Get Help

"The next feeding is in a couple hours, right?" Lois asked.

"Yeah..." Jenny Dunlap seemed hesitant, her eyes drawn over to where Tonya and Debbie were "wrestling." The young woman's hand was hovering near her crotch, and the reporter could tell she struggling to pay attention.

"Do they monitor you all the rest of the time?" Lois whispered. "I mean, can they see and hear in here? Hidden cameras, microphones, anything like that?"

"I don't...I don't think so." The young brunette placed a hand on her belly. The 22-year-old college student wasn't fat—just the beginning of muffin tops—but the reporter knew that the young woman had been monitoring in Modern Dance, and had been thin as a rake only a couple weeks ago. The tiny bit of pudge hiding her hard-earned abs must represent at least fifteen or twenty pounds.

"Okay," Lois said quietly, hearing Diana moan loudly from behind her and hoping the sound would cover what she was saying if Blaze was listening. "Here's the plan..."

The bell chimed. The door opened, Lois, staggered forward with the limp form of Jenny Dunlap in her arms.

"Please! Get help!" The reporter shouted. "She said she was feeling light-headed, and then just collapsed! I think she's dying!"

Lois Lane was not a big woman, but she was a strong woman. She could dead-lift all hundred-and-twenty pounds of Jenny Dunlap and toss her into the unsuspecting arms of the meatbags who stumbled forward. Hands full, they were in little position to respond when the reporter's fist slammed into their throats.

The other two security goons moved forward—not noticing Tonya, Mara, and Diana near the door, some of the ambient silk wrapped around their hands as makeshift garrotes. Lois had told them carefully what to do...not to rely on muscular strength, but just to loop, twist, and hang down like dead weight. Delay was the name of the game. Lois was betting the women being Blaze's prime pets probably to help, since the meatheads wouldn't want to damage them..

The reporter, feeling her belly slosh with every step, put the hurt on the guards. A tiny fist can still do a lot of damage when applied against an eye, nose, or crotch. The four goons were tall and muscular, big enough they didn't have to prove anything. They fought like fourth graders, and Lois kept moving, her semen lunch threatening to erupt out of her stomach with every step, but she swallowed it down and kept at it.

In only a couple minutes, the guards were down, if not out. Lois bolted for the open door, motioning the women to follow her. The reporter was very glad, at that moment, that she hadn't told the ladies she had seen that tactic in a movie.