When She Begins To Charge

Fast forward a few years. Lois Lane was an investigative reporter on the rise at the Daily Planet. She hadn't won her Pulitzer yet, but she was building her rep. Of course, all work and no play would have made Lois a very dull girl...

Lois had learned to dress to impress. She turned heads, attracted attention from admirers. Some of them gave her gifts. The Daily Planet's rising reporter had a closet full of fashionable and expensive clothing, real gold and diamonds that could glitter at ear and wrist and plunging necklines. While she wasn't worth a million, not on a regular reporter's salary, she looked a million.

Except it was money that was the problem. Her lease, gym membership, all the archives and databases that Lois needed to subscribe to in order to do her work—Lois had no trouble staying thin because she could barely afford to eat.

So it was, after an interview with her first geeky, virgin dot-com-billionaire, when he asked her on a date....the reporter hesitated.

Every whore has her price, the voice said. The voice that Lois had heard over and over throughout the years, the little imp on her shoulder that had pushed her into so many decisions, so many discoveries about herself and what she was capable of. The reporter hesitated, feeling once again that **** at the core of her being, some part of her that wanted to say no...once so strong and now fading fast...and she looked at him.

Original Star Wars memorabilia on the wall. Photographs of his mother and his first computer. He had told Lois with pride that the processor from that computer was still installed in his private, custom-made desktop rig, doing background work. Frizzy brown hair, a lanky body that looked like he had just been through a growth spurt. Nineteen years old and more money than he knew what to do with. He still wore braces, still had coke-bottle eyeglasses because no one had told him about LASIK yet. Still wore an off-the-rack suit even though he could afford something bespoke.

"Five thousand dollars," Lois said. "And you can make love to me all night long."

She had never seen a human being scramble for their wallet that quickly.

Her billionaire had a raid with his guild that night, and Lois had gotten down on his knees, pulling down his pajama bottoms to gain access to his prick...small but stiff and thankfully clean...and let her head bob in his lap as he shouted and tapped at the keyboard. It was like all the pieces had slid into place. All of her experience at sucking cocks went into that blowjob...and when he grunted and seized, and a bitter gooey wad hit the back of her throat, she heard him rumble.

"Swallow it, whore."

So she had. He had paid for it, after all.

He ordered pizza and champagne. Lois slipped out of her expensive dress. Let him peel her panties off with his teeth. Grateful that she always carried condoms, because he didn't have any...and when he looked nonplussed, the voice came to Lois again.

A whore will do anything, if the price is right.

"Throw in another thousand," Lois heard herself say. "And you can fuck me raw."

Sweaty c-notes pressed into her hand...and Lois Lane laid back and spread her legs, her quivering teenage sugardaddy's cock ready to explode again. Inside of her this time. She moaned like a pornstar as he slid into her hot cleft, the thought of the money making her wetter than she would believe possible. Rent for her apartment was just the beginning. A few more clients like this and...

...and as she grabbed his buttocks, guiding his inexpert thrusts, she felt him shudder and groan again.

I'm already thinking like a whore, Lois thought to herself as he bent down for a kiss...and she pushed her tongue past his puckered lips.

Like a stone skipping on a pond, the retrocausal changes to Lois Lane's life began to spread out and affect others...