The Girls

The only clothing that was clean were the outfits the dancers in the cages wore. Lois covered the essentials with a thong and a top she could have flossed with, neon-pink bits of ribbon that tied at the sides for easy access and removal. On top of that she managed to find somebody's extra pair of white gym socks and the cut-down remains of a t-shirt that left the bottom of her breasts exposed. Maria was dressed much the same, though instead of a t-shirt she had managed to find a pair of daisy dukes.

Lois had seen worse sights than the barmaid squeezing her ass into the cut-off jean shorts, and noted with approval that the bottom of her cheeks hung out the back.

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

"You can look down from here," Maria whispered. "But be careful not to be seen."

Lois peeked over the edge...into a kind of 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.

There 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.

The Parasite sat before the Supergirls on the pole, fistfuls of dollars clutched in his hands. His proportions were less monstrous than normal, almost human. Lobo was playing at a poker table in a corner, a pair of Wonder Woman rubbing their tits against his pale shoulders as he focused on his cards. Livewire was getting a lapdance from a Robin of ambiguous gender—Lois had at first taken the slender blonde in the red vest and green panties as a woman, but a visible bulge rubbed up against the pale, flickering form of the electric woman, tiny sparks arcing along her arms and head.

Lois took all this in, then Maria tugged her to the left, along the gallery and through another door.

It was a kind of catwalk, over a grid of electrical wiring, lamps, open squares of glass. The reporter looked down through the nearest one...and saw a tiled chamber dominated by a large hot tub or bath. Killer Croc lounged in the water, a bottle in his hand. Two girls, slim, and naked, were in the water with him, their attention focused on his crotch. Lois was shocked to see two large, pink hemipenes slip out of his genital slit—and more shocked to see the women open their mouths, each one letting a long purple tongue slither over one of his cocks.

"The ceilings are mirrors," Maria explained. "But it's a one-way mirror. So employees can...monitor events, make sure they don't get out of hand. The girls you're looking for...the new ones...they're in here, tonight. I'll show you. This way."

Lois' eyes left the lounging lizard double blowjob, drawn back to Maria's bouncing ass, dwindling in the distance. She hurried to catch up.