The Supervillain Club

They took the service stairs, Lois following Maria's ass as it bounced before her, sometimes catching a glimpse of the fat vulva peeking out of the crotchless panties. They passed through a storage area and emerged from an employees-only door into...a subdued elegance.

The aesthetic was a kind of 60s Playboy Club combined with very cape-friendly atmosphere. Wood paneling, plush dark blue carpet, velvet drapes on many of the walls framed oil portraits of superheroines with their tits out, glazed in cum. A stage dominated the room—a long catwalk with four poles along its length, flanked by tables and chairs—on which four Supergirls danced, each costume a different iteration of the heroine, all working through their routines.

Near the entrance they came through was a bar, real redwood with a brass rail. The woman behind it was naked, her Power Girl "costume" nothing more than body paint and a massive set of breast implants that gave her tits and unnaturally spherical appearance. The unpainted "window" of skin on her swollen teats struck Lois as the worst sort of joke...but the kind the clientele might appreciate.

Killer croc sucked the meat off the bones of a turkey leg, while he fingered a Batgirl under the table. A young Middle Eastern man in a black costume arm-wrestled sucked on a hookah as a Mary Marvel ground her bare pussy against his pants in a lap dance; Lois caught the flash of a yellow lightning bolt on his chest as the teen watched the pert ass bob up and down against his erection. The bestial form of Kalibak, son of Darkseid, lay in a corner drinking along, the table around him littered with bottles.

Lois took all this in, then Maria tugged her to the left, toward the bar.

"I can show you the layout, if you want to start working," she said. "Or I can take you into the rooms, in the back. I don't know where the women are working tonight."

As they approached the bar, a woman in an elegant black evening dress appeared from behind, touching Maria's elbow. The barmaid froze, and Lois turned to see who it was.

Her breasts hung free in her dress, and gave a half-smile as she sipped a familiar grey-white cocktail. Raven hair, slightly wild, but dark as Lois' own ran down to her back. She was tall, stately even—she carried herself with chin raised and broad shoulders thrown back, which caused her heavy breasts to jut forward, just a hint of wide areolas visible. The reporter her **** herself to look up, into half-lidded eyes that seemed so dark as almost to be black, and were set in a face that reminded her, vaguely, of the bust of Nefertiti—smooth, almost streamlined and alien yet distinctly human.

"Maria," she said, but stared at Lois. "Who's our Star Sapphire?"

"New hire," Maria choked. "She's a friend. Needs the money, so I said I'd give her a shot."

"Joanne," the reporter said, giving her middle name.

"I didn't realize you had such good-looking friends, Maria." The woman gave that half-smile.

"Joanne," Maria said, a little shiver in her voice. "This is Ms. Blaze. She owns the club."

"Hello ma'am." Lois said, projecting confidence—and self-consciously puffing out her chest, though the corset made it hard to breathe when she did that.

"Well, you at least meet the dress code requirement." Blaze said as she eyed the reporter up and down. "But as to your employment...let's just say it's conditional based on tonight's performance. Where did you want to work, Joanne? On the floor or...in the back?"