Have You Found The Tattoo Yet?

Lois Lane blinked, caught off guard.

"The other women, the first time they came back, they found a small tattoo on their bodies that wasn't there before...usually somewhere inconspicuous, and where they couldn't easily see it, like the middle of their back, their armpit, or under their breast," Blaze said. The woman held up her hands. "I, uh, don't want to be creepy or anything, but I could help you look for it...hold up a mirror or something..."

The reporter chewed the thought. This could just be a trick to get her naked...but then again, Angelica Blaze was just a woman. It wasn't like she was asking to sleep with Lois...and the reporter felt confident that she could shoot her down if she did try anything.

"Okay," Lois said, standing aside and holding the door open. "But no touching!"

"Of course, absolutely," Blaze said, trying on what she probably imagined passed for a disarming smile...but the reporter could see the leer as her eyes drifted back to the sliver of exposed boob from Lois Lane's loose robe.

Once inside, Angelica looked around the reporter's kitchen. Lois pointed to one of the chairs at the small kitchen table, and the tall woman took a seat. As soon as her ass was in the chair, Lois undid the sash and let her robe spill to the floor.

Unlike most women, Lois Lane was not ashamed of her body. She had been going to locker rooms since puberty, had done interviews on nude beaches in France, went topless in San Francisco, attended a doula during a water birth at a nudist colony, and two grimy weeks in an African war zone where there were twelve women in a militia squad and one Scottish shower fed by rainwater. In such circumstances, one learns to get comfortable in their own skin.

Blaze, for her part, openly leered at the clean, lithe limbs. Lois Lane may not have been an athlete or a model, but she kept fit, her skin was smooth and pale, her small breasts that sot, half-teardrop shape with small pink nipples like eraser tips; her dark hair fell down to the back of her graceful neck, and the trim waist showed her dedication to both the gym and good eating habits. While her figure was a bit spare, she wasn't unhealthily skinny, either...

"Turn around," Blaze said. "Like I said, one of the women—Tonya—hers was in the middle of her back; Diana's was like a little tramp stamp at the base of her spine; Mara's was under her right breast—she's quite endowed—"

Lois chewed the names as she turned. Tonya Wong, Diana Reynolds, Mara de la Cruz with her D-cups...the names were right for the missing women.

"There, I see it!" Blaze said. "Spread your cheeks a little."

Lois tossed her head over her shoulder, suddenly wary.

"No, really," Blaze said. She fumbled in her pocket and produced a clamshell mirror, something old and silver, a genuine antique. "I'm not being creepy, honest. It's right near the top, just...spread them a little, and I'll try to hold the mirror so you can see it."

A muscle worked in Lois Lane's jaw. Her trust had limits...but Angelica Blaze was more than an arm's length away, holding out the mirror at just below waist level, angled up. Fighting her better judgment, Lois reached back with her hands, spread her cheeks, and stared into the silvered glass...