How To Be A Good Slut

Lois hummed along to the words. She stared into the mirror of the women's bathroom of the Daily Planet, adjusting her lipstick. Normally she didn't wear any, but she was putting it on now. When she was done, she put the lipstick back in her purse, next to the lube and condoms. A good slut always has lube and condoms.

She went outside, but instead of the regular hallway she was on a street in Suicide Slum, wearing a skirt that barely covered her pussy. The reporter could feel the bottom edge of her ass hanging out of the shirt, felt the mass of the toy there. A good slut keeps her ass clean and ready for use.

Men were looking at Lois as she moved down the street. The undressed her with their eyes, and she could feel her nipples harden. Suicide Slum was 75% African-American, one of those random demographics that stuck in her mind at odd moments. High incidence of mixed-race households. Back in the 30s there had been jokes about white women "crossing the line" when they came to Suicide Slum—with all of its meanings. Good sluts find black cock.

Without noticing where she was going, Lois ran into someone. It was like hitting a steel wall, tits first. She looked up and blinked at the familiar features of John Henry Irons, the hero known as Steel. Good sluts are nice to black cock.

"Oh! I'm sorry," she backed up and hit another wall. Turned around to see Icon, another black hero. An alien like Superman. Lois suddenly realized that something hard was pressed into the crack of her ass. Something felt so right about that feeling, and before she knew it Lois was pressing back, grinding her booty on Icon's cock. Good sluts let black cock know they're available.

"Where are you going, Lois?" John Henry Irons said. The reporter turned back to him, feeling the press of Icon's erection against her ass. Her pussy was wet, but her ass, her ass needed to be fucked...

"I was looking for someone..." She said, suddenly confused.

"Who were you looking for?" One of those strong black hands reached up and grabbed the reporter's left breast, pinching so hard it hurt. Another hand grabbed and pinched her ass hard. Lois yelped. Good sluts don't say no to black cock.

"I don't...I don't remember..." Lois tried to think, but it was so hard, especially as her dress slipped up over her ass. Bare and exposed in the street, grinding on Icon, wishing that big black cock was in her ass.

"Are you looking for them?" John Henry Irons held up five playing cards. Lois stared at five Queens of Spades, each one different. Each one with a face and a name she knew. Tonya Wong, Jenny Dunlap, Mara de la Cruz, Diana Reynolds...and the fifth card, which seemed to grow to encompass Lois Lane's vision. Good sluts are marked for black cock.

It was like staring into a funhouse mirror, her own image distorted. A black spade over one pale eye, a smaller one marked over her left breast. A disembodied thick black cock held in one hand like a horizontal rod, her mouth wrapped around the tip. The Queen of Spades had her dress hitched up, bare buttocks scraping the bottom of the card, a brown shaft stretching out her ass...

A good slut knows what she is.