The White Room

Maria looked at the mess in the stall, then seemed to brighten up. "Hey, I got an idea! Wait right here."

The barmaid returned in a minute with white towel tucked under her arm, and a plastic bag. She loaded the enema gear into the bucket, and then placed Lois' discarded clothes into the bag.

"Take off your top," she said.

Lois blinked. "What?"

"I'm going to take you into the employees-only area. We'll wrap you in a towel, I'll tell them you a new girl and I'm getting you set up.

Hesitantly, Lois shucked her shirt, then wrapped her arms around her back. The bra unclasped and came away—a black satin number, just enough support to give Lois some cleavage. Her breasts hung free on her chest, healthy handfuls with pointed nips that hung proudly, just that touch of sag to give them fullness. Maria didn't turn away, watched Lois impassively. She reached down to help Lois to her feet, the reporter still favoring her wounded ankle, and Maria handed her a terrycloth towel—big enough to cover her nipples or her bush, but not both; Lois chose to leave her bottom exposed.

Maria led Lois through a maintenance door in the bathroom—which, drunk as she was, she noticed was newer and sturdier than the rest of the fixtures, and had a biometic keypad. The barmaid laid her palm flat against the electronic rectangle next to the door, and the bolts unlocked with a heavy thunk.

Maria led Lois along a back corridor; doors led off to offices, storage closets, a breakroom. A large man with a bald head, black glasses, and an earpiece stood in front of a door at the end of it, a heavy pistol visible in a shoulder holster—the lack of concealment alone let Lois know they were close to something big.

The barmaid spun the line just as she said—new girl, needs a tan. Lois cursed, wished for once she wasn't so pale as the chunk of beef in front of them looked her up and down—didn't even focus on the bits that were exposed.

"Lose the towel," he rumbled.

"C'mon, Terry..." Maria said, but Lois was ahead of her. With a deft move, she unwrapped the towel, held it out over her head like a cape. She did a pirouette on her good foot, let him see she didn't have anywhere to hide anything. He stopped her for a moment, when her back was too him. Just a heavy warm hand on her shoulder. She felt a slight tap on the plug in her ass, one that sent a shiver up her spine and made her knees quake.

"What's this?" Terry rumbled.

"New girl, T." Maria said, then reached over to run her tongue up Lois' neck, and take her earlobe between her teeth. Lois shuddered. "I'm just breaking her in a little."

There was a tug on the plug, and Lois yelped. Her cheeks clamped down as she felt the liquid in her guts shift, that too-full feeling **** for release...but then the tug stopped. "Alright. Go on in."

The door clinched shut behind them.

"Don't take it personally," Maria whispered. "I think Terry's into buttplay."

The White Room was a cube of shiny white tile, with industrial-looking vertical lamps on every wall and the ceiling, along with small dark flatscreens. There was a little platform in the center.

"No tanlines, see?" Maria said. "You stand in the center and raise your arms. Watch a movie on the screens. You can move a bit—the light's everywhere. Here," she handed Lois a pair of dark eye-cups. Dizzily, the reporter accepted them. She could feel the **** or whatever that she had been filled with take effect, and the room swam.

A fist thumped on the door.

"Shit," the barmaid said. "Look, just stand on the pedestal, act natural. I'll be back as soon as I can."

"Maria!" A female voice called, deep but naggingly familiar to Lois. Fuzzy-headed, she decided the best thing to do for the moment was to assume her position on the pedestal.

Then the door clicked shut...and there was the thump of a bolt as it locked.