End: Follow My Lead

"This operation is bigger than you think, Lane," Valeria said. "Just follow my lead. I'm a horny rich slut and you're my girlfriend."

"Done," Lois Lane said. "And call me Lois...darling."

So they left the room, arm and arm, and into the underworld that awaited them. Beyond and below the VIP rooms, the lovely ladies descended into a second, secret club beneath a club. It had no name, but the reporter noted the ominous black door that opened into it...and she felt Valeria's hand squeeze her own as they passed through.

There were women chained to the wall. Mostly single women amused themselves with them. Drinks were served, money changed hands. Valeria had a black credit card, dull and without name or number, that paid for everything. Drinks. Lap dances. Small doses of ****. In the whirl of the night, Valeria took the lead in everything.

She cut the pink cocaine into small lines and snorted the first line, then passed the rolled-up hundred dollar bill to Lois to snort the second. She bought the reporter her first lapdance, a naked woman, face by a mask, that gyrated on the reporter and rubbed herself on each thigh, leaving behind wet streaks.

They danced. They did shots. Lois spanked a woman tied to a wall, who couldn't run away, whose ass was already black and blue, while Valeria pulled and twisted at her nipples. In the booth, back against the wall, Valeria crawled under the table and pulled away the reporter's pants so that her hot tongue could dip into her "girlfriend's" pussy...and hidden by the table, Lois used her phone to capture some of the action around them.

Even with her head a-buzz with **** and drink, Lois Lane kept enough sense of mind to take notes. There were no obvious security personnel down here. The chained and collared women who served as whores and waitresses were all naked, their pussies shaved, and branded just above their vulvas was a kind of inverted pentagram with a little flame at the center. Lois recognized one or two of the missing women among them, but Valeria asked them no questions, nor did Lois.

The air in the club grew hot and close as the reporter's hips shifted of their own accord, to try and hump Valeria's face...but then the woman pulled out, and Lois caught a sticky smile as she was left on the edge of climax.

Bitch, Lois thought, though she smiled back. Valeria's **** for not getting off earlier.

Sometime past midnight, Valeria whispered that Lois should go to the bathroom...and the reporter did. She noticed oddly that none of them nude, branded women had eaten or drank something all night, nor had they left for the bathroom, or seemed to grow tired at all. Like little sexual engines, they kept on, sucking, fucking, serving. Lois wondered if they were ****, or if something stranger was going on.

As she left the bathroom, the reporter surveyed the club...and saw Valeria talking with a woman in a strange outfit. It was little more than a long loincloth and a v-shaped strip of cloth that covered her breasts, secured by a belt of leering demonic faces like oversized coins about her hips. The stranger was tall, lithe, long of arm and leg, with a wolfish face and too-generous mouth. Like a human being designed in a windtunnel. Long coils of inky black hair fell back from a broad forehead. She exchanged a few words with Valeria, glanced at the approaching reporter, and abruptly left.

"Who was that?" Lois asked, as Valeria caught her arm and guided the reporter toward the exit.

"The owner," Valeria said. "I've arranged us a membership. She's invited us back tomorrow for a special entertainment. There's going to be an auction...this is our chance to learn more about her operation!"

They said nothing in the cab ride back to Lois Lane's apartment...but Valeria hitched up her skirt and cocked an eyebrow at the reporter. Lois understood. They might be partners in this, but she did own Valeria for earlier.

So it was the reporter found herself with her head on Valiera's firm thighs, as her tongue tickled the woman's clit. The driver must have gotten an earful, if not an eyeful. It was as if all the wild decadence of the night caught up with them at once. The cabbie drove around in circles as the two women fumbled with each other's clothes, hands all over each other, hot lips pressed against each other's flesh, and finally settled into a cramped sixty-nine. The reporter sucked at Valeria's cunny like a parched woman that crawled through a desert and finally found a cactus. The hot, tangy juices seemed to cut through the filth of the night in her throat.

Their hips bucked. Locked together. For a moment, Lois Lane couldn't believe all the things she had done tonight. It was wild, crazy...

...and she was going to do it all again tomorrow.

The climax struck Lois Lane like a bolt of lightning, her whole body convulsed, toes curled until her shoes popped off her feet. Valeria wasn't far behind.

Giggling softly, the two women separated and reassembled themselves. The cab stopped at the reporter's apartment.

"Get ready," Valeria told her, as Lois stepped out. "For tomorrow night!"

They shared one last kiss...and then Lois Lane wobbled away, weak-kneed from her night out.

In the cab, Valeria's demeanor hardened as she walked away. Her phone buzzed, and she answered it.

"Yes, Mistress. Everything went as you asked. The corruption of Lois Lane has begun. Drink, ****, sex...we'll wear her down. Then, you will own her."

On the other end of the phone, Blaze, the owner of the Black Door, smiled. Lois Lane had such good intentions for her night out. It made her so easy to manipulate. In her pursuit of truth, the reporter had already done things she had never done before. It was only a matter of drawing her in deeper, now. Pushing her limits. Adjusting her expectations. Until she couldn't leave. Until she belonged to Blaze.

Yet that is a different story.