wide, but now Lois wasn't going deep, just rubbing gently, two fingers circling her little button. Beside her, she could hear Maria's breath quicken, the warm press of the younger woman's knee on her own growing harder...and it felt very natural, Lois thought, as they watched Gia's slow slide into addiction on screen. To be here together, rubbing their pussies, no need to talk about it.

Even in her illness there was a beauty to Angelina Jolie on screen, the star that had burned twice as bright. Lois and Maria were panting almost in unison now, the shft-shft almost in time, like they were anticipating something, watching the screen avidly, waiting for it to happen...even as the credits began to roll, they kept at it, faster now, and Lois could feel an edge of climax building within her, a growing sense of excitement, like for an after-credits scene in a Marvel movie, some surprise, a revelation, that last little bit of stimulus that would set them over the edge...