Did You Have Any Interest In BDSM Before You Met Blaze?

The reporter looked in Diana Reynolds' eyes—and she saw something there. A hesitation. Just for a fraction of a second.

"I...I must have. Yes, of course. I've always...had an interest. You know, casually. Blaze was the first one that gave me any real exprience," Diana said, and **** a smile. Took a deep breath and let it out. "Anyway, that's my break. Let me go see who else is here."

"Thank you," Lois said and thrust forward her arm. They shook hands, Nad Lois felt the clamminess of Diana's palm. It could have been sweaty from the heat, but the reporter's journalistic instincts were keen. She sucked on her bottle of Fertile Valley water...and as Diana Reynolds went out, another woman came in.

She was slim, and short. Face painted palest of pale whites, highly stylized blots of makeup on the lips, cheeks, around the eyes. Fresh piercings at nostril and eyebrow, septum and the bridge of her nose. Snake-bite studs on her lips; a row of rings on the high cartilege of both ears. Dyed-blue hair was in a bun. The red kimono was loose on hr slim body, spilled open to reveal small breasts with cross piercings; the legs were in tattered fishnets, a spiked collar around her frail neck.

Tonya Wong looked like a punk-rock geisha. She smiled, to show the perfect teeth her parents had made sure were straight with orthodontics, now dyed black. Instinctively, Lois smiled back.

"Lois Lane, The Daily Planet," Lois said.

"Tonya Wong, whore," the Asian woman said as she took a seat.

"I've heard most prefer the term 'sex worker' now," Lois said.

Tonya's lip curled in an Elvis-worthy sneer. "Cowardly cunts, putting on airs. We're whores. Nasty, dirty sluts. We get fucked for money. It's what we do, who we are. To claim otherwise is putting on heirs. I love being a whore. I'm proud of it."

Lois nodded, as if in agreement. "Did you always want to be a whore?"