No One. The Door Is Unlocked.

Silence filled the hallway as the echoes of Angelica Blaze's knock died. No—not quite silence. Lois Lane was aware of a rhythmic, animal noise, and a high-pitched electric whine. Blaze frowned and grabbed the doorknob, which turned without resistance. The door opened with a creak...and Lois Lane fell back, hand over her mouth as the smell hit her. A reek, some overpowering combination of outhouse smells and animal pen, brought the taste of bile to the back of her throat and made her eyes water and stomach flip.

Even Blaze crinkled her nose. The demonic dickgirl pulled a handkerchief and a small hipflask from some inner pocket of her jacket, poured a generous amount of liquid from the one into other, and handed the wet cloth to Lois. The reporter clasped it over her mouth.

Vodka, good vodka, has little distinct odor on its own. But in extremis, it makes a decent air filter, as least for a few minutes. Angelica plunged into the room, the reporter right behind her.

For a moment, it appeared that PVC pipe and duct tape had been set up into makeshift jungle gyms. Then Lois Lane understood what she saw. Improvised frames of plastic, from which dangled four bound, gagged, naked forms, their heads ensconced in VR headsets. From their social media accounts, Lois dimly recognized the women who had gone missing—Diana Reynolds, Mara de la Cruz, Tonya Wong, and Jenny Dunlap. Although now their hair was long and unkempt, their bodies covered with a greasy film of sweat and dirt, their features somewhat androgynous, breasts flatter and less pronounced, and between their legs...

Clear plastic tubes were cinched tight around the four hard pricks, and tied around their balls. Vibrators in their assholes buzzed violently, the source of the electric whine Lois had heard. At the tip of each tube was a bulb that could be detached without removing the tube itself. Each one was half-filled with a yellow-white liquid...and as Lois watched, little Tonya Wong thrashed and jerked. The reporter's eyes were drawn to her cock, a violent purple color. Veins stood out along the length as the painfully swollen head seemed ready to explode, a stream of watery white seed burst from the uretha to fill the reservoir...

As her ejaculation ended, Tonya's body went limp. It swung limply from side to side. Tears dripped down her cheeks from beneath the VR headset. Her naked body shook, wracked by silent sobs mostly muffled by her gag.

The reporter's head swam, either from the vodka fumes or the terrible inhumanity that had reduced these four dickgirls to nothing but cattle to be milked.

"Not very professional," Blaze muttered to herself, as she examined the setup carefully. Lois Lane eyed her lover oddly as Blaze frowned and walked around the plastic cage. She didn't reach out to help the women in only way, but in a calm, almost detached voice she noted aloud. "No bruises or burn marks, aside from their constraints. So they weren't **** into this violently. Though perhaps they were ****, or threatened. Whoever did this didn't dare move them, or else why leave them here, instead of someplace they could be hosed off? And it must have happened recently, in the last couple of days. They weren't like this a week ago..."

Still holding the ****-soaked handkerchief to her mouth, Lois Lane stepped forward to Tonya Wong. Holding the rag between her teeth, the reporter used both hands to pull the ball gag free, and pop the earplugs from the young, naked Asian dickgirl's ears. Then Lois took a deep breath, removed her makeshift mask and asked her most burning question.