Lois Gets Lucky

The radio in the squad car beeped.

"Stanley!" the other cop yelled to her partner. "We got one. Quit fucking around."

"Next time," Officer Stanley promised. Her nightstick slid across the reporter's crotch, and the tip pressed against her ass.

Then she was gone. Lois stayed there, hands against the wall, until she heard the car door slam and the police pull away.

She didn't let her shoulders sag or her knees shake. Didn't dare to, not with these gangsters all around her. But Lois Lane did take a long, shuddering breath, and tried to **** the tension out of her body. When she did take her hands away from the wall, she was the calm and collected "streetwalker" once again.

"Well boys, it has been fun," Lois said, keeping her voice steady. "But maybe we should call it a night."

J-dawg nodded. He handed her a card.

"You keep it real cool, girl. You ever need a place to work..." He shrugged, then nodded to his posse. "C'mon boys. Let's get a drink."

They turned. Lois walked on. Right out of Suicide Slum. Metropolis by night wrapped around her, all the sounds and smells of the big city, and Lois was left alone with her thoughts. The bottle in her pussy. The hashish stuffed in her ass. The missing women, the shrine beneath the club. Getting fucked up the ass on a filthy mattress in an alley. Getting paid for it.

It felt like pieces of a puzzle. Pieces that just wouldn't come together to form a picture.

Lois thought about it all the way to her apartment building. Asking the questions every reporter is trained to ask: what happened? Why? Who did it? Who benefits?

In the back of her mind, a suspicion was growing...like Lois could feel the edge of the thing, the shape of the answer, but her conscious brain refused to grasp it. Her ass and pussy were really starting to hurt now, and all she wanted was to go up into her apartment, wash the night off of her, and hump an ice pack.

She was in the elevator when it happened.