Lois Lane Senses Something Is Wrong

The reporter's suspicions were raised when Maria just happened to have the key to the padlock on the door to where the missing women were being held captive. The guards just happened to be on their break. Lois Lane frowned to herself...it was all too easy, too convenient.

The women were all kept in a single room, with four unmade mattresses on the floor, a flat-screen television set to a pornographic film playing in the background. The women were all dressed in lingerie that revealed as much as it concealed...girl-next-door bodies, not supermodels...with a bit of lipstick and rouge and eyeshadow, not a smudge out of place.

Then the women began to tell their stories, and Lois smelled a rat. None of the women showed any signs of physical ****, not a bruise or a scratch on them. No sign they were being **** either. The reporter had seen women held captive and **** to prostitute themselves; they were lean, hungry, scared, beaten, and shellshocked. These women were too composed, their stories too pat...young women from college out at the bar, something slipped into their drink, the next thing you know they woke up on a mattress and these scary guys said they were whores now...

The sexual stories they told were elaborate fictions. The youngest of them, 19-year-old Diana Reynolds, flicked her coppery red hair and smiled as she talked about three men who had **** her down and pounded her pussy to jelly, taking turns all night, slapping her tits and calling her names...and Mara de la Cruz, the 20-year-old Fine Arts major, went into graphic detail about how she had to eat out this Black basketball player's ass as Diana sucked his huge cock. None of it seemed real, authentic. The dicks were always huge, and the women always came, none of them the worse for wear, none of them crying or sad.

Lois asked questions, played along. Yet in the back of her mind, she knew that this was all some sort of a set-up. The whole situation felt wrong, artificial. There were no used panties, no scraps of food, no cumstains on any of their clothing or bedding, which barely looked like it had been slept in. Casually, Lois asked:

"Where do you go to use the bathroom?"

"Through the door and down the hall," Mara told her, pointing.

Lois nodded, smiled. She stood up.

"I have to use it right quick. I'll be back...I'll get help for you."

It was a thin excuse to get away, a thin lie...because the door the woman had mentioned was the padlocked door that Lois and Maria had come out of.

The pregnant reporter rubbed her stomach. It was sore...and she wondered if that was normal, after artificial inseminations. It still galled her to think that right now, she was carrying Jimmy Olsen's baby...but she put those misgivings out of her mind as she stepped through the door, replaced the padlock, and found the restroom. She had to figure out what was really going on here...and there was only one way to do that.