No, Lois Lane Is Pissed Off

The words burned into her eyes. The pink lights flashed. The dildos pummelled her pussy and ass. Yet if all of this was supposed to turn Lois Lane into some docile fuckpuppet desperately eager for big cocks to ruin her holes...they had the absolute opposite effect.

Rage and pain helped Lois Lane focus through the haze of **** that they must have dosed her with. Once she was able to concentrate, Lois could turn her attention to her situation. The bonds that held her were, like most such devices, built without an understanding of the principles of escapology. Lois had interviewed quite a few magicians, escape artists, thieves, locksmiths, and law enforcement professionals. Once she relaxed her muscles, there was a bit of leverage about her arms and legs...and soon after that she found the locking mechanisms. Working by touch, ignoring the words that told her how much of a BIG COCK SLUT she was, it took little more than a hairpin to to manipulate the locks...which, no matter how big and expensive they were, were really no more complicated than police handcuffs.

"Aaaugh!" Lois grunted as she pulled her aching cunt and ass off of the pounding dildos. Her abs hurt, and there was a terrible ache deep inside...Lois wouldn't be surprised if her cervix was bruised from all the rough treatment. Pushing the screen aside, the naked reporter half-climbed, half-tumbled out of the creche that she was in...and blinked in the pink light of the room that she had first entered what felt like a year ago.

Her eyes lighted on her clothes, which miraculously were close by the door, neatly folded...no doubt intended to be placed back on the reporter after her brainwashing was completely. Lois stumbled towards them, her hips creaking at every step. She grit her teeth against the pain.

I swear, I'm never going to even look at a big cock again, Lois Lane thought to herself. I'll find some nice guy with a micropenis and a six-inch tongue. Right after I get some ice...

In putting on her jacket, Lois Lane's hand immediately went to her phone. She looked back at the creche, where the lights still flashed in their hypnotic patterns, and the dildos pounded empty air.

Should I take some pictures...or call for help?