Lois Pops Into A Bathroom For a Breather

Her ass hurt. Her pussy hurt. Even her feet hurt. As Lois shuffled forward, she saw light spill from the open doorway of a sub-street dive bar, and tottered down the steps.

No one looked up as she came in, the Suicide Slum crowd silent and sullen. Nor as she half-limped the length of the bar to the toilets. Once the stall door lock clicked shut, Lois let out the breath she hadn't realized she had been holding. Tears would come too, but later. She wasn't home yet. Not yet.

Pants pulled down to her thighs, the reporter pulled the glass bottle out of her aching cunny and set it on the floor. Wadded toilet paper in her hand and gently scrubbed at her backside. Cum and a bright red tracery of blood. The reporter let it drop in the toilet and sat there for a moment, elbows on knees.

There were things she had done in her career she wasn't proud of. Getting fucked in the ass in an alley in Suicide Slum was definitely one of them. But the night wasn't over yet. There was still a long way to go until she got home.

Lois picked up the bottle, turning it over in her hands.

Why did I steal this? Why did I hide it inside of me?

Grey-white ooze, milky and liquid, swirled within the bottle. No label except the XXX in black sharpie. It looked like a recycled wine bottle—one of those little ones you got at hotel minibars. A part of her thought back to that old story "The Bottled Imp."

"Of glass it is," replied the man, sighing more heavily than ever; "but the glass of it was tempered in the flames of hell. An imp lives in it, and that is the shadow we behold there moving; or so I suppose. If any man buy this bottle the imp is at his command; all that he desires-- love, fame, money, houses like this house, ay, or a city like this city—all are his at the word uttered. Napoleon had this bottle, and by it he grew to be the king of the world; but he sold it at the last, and fell. Captain Cook had this bottle, and by it he found his way to so many islands; but he, too sold it, and was slain upon Hawaii. For, once it is sold, the power goes and the protection; and unless a man remain content with what he has, ill will befall him."

"Are you a bottled imp?" Lois asked, as she stared at the bottle. She didn't really believe that kind of thing—and she certainly hadn't gotten what she wished. Only fucked in the ass. Unless...

Did I want to be fucked in the ass like a cheap whore? Lois grimaced. As sex work went, it was stupid and dangerous...but her "clients" hadn't been violent, and no one had seen them. She had gotten all the excitement of the sexual act but none of the consequences, except the obvious one. The reporter reached down and dabbed at her sore asshole with a folded piece of toilet paper. No blood this time. That was good.

But if that's the case...if it responds to sexual desires... Lois wasn't sure she wanted to trace that thought to its conclusion.

Nor did she have to. Someone knocked on the wall of the stall.