Braindead

Isley slid out from beneath the dickgirl, who was still frozen in place. The nude woman crawled over to her tablet, pecking at the screen. Behind her, she heard the wet slap of flesh.

"What are you doing?" She hissed.

"I haven't finished," he told her. Now no longer caring about bringing Lois Lane to orgasm, his movements were completely different. Short, fast, hard strokes, gripping her hips for support, grunting softly. "Can she feel it?"

"Activity in the neocortex is nil. Brain stem appears to be continuing autonomic functions. Language processing is dark. I've seen people in a coma with more going on. Memory is still showing a little activity, pain and pleasure receptors, but for the most part..." The scientist's mouth was a hard line. "...I think she's practically brain dead. Not asleep..she's not dreaming. Not processing any information at all. Higher brain functions are completely shut down."

Isley sat cross-legged, staring at the former reporter, who wasn't responding to the rough fuck. Not even when Lex Luthor buried himself balls deep and shot his load. She looked away in disgust as he pulled out of her, unrolled the bulging condom.

"She was squeezing me with her cunt," Luthor observed.

"Muscle memory. Lane is basically catatonic at this point. Put her in a pose and she'll probably stay there as long as her muscles can stand it. Her body might be a little responsive to stimulus, and you could probably bring her to orgasm again, but it's all involuntary. If you were aiming for a bimbo, you overshot," Isley put the tablet aside and stared down at the white jizz leaking out of her own crotch. "She's basically just a living, breathing realdoll right now."

Luthor snapped his fingers. Mercy Graves entered, carrying a pair of white terrycloth bathrobes and a container of wet wipes. She stood unconcerned as Luthor and Isley partook of both, staring quietly at Lois Lane, who was still in the same position Lex had left her in—one her knees, eyes open, nipples softening, sexual flush fading from her pale skin.

"I kind of like her this way," Graves volunteered. "Less mouthy. Think she can be taught to eat pussy?"

"She can't be 'taught' anything in this state." Isley settled into the bathrobe and began collecting her clothes. "There's no conscious muscle control, because there's no consciousness. Maybe manage some Pavlovian responses...ring a bell, watch her pussy get wet...but that's about the limit."

Luthor's green eyes stared at the frozen woman critically.

"Not ideal," he said finally. "But she might still have uses."