Hesitantly

Lois Lane paused. She stared up the woman with her dark dress and her dark hair and those dark eyes that seemed to be judging her. The reporter didn't feel drunk—there was no apparent danger—yet her instincts told her that something was wrong. The hair on the back of neck was standing up, her legs were tense, and her mouth was gummy as the last of the slimy, salty goo slid down her throat to her stomach.

A topless waitress arrived with a plastic cup full of milky white goo. A traveler.

The reporter found her feet and stood up. No wobble there. Those dark eyes kept staring at her, as if she were a newborn horse standing for the first time, wondering what she would do. Lois grabbed the cup without even looking at the waitress' bare nipples. She felt a flush of heat through her body that had nothing to do with the hot, dry atmosphere of the club.

"Lay on, MacDuff," she said, and brought the cup to her lips. It was still warm, and fresh, that strong ammonia flavor that was growing on Lois. This was her chance to get deeper into whatever Angelica Blaze's operation was, and Lois wasn't about to pass that up.

Blaze turned, and the reporter found her gaze drawn automatically to the ass outlined by that dark dress. It was bigger and rounder than Lois had thought, almost jutting out from the woman's backside...the kind of booty that Lois herself had once dreamed of having as a teenager, but she didn't have the genetics for it. Her own butt was merely toned and shapely.

Lois followed the ass through the club to a wooden door, set off from the rest of the club by a red velvet rope. This set aside, Blaze opened it to reveal a stairwell going deeper into the earth.

They traveled in silence, Lois sipping her drink, the way lit by electric bulbs overhead...but while the walls were old brick, like much of this part of Metropolis, the stairs were something else. Solid stone, carved out of the bedrock, and dipped in the middle with age and the passage of many feet. As they descended, the brick walls gave way to stone as well...

"Long ago, the Native Americans worshipped a spirit beneath the earth. A creature of lust and flame, the daughter of seven thunders." Angelica's voice said. The lights grew farther apart, and the stairwell began to turn, and Lois had to stay close on top of that ass for fear of losing it in the darkness.

"The women of the tribe would come...there was a healing spring. One that brought fertility to women that thought themselves barren. That ensured fertility in young women. No woman went away from that spring unfulfilled..."

The voice echoed in the close confines of the stairwell, and Lois had the impression that the walls and ceiling were closing in, the way getting narrower...and there were paintings on the walls, crude paintings daubed in smears of ochre and charcoal, of women descending the same stairs...

"...but there was a curse."