The White Room

Taking her hand out proved to be a longer and more painstaking operation than Lois had intended; by the end of it Maria was gasping and gaping. Lois marveled at how the swollen labia wouldn't close...but the reporter knew there was no time. Placing a shoulder under the barmaid, Lois helped her stand up, and maneuvered them both out of the stall. The barmaid was in a daze, unable to fully close her legs, and Lois was not much better. Like a three-legged hooch dancer, they staggered forward.

Maria led Lois through a maintenance door in the bathroom—which, drunk and high 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.

They hobbled 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.

"What the fuck is this?" he rumbled.

"Hey, Terry..." Maria said, but Lois was ahead of her. She staggered forward and thrust her hand down the guard's pants.

"Hey baby," Lois said, as her hand squeezed around his dick. It was soft and warm in her hands.

"New girl, T." Maria said, as she pulled futilely at the reporter. "I'm just breaking her in a little."

A rumble started in Terry's throat as he roughly pulled Lois off of him. His hand clapped around her wrist, hard, and lifted her into the air. "Bitch," he said. "You lucky I'm workin'. You touch my shit again, you ain't gonna walk away. I'll turn you inside out."

Lois yelped as she hung in the bodyguard's grip, suspended above the floor.

"'sides, even I know y'all gotta be naked to go into the White Room."

Terry fetched out a knife—a wicked thing with a curved, three inch blade. With nonchalance, he ran it down the front of Lois' shirt, the material parting with a bare hiss, and down the length of each arm, the material of the jacket parting like it was no more than paper. Lois did her best to stay still, afraid of what the edge or point would do to her. The blade slipped down her pants next, from the elastic waistband down the crotch, and Lois felt the edge of the metal against her skin a few times as he ran it down the inside of her legs. He shook her, once, and the clothing fell from her as if she had been a pea shucked from its pod.

The bodyguard opened the door, and with a grunt tossed the naked reporter bodily into the room. She slammed into the floor hard enough to knock the wind from her.

Then the door clicked shut...and there was the thump of a bolt as it locked. Lois opened her eyes to get her bearings.

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. She could feel the **** she had drunk take effect, and the room swam. The screens flickered to life.