Rule #1: No Clothes

"People gotta feel comfortable," the bodyguard rumbled. "So guests wear nothing...no cameras, no wires, no phones. You order anythin', they run you a tab, you pay up when you leave. Y'all strip down, hand yer stuff to the coat girl."

"What, right here?" Rat said, flabbergasted.

Lois Lane's open palm caught him hard right behind the ear.

"Skin down," she ordered.

Trying to act more confident than she felt, Lois took off her jacket, and bent down to undo her heels. In truth, she had as many concerns about her body as any woman—and that was before she'd grown a dick and pumped a load into her pussy that was still dripping out of her. But she was a professional, and a professional did what it took to get a story.

Even peeled off her cum-slick pants and handed them over to a topless girl who wasn't wearing gloves. And didn't seem unhappy about licking their fingers afterward.

Rat was more difficult. She practically had to peel the pants off of him, his pathetic pale pecker already hard at the sight of Lois Lane's bare tits...

...or maybe because of the cock between my thighs, the reporter thought. The pale goth was all skin and hair, no muscle mass to speak of, but at least he wasn't fat. He definitely looked like the type to "experiment" alone in the dark, with a couple inquisitive fingers, telling himself he was looking at the girls getting plowed rather than the guys doing the plowing.

Lois cocked her hip, dick swinging free and hitting her inner thigh.

"So," she said, glad it was at least warm down here. "That's rule one. What's rule number two?"

The bodybuilder closed the Black Door and locked it. The outside world seemed very far away.

"Y'know how some clubs have a two drink minimum?" The bartender said.

"Yeah?"

"Well here at the Black Door, we got a two cock minimum." The tanned woman placed a hand on Rat's skinny shoulders. He meeped. "So if you want to get past here again, you gotta take two dicks. Mouth, pussy, ass, don't matter."

"I...see." Lois judged. "How do you know...?"

The bodybuilder held up her hand. There were two black smudges on the back of it.

"Stamps. Bartenders have 'em, and the Mistress. Nobody else. You want to leave again, you got to get one of 'em to witness it."

Lois puffed up her chest. "Right. C'mon, Rat. Unless you want to stay with ****-by-Snu-Snu here."

For a moment, he looked tempted. But as Lois strode into the bar, she heard his bare feet padding behind her.

Okay, I'm in, she told herself. So: do I tackle the minimum first, or do I try to gather information?