Lois Sits

Lois Lane flashed a smile. She knew what she looked like now...dark skin, vivid violet eyes, bigger breasts and ass nearly busting out of clothes too small for them, piercings in all the right places...and some instinct warned her that to insult this man could be dangerous.

So she smiled and sat.

One drink, she thought...but then she thought about her voice. A white girl accent wouldn't fit her. She needed something that wouldn't raise suspicions...and for the first time, she tried to focus on what she desired.

A deeper, huskier voice. One that would fit a busty black woman, out for a night in the club. Lois could almost hear it, and her throat tingled with that pins-and-needles sensation.

"Okay sugah," she gave the man with the fanatical gaze a smile. "I can't stay long, though. Have to meet someone downstairs..."

"Surely, beauty, you can spare a few minutes to share a drink with us," his hand came down on her wrist, not harshly, but there was something proprietary in the way he held it. With his other hand he snapped his fingers, and for a moment Lois caught sight of a tattoo on the inner wrist.

The reporter's heart seemed to fall into her stomach. She recognized that sign. It belonged to the League of Assassins. Only someone very powerful or very foolish would have that tattooed on their flesh.

A waitress appeared, with a bottle of champagne. Glasses. Lois smiled at the pop, accepted her glass graciously, and sipped. All without trying to remove his hand from her wrist.

"Tell me," the man said as he leaned forward. "What do they call you?"

"Khadija," Lois lied. It was the first name that came to mind.

"Like Muhammad's wife?" His grin spread. "You know, in Islam, fornication outside of marriage is forbidden..."

"So is drinking wine," Lois said, pointedly, as she sipped her champagne. She was so keyed up that she barely tasted the bubbly...but she noticed that one of his friends immediately reached for the bottle to refill her glass.

"Of course," he said. One finger was stroking the back of her hand, and the grip tightened, slightly. Lois could feel the strength there. She wasn't sure, if he did grab her wrist, that she could get away. "But in my country...there are arrangements that can be made. Temporary marriages. So that a man and a woman could fall in love for a night...sometimes only an hour."

His dark eyes stared into hers, and once again Lois felt that intensity, just beneath the surface, the mask slipping.

"Such arrangements can be very lucrative, for the temporary wives."