End: Supergirl Is Her First—and Last—Customer

Superman had picked a hell of a night to be off-planet. Saving some alien world from some galactic menace. In his absence, it fell to Supergirl to fill her cousin's big red boots and patrol while he was away. So she flew a lazy circuit of Metropolis, eyes and ears peeled for any incident that required her intervention...

...when her nostrils twitched.

Later, Supergirl would not be able to describe the nature of that scent. It drew her like a mare in heat draws a stallion, like the sweetly metallic honey draws a bear to claw open a hive, like a pervert fishing the used underwear out of her roommate's laundry pile and wearing it over her face as she frigged her pussy with frightening intensity. A smell that reached past the conscious mind and engaged ancient, primal instincts.

Which is why, when the Last Maid of Krypton fluttered down into the alley behind the club, she staggered as if drunk. A wet trickle leaked from beneath her skirt, down along one skinny pale leg, and into her boot. Beneath her blonde bangs, her blue eyes glowed with unearthly light, and the cheeks were flushed a vivid crimson.

She saw, with a stark and terrible shock, the swollen and dripping twat that stuck out through the wall. Here was the source of heat maddening scent. Her eyes stared with fascination as a thick, hot drop of stringy liquid oozed out from the parted lips. Supergirl's microscopic vision immediately engaged, and as she floated, an inch above the ground, she saw the weird interplay of virus and genes in the reporter's body. How Lex Luthor's body grafted bits of Kryptonian DNA into the human cells. How those same cells fell to the contagion of Bizarro that had entered her body. Already, Lois Lane was more than 50% Bizarro. Not quite human...yet Supergirl was born forward as if she was some terrible madonna.

On her knees, the blonde memorized every fold and wrinkle of the reporter's swollen, needy cunt. It was like staring into the sacred pool of molten magma in the caldera of a Hawaiian volcano. To Supergirl's intoxicated brain, before her was the picture and peak of Kryptonian femininity, fertility, and desire. A goddess who demanded worship.

The Maid of Might planted her face in the reporter's ass cheeks, and her small pink tongue reached forward to catch that tangy juice.

On the other side of the wall, Lois Lane's face underwent a slow transformation. Her lips drew in to form a small, perfect "O." Her violet eyes turned inward, so that they seemed to focus on the tip of her own nose. Her nipples swelled, suddenly and dramatically stiff, to stand out on her small breasts like small red berries.

Time lost meaning. The tongue that plunged into the reporter's body moved with irresistible strength, surgical precision, and terrible thoroughness. For a woman whose experience of getting out normally consisted of men who could barely go thirty seconds without gulping for air, the sudden attention to pleasuring her pussy was a novel experience. Even as the Bizarro-nature overrode more and more of her cells, Lois Lane's infected brain struggled to put order to her thoughts. When, at last, she could say anything, it was:

"Me am...me am not...in love...me hate this. Me hate this so little. Me never want to experience this again."

Then the crossed eyes went wide. There was a rumble in the building. Brick crumbled. Later on, when Lex Luthor asked for a report, Maria would only be able to tell him:

"Something on the other side of the wall sucked her pussy so hard she was pulled through the wall!"

Up, up in the sky.

It was not a bird or plane that cast a shadow across the moon.

A pale, naked figure, lost in lust, a craggy Bizarro beauty, clung to Supergirl as the Maid of Might carried her to the sky. Flying blind, her face buried in that titanic twat, Lois Lane's juices had soaked Supergirl's S-shield. Neither of them cared. Nor would they, too last as they were in the terrible need that overwhelmed them both.

Perhaps Luthor had a plan, even for this eventuality. Perhaps Superman would return to Earth, and save both Lois Lane and his cousin.

Yet neither of those things would happen tonight. No, for the last long hours of Lois Lane's night out, she rode the winds above Metropolis, and the superstrong tongue of the Last Maid of Krypton...and that memory would be burned into her brain for the rest of her life, so that in later years she would flush and grow wet just thinking of it.