Serious Questions About The Other Women

"Other women? You mean the ones that went missing?" Lois Lane's chest felt heavy, the air so close and hard to breathe. Angelica Blaze slid out from beneath the bar, and extended a hand. Reluctantly, Lois gripped it, needing the anchor to extract herself from the small confined space.

"They're not missing," Angelica said, that strange Mona Lisa smile on her face. "Though they failed to take my eggs, they serve me in other ways."

A wracking cough hit Lois. Her guts felt as though they were twisted up, and a dull pain throbbed in her chest.

"Heartburn," Blaze said. The bottomless dickgirl turned to the bar and began mixing ingredients. "The eggs are immune to your stomach acid, but there's going to be some splashback as they travel down to your intestines. Drink this."

She handed Lois a cognac tumbler something thick and milky. The reporter, tasting bile, stared at it dubiously...but the pain in her chest was growing and shooting down her left arm. So she put it to her nose, smelled something chalky...and then sipped it. Cold and thick as a milkshake, not bitter exactly but alkaline, earthy...and it did begin to soothe the pain. Within a few moments, Lois felt she could talk again.

"Where are they?"

Lois Lane was a reporter. She had come here to find those missing women, and she would. The eggs...whatever Blaze was...she would sort out later. Her first priority had to be finding them and getting them to safety. Whatever that took.

Blaze closed in on Lois. The reporter wanted to retreat as the dickgirl moved into her personal space, face less than an inch from her own, those great dark eyes stared into her violet eyes, and for a moment the woman wondered if the dickgirl was going to kiss her again...then she felt the warm touch of Blaze's hand between her breasts, resting on the sternum.

"They're in my bedroom, of course. I want to show them to you."