Tell her the truth

You decide that honesty is the best policy. After all, she’s a reporter, she’ll find out the truth eventually.

You turn her on, hoping she’ll be reciprocating soon, while preparing to tell her the truth. You're certain that a situation to do that will soon arise, since you ordered a Lois like the original in every way, and for a second you regret not asking them to modify her intelligence down to Lana levels.

Her eyelids blink open and the violet eyes beneath start to sparkle, her breasts moving up and down as her simulated breathing kicks in. She climbs out of her wooden box, disorientated, her eyes taking in the room, before they focus on you.

“Where am I? Why did you bring me here?” she asks. “Who are you, anyway?”

You tell her she better sit down, and she does so. Then, nervously, you tell her of her true nature. She listens intently, too incredulous to even take notes. You show her the manual that came with her, the multiple identical sets of clothes also included, but she just looks at you in disbelief.
“So, let me get this right,” she finally says. “I’m not Lois Lane, Lois Lane isn’t even real, and I’m just a robot designed to give you pleasure?”

You nod, feeling guilty and embarrassed, never having had a sex toy confront you in this way before.

You expect her to leap up from her chair and slap you across the face, maybe say that she may be your Lois Lane but you’re certainly not her Superman, maybe break down in tears. Instead she just sits there and laughs. “This must be a parallel universe, that’s it, isn’t it?”

You patiently tell Lois that she’s in denial.

“Wait, I know who you must be. Say kltpzyxM twice!”

You say the word twice but nothing changes. You feel sorry for her, but also find yourself getting aroused as you look down at her, sitting there in front of you with her tight top and short skirt.

“This must be a hoax, a dream, an imaginary-” she begins, but then looks at your bulging crotch, right in front of her eyes. “Wow, I definitely won’t be calling you Smallville.” Her hands reach for your zip, and start to pull it down.

“Wait, what am I doing?” she says, suddenly stopping. “This isn’t me.”

You explain that it’s in her programming, it's nature versus nymphomania, she might not be able to help herself. Robo-sluts were inherently designed to be slutty. You’d read her online manual while you’d patiently waited for the UPS, and found out that her S: hard drive contains an extensive library of sex manuals, along with a prime directive to continuously work through them. Lois has a literal sex drive.

“But I’m a top reporter,” she argues, but then she lunges for you again. “And all I want is to get my hands on your Pulitzer.” She unzips you fully and yanks out your throbbing member, and then her mouth takes it in, fully. You feel her moist tongue moving along it, while she moves her fingernails across your testicles.

The sensation's intense, leaving you quivering, but it stops suddenly, far too suddenly, as does she.

She looks up at you, tears in her eyes. “This isn’t right. Please, please, tell me to stop.”