Angelica Blaze

The brass handle turned, and Lois stepped beyond the Black Door...into soft light, and quiet chatter. Oak panels covered the walls, and rich Persian rugs covered the dark wooden slats of the floor; a long runner with patterns picked out in gold thread on black wool ran to the long, empty bar with the brass rail, and a slanted mirror behind it that ran wall to wall. Antique tables and chairs were occupied by smiling women who drank and laughed together quietly.

No one stopped her as she stepped forward. Her heel and toe sank into the carpet. None of the women even looked at the reporter, though she stared at them, openly. Two of the women she quickly identified as being among the women who were missing.

Lois blinked, took another step forward to peer around in the dim light. Sweat stung at her eyes—it was as hot in here as it had been in the garage, and all the women, Lois saw, were covered in a thin sheen of sweat; their dresses damp at elbow and armpit, collar and cleavage...and crotch, she admitted, with a blush.

All except the woman behind the bar. She was pale of skin and stripped to the waist, and gave a half-smile as she started to mix a cocktail. Raven hair, slightly wild, but dark as Lois' own ran down to her back. She was tall, stately even—she carried herself with chin raised and broad shoulders thrown back, which caused her bare, heavy breasts to jut forward, the nipples pink and stiff with wide areolas. The reporter her **** herself to look up, into half-lidded eyes that seemed so dark as almost to be black, and were set in a face that reminded her, vaguely, of the bust of Nefertiti—smooth, almost streamlined and alien yet distinctly human. Lois locked eyes on her, and even though she must have been thirty feet away, heard her voice clearly.

"Hello Lois. Fancy a drink?" her voice was low and breathy.

Lois walked forward. She kept to the runner, but did not let her eyes dwell on the complex geometric design woven into it. With her peripheral vision, she noted the movement of waitresses—all women, all bare-breasted—who moved among the crowd, to clear away empties and freshen drinks. If not for the nipples and the heat, it might have been an upscale business bar...for women.

The reporter arrived at the bar, and the woman set a familiar cocktail before it—grey-white, in a martini glass, with a rim of salt. Long tapering fingers with unpainted nails laid it before her on a plain black napkin. Lois reached for it, almost without thinking; their fingers touched for a moment, and she almost gasped at the heat that radiated from that brief contact.

"You have me at a disadvantage," Lois said, as she resisted the urge to drink. "you know my name, but I don't know yours."

The woman's quizzical half-smile widened. "I recognize the Daily Planet's star reporter the moment she walked in," she said. There was a trace of an accent there—Greek, maybe. Something Mediterranean. "I am Angelica Blaze, and welcome to my bar, The Black Door." She raised her hands to indicate the club.

Lois did not lick her dry lips, but brought the cocktail up to her lips—just for a sip. It was saltier than what she had above, without the tang of vodka or other ****, just the slight medicinal hint of something. It was also thicker, and warmer than she expected. It slid down Lois' throat easily, without slightly sticky sensation that she had noticed upstairs.

"You like it?" Angelica said. "That's one of our specials."

"It's better than the ones upstairs," Lois said.

"Fresh ingredients," Angelica's hand busied themselves with something behind the bar. "Makes all the difference." She looked Lois in the eye and smiled again. This close, Lois noted that the woman wore no makeup—no eyeliner, blush, mascara, anything—yet her face was not plain. Her voice dropped to almost a breathy whisper. "Are you here to do a piece on the bar?"

Lois smiled. The perfect cover for what she was really interested in. "I thought I might. Although it took a little doing to get here, and it's...not what I expected."

"We cater to an exclusive clientele," Angelica said. "Women, those whose place is to be here, in the company of other...women." She nodded her head at Lois hand. "May I freshen your drink?"

Lois nodded, and handed her the glass. Angelica smiled and stepped back...allowing the reporter to see the long lengthy penis that she had idly stroked behind the bar while the two had talked. Lois stared at a blue vein that reminded her of the river Nile, which throbbed above a heavy, shaven sack like a pair of lemons. It must have been well over a foot long, and bulged somewhat in the middle, but ended in a rounded, bulbous, neatly circumcised head. With hardly a twitch from those balls, the head erupted—fresh white cum splashed into the glass Angelica held at the ready.

Rope after rope shot out, at a steady pace. When the glass was full, it stopped—just shot off, like a tap. Angelica carefully wiped the tip of her dick around the inside rim, so as not to waste a drop.

"Bottom's up," Angelica said. Lois took the glass. Something roiled in her stomach. Not nausea, but almost a hunger. The smell was stronger now...stronger than the last one, a musky reek she could now identify immediately. Her heart beat in her chest as she brought it up to her lips. Even though she knew what it was, the blood-warm heat of it seemed to scald her tongue as it cut down her throat, to pool like fire in her belly.

She stared at Angelica, as drop of cum drooled down the sides of her mouth, at least she brought up a finger to gather the spilt drops and bring them to her tongue. Lois hadn't stopped sweating, The heat in the bar seemed less, now. More bearable.

"I'm sure you have questions," Angelica said.