Chapter 15 by Zeebop

What Does Lois Want?

I...Want You, Mistress

The words came out of Lois Lane's mouth. She heard them. Her stomach was full of butterflies, palms sweaty, pussy a veritable swamp. Lois had never been this turned on, this nervous. Blaze gently pushed the door open. Ushered Lois in.

The three steps forward were the longest in Lois Lane's life. Her heart hammered in her chest, fingers fidgeting. Not sure who or what she had just ushered into her home. The reporter's eyes fell on the empty bottle of XXX, sitting innocently where she had left it.

The door closed.

"You will address me as Mistress Blaze," the voice said behind her, not angry but utterly imperious. "You will do as I tell you, when I tell you. Or you will be punished. Do you understand?"

"Yes...Mistress Blaze," Lois said, amazed at how easily the words came to her.

"Tonight, there will be pleasure," hands plucked at the reporter's jacket, dragging it off her shoulders. "And pain. Do you understand?"

Lois felt breathless. But she managed to croak out: "Yes, Mistress Blaze."

"If at any point you wish to stop, you may say 'kryptonite,' and I will stop. Do you understand?"

A touch of reassurance eased through Lois. A safe word. She knew about that. More firmly she said: "Yes, Mistress Blaze."

"Very good," Blaze's hands lifted the reporter's shirt, pulled it over Lois Lane's head. "I am going to strip you now. Women who undress themselves take power from the act, they know their body as a source of pleasure, embrace their own sexuality. But when someone else strips them..."

With a snap, the reporter's bra came off. It shook the reporter how easily and quickly that had been done. Now she stood topless and silent in her own kitchen. Arms wrapped around her from behind, hands cradling her belly.

"Are you pregnant?"

Lois glanced down involuntarily at her own bloated stomach. It was sticking out a little more than usual, but that was just because of her period, or something she'd eaen...and she'd had that meal earlier, with the wine and cheese on top of it...

"No, Mistress Blaze," the reporter responded.

The hands sank lower, the tips sliding into the waistband of the reporter's tight red pants.

"Do you wish to be?"