No, Lois Was Blackout Drunk

Something beeped. It seemed to echo the throbbing deep in her skull, the shrill little electronic sound drilling into both of her ears. Lois Lane dragged one eye open, hand fumbling for her phone. The alarm was going off. 0504. She made the moves on the screen to make the noise go away.

Lois could feel herself laying on a small cot in a smaller room. Her mouth tasted like something had died in it, saliva gummy, lips and tongue dry. The last time she had felt like that...

The reporter moaned, and knew that she'd been drinking.

Slowly, carefully, the reporter tried to take stock of things. Her pants were gone. Muscles ached, but not unpleasantly. Like a run after a long week of no exercise. Her pussy...she reached down, and her fingers ran over gooey slime. Not good. Not good at all.

Fighting her instincts to lay in bed, Lois shifted herself up into a sitting position. Fought back the sudden taste of bile in the back of her throat. Warning sounds were coming from her bladder, and she knew that she needed water...rehydrate. Anything to help kill the hangover.

The light of her phone revealed an empty bottle of vodka, glasses. Her pants and shoes. No panties. Lois frowned, but wasn't surprised. In the dark, she dressed, body feeling languid. There were no bruises or scratches though, no blood under her fingernails...

Either I wasn't ****, or I was already asleep. Lois passed the light over the bed. There was a wet spot where her pussy had been, but no signs of a struggle. What did I do last night? I was at the club...met the girls...went through the Black Door...

Lois Lane's memory hit a blank wall. She pulled the tight pants over butt, feeling the sticky cum squish against her bare pussy. Going to have to burn these pants to get the smell out.

The door was unlocked, opened. A small corridor, stacked with bar goods. Tiny bathroom to the left, another door to the right. Lois made use of the bathroom, reflecting on the silliness of pulling the pants on just to pull them off again thirty seconds later. But she emptied her bladder, and there was toilet paper, so she could wipe her puss.

Pants back up, legs feeling a little stronger, stomach rumbling. Lois licked dry lips and steeled herself to try the other door, ready for anything...including for her head to stop throbbing, any time now...

There's nothing quite as spooky as a dead bar. Chairs up on tables, the last drunks carted away. Dark and quiet as a grave. It was like staring at a corpse, expecting life and movement, and there was just...nothing. Lois reached down and slid a hand down the front of her pants, scratching at her pussy.

A clink of glasses made Lois turn. Too quickly. Her head felt like the brains were shaking around in her skull.

A tall woman behind the bar. Dark curly hair that fell down to mid-back. A sleeveless black t-shirt. Tired eyes in a lean face, skull graceful and somewhat alien, like the bust of Nefertiti. A mouth like the Mona Lisa.

"Sleeping beauty," she said, putting a glass on the bar. Lois smelled tomato juice, celery, something else, salty and familiar but she couldn't quite place it. "Hair of the dog?"