A Torture Garden For Male Slaves

Blue lights. That's what struck Lois first. Subdued lighting that illuminated, but gave everything that strange pallor. Women at tables, at the bar. Some were in suits, little different from what Lois was wearing, some in dresses or club wear, a few in bondage gear, corsets and high collars, tits out in front, spike-heeled boots.

With practiced ease, the reporter swept her gaze around the room, taking in the lay of the land. To her left, the long bar, a long slab of black glass that caught the blue lights and threw them back. In the middle, table where women sat, drank, smoked, bent over and snorted lines of blue powder, swallowed pills, kissed and groped, talked and laughed. To the right...

A stage. There were men here. Naked, faces hidden by masks. Chained to the racks, forced to kneel on strange medieval torture devices. There were whips there...pincers. Rubber bands. Dildos. Lois saw that two women wearing elbow-length black rubber gloves and nothing else were "working" on one of them. His balls were held in a kind of clamp, taut and purple. A paddle came down on them, hard enough that his pathetic penis jerked...and Lois saw that the foreskin had been drawn up over the head and tied. It was swollen from within, like a balloon. None of the cum allowed to escape.

"Jamie's" hand fastened around the reporter's upper arm.

"Don't worry," she whispered. "I won't let that happen to you."

Not unless you want it, the thought snuck into the reporter's brain. An erotic shiver went down her spine, imagining Jimmy Olsen up on that stage. Lois Lane crushing his little bitch balls.

Aisha strolled toward the bar, and Lois and Jaimie followed. Lois tried to shake off the image. It had been so vivid.

Stay focused, Lane, Lois told herself. We're here to find the missing women.

At the bar, three glasses were set up. Vodka and tonic. The bartender wasn't like the rest of the club...an older woman with a bored expression on her face. Black dress shirt, sleeves rolled up to the elbow to show off snakey tattoos. Black work pants. No tie, but not flashing any cleavage either. No-nonsense black hair tied back in a ponytail. Lois sensed a professional. Not someone part of the scene.