Slap Blaze

SMACK

The reporter's left hand came up hard. She wasn't normally the type to try for an open-hand slap, but something inside her didn't want to ruin her nails. Those perfect pink nails.

Blaze's face was turned by the **** of the blow. Lois Lane's hand was stinging. Yet when the demon turned back, she was smiling.

"I won't be a whore. Not for you, not for anyone. I'm going to tell everyone the truth about this place."

"The truth?" The demon whispered, eyes glowing in the darkness. They were reflected in all the mirrors around the room, so that in the blink of an eye the blonde reporter felt herself surrounded, stared at from every angle. "You think you can handle it, Lois?"

"I own the truth," the reporter said, gritting her teeth. She wasn't sure what kind of game that Blaze was playing, but she wasn't going to back down to this bitch. Not for anything.

"The truth is: blondes do have more fun." Blaze whispered.

Her eyes flashed. For a moment, the world went white.

No.

Blonde.

Lois Lane saw herself, thirteen years old, buying her first packet of hair dye.

Eighteen years old, never been kissed, painting her nails just the right shade of pink.

Twenty, saved up all summer from her first cub reporter job to buy the implants. Small, but top of the line, through the belly button. No scars. Just enough to fill out a swimsuit, to make up for what nature hadn't managed. There was a wet t-shirt contest that Lois was sure was a front for the dean's illegal voyeur cams, she just had to enter to get the evidence and prove it.

Twenty-one, on stage at the strip joint. Undercover for three weeks to get the inside scoop on the dealers selling contaminated coke to the students working their way through college. Tonight was her initiation, her first introduction. Rolling up a tip to get her first taste, and earn their trust...

Twenty-two, and the camera loves her "after shots." The model photographers have been preying on students for years; this expose will be enough for the DA to bring charges. She has to massage her new breasts every day, to keep them from settling and getting hard. Painful, but worth it. Like making sure she doesn't get any dark roots showing...

Twenty-four, she swallows the morning after pill. Her contact is on the bed, snoring gently, his cock still wet. She tells herself the vaginal cramps will be worth it. With his information, she can get her first big scoop, her first step to proving she's the best damn reporter at the Daily Planet. Brushes a blonde hair out of her eyes.

Twenty-five, and she can see the women at the office stare. The doctor was as good as his word, the collagen injections in the lips give her just the right appearance. With a little makeup, no one will recognize her. She licks her lips, thinking about the cocks she'll probably have to suck tonight. Maybe after this undercover work is done she'll keep them. A little bonus.

Twenty-seven, smiling for the Pulitzer pictures. She wore a binder today, just to hide the girls. Can't be too flashy around the office. But she wore a butt plug too, just a small one with a little pink heart on it. Something to feel inside of her all night. Maybe she should start wearing it to the office...that would be fun...

Is that...is that me? Lois tried to blink, to push back the memories of a life that wasn't hers. I'm not a slut, I didn't...I wouldn't...

But you could, another voice said to her. Lois Lane's own voice, the sexy purr she used only to get someone into bed. Is it really that different from the life we lived? Except have we really lived? Lonely nights at home, glasses of wine while browsing porn, leader of the Itty Bitty Titty Committee? Look at what one little change could do, how much more fun our life could have been...and could still be.

Say it, Lane, Lois heard her own voice implore her. Just say it.