Research

Lois picked up the strange idol. It was not crudely made—the whirls and curves carved into it at least showed a great degree of skill, even if the whole gravid motif with the pendulous breasts and bare cleft suggesting a vulva were primitive—and obviously it had been the centerpiece of the whole shrine. She carried it over the kitchen table and set it down facing her, then fired up the laptop.

Internet research, to a reporter, involved more than typing "fertility idol" into google and paging through the results. As the Daily Planet's star reporter, Lois had a few more tricks than most—and access to a few more databases, including the entire digital newspaper archive going back to the turn of the century. So Lois dug into her subject, entering search strings, reading articles, taking notes...

Only one thing distracted her, a strange sensation of being watched. It was the kind of sixth sense all women get, in public places, knowing there was some fixed eyes upon them, checking them out, possibly fantasizing... and it was all the worse that Lois knew the source of that strange gaze. The idol, sitting an arm's length away. Even though the thing was basically headless, something about it seemed to have turned its attention on her...and the worst part was, Lois could feel herself responding.

She tried to ignore the tingle in her pussy. There was seldom a time she felt less sexy than when she was on her period, but sometimes the presence of the tampon and the wet flow down there just led to a certain...excitement. Lois gritted her teeth, trying to keep her thoughts on her research, even as he rubbed her bare thighs together in agitation at the sudden itch between her legs.

That had happened too, when she knew she was being watched. Lois was never much of a flirt or an exhibitionist, but she did sometimes enjoy the attention. It was worst when Kent was around. The Kansas farmboy-turned-reporter was so helpless whenever she accidentally flashed her panties, or an extra centimeter of cleavage...she sometimes wondered what would happen if she showed up one day without underwear, and gave him a real look at things...

Lois shook her head to clear the fantasy. She had hit upon some interesting material—not about the idol exactly, but about the address of the club. Before it had been a warehouse, the whole block had been a string of nightclubs, brothels, and speakeasies during the 1920s and 30s...burned out during a fire, torn down and rebuilt during World War II. But back then, there had been rumor of a "Satanic sex cult" operating in the area...and hospital records showed a spike in births, many of them single mothers. She cross-referenced orphanage drop-offs of newborns, and saw a sizable uptick during the same period.

The reporter's thighs ground together, the tingling between her legs growing more intense...a burning need that was demanding release...but she was finally getting somewhere...