Lois Strips Off Her Shirt

With nothing else for it, the reporter peeled the white t-shirt off her body. She winced as the fabric clung for a moment to her bloody nipples...and then one of the women took it out of her hand, Maria was pressing a drink into her palm, and the tall, dark woman was coming forward with wet wipes. Lois kept a poker face as the woman conscientiously swabbed the nipples, cleaning both them and the rod carefully before tossing the wadded tissue into the trashcan.

Lois brought the drink up to her mouth and sipped.

She felt...she should have felt exposed. Conscientious of being the only topless woman around here. Yet none of the others seemed to pay her any heed, and soon she fell to talking with the other women. Reporters undercover have a way of smalltalk, volunteering small observations, asking small questions, drawing people out of themselves. Lois Lane fell into the pattern easily, sipping and chatting.

The key to getting information out of someone was often not the direct approach, Lois had found. It was to get someone else to broach the subject, to find some common interest. In half an hour, Lois learned more about the club, and the brothel beneath it, than an employee orientation.

But there were hints...fleeting suggestions...that there was something bigger involved. The person or persons funding everything, what they were up to...Lois knew better than to ask about it directly, but she caught warning looks whenever someone let something slip.

Forty-five minutes in, and Maria was refilling Lois Lane's glass...and the reporter found, with a frown, that she couldn't remember if that was the second or third time. The rest of the employees had left, in ones and twos, so that it was just the three of them. The dark-haired woman—Alexa—kept staring at her breasts. Lois hadn't thought much of it, but now she leaned forward and asked.

"Do those hurt?"

"It's a little sore," Lois said, blinking, suddenly feeling a little fuzzy-headed. "But I just got the rod installed, so it'll be a little while until they heal up."

"Hmm," Alexa had no booze in front of her, just a cup of ice. "You know what might help?"

"What's that?"

Lois saw the long, slender fingers dip into the cup of ice. Saw them withdraw a clear cube. It took her a moment or two longer than it should have to realize what was coming, but when she instinctively tried to move back, she found that Maria was behind her on the bench, holding her arms.

The reporter gave a little shriek as the piece of cold touched her aching left tit...a shriek that gave way to a little huff as the pain momentarily faded, and the nipple seemed to stiffen and swell. Alexa was carefully circling the nipple with the melting ice cube, rapt in her attention as a cat torturing a mouse, tiny drops of ice water dripping down the swell of Lois Lane's breasts.

Not to neglect the right nipple, Alexa moved the half-melted cube there, and Lois gave another little gasp, even as Maria began to lick at her ear.

"Sensitive. Responsive." Alexa said, those dark eyes flashing. "That's good. I want to see what you look like when we take things up a notch."