"I Don't Know..."

"You don't know what these people are like, girl. I mean don't get me wrong, you're hot as hell, but they lookin' for fresh meat—and they're dangerous. Every brotha is strapped. Even if I did get you down there, the only reason girls go down there is for one thing: to take the **** and get fucked. You wouldn't want to do that."

Lois Lane leaned over and laid her hand on his thigh beneath the table. She knew she had to get down there, and Tyrell seemed like the key. All she had to do was...convince him.

If anyone asked, Lois Lane would tell them there were things she absolutely wouldn't do for a story. She never slept with anyone to get ahead as a journalist. But she had done...other things...when undercover. Her fingers felt the warm ridge that was Tyrell's cock, trapped beneath the legs of his jeans. Licked her lips to taste the salty remnants of the cocktails.

"But there's got to be some girls that go down and change their mind, right?"

Tyrell looked at her sideways. He didn't move, but his eyes seemed to be assessing her very carefully.

"Yeah..."

"So maybe you take me down there...and I can be one of those last-minute girls. Or maybe I can suddenly get sick. That has to happen, right? Can't film porn if the girl is puking, right?"

"You might be surprised."

Lois was rubbing that cock straight through the cloth, and it was swelling and hardening. She gave Tyrell a smile.

"If I'm too much of a mess, they might ask you to take me out of there. Once we're alone, I can be...very...grateful for your help."

Tyrell swallowed hard. Lois could almost feel the resistance cracking...or else the black man was a better actor than she gave him credit for. He sighed.

"I ain't jokin' about the danger. This can be both our asses on the line." He signaled the waitress. "One more drink. I'll think about it."

His glass was tall, the liquor clear as Sprite, lots of ice and a twist of lime. Lois got the special again. She was surprised at how easily they went down, how much better they seemed to taste every time. A part of her told her that she'd have to be careful not to overdo it.

They drank in silence, Lois Lane's left hand not moving form his inner thigh...and then she felt his hand on her knee, under the table. Lois didn't move as the hand slid upwards, and she was glad then, very glad indeed, that she had gone with the tight pants instead of a skirt. Because she had no doubt where those fingers wanted to go.

Lois finished her drink first, and was halfway ready to order another when Tyrell's hand just touched the seam of her pants, right above her clit—and Lois Lane gave out a little mewling sound.