Take The Book Home

The shrine was obviously a big part of whatever was going on down here...the book was probably the biggest clue in this place...

As her heart pounded in her chest, the reporter quickly shucked jacket and shirt, to stand in in just her bra. She hugged the book against her flat stomach, the top of it pushing up her breasts.

She squatted down, to hold the book against her belly with her thighs as she struggled back into the shirt, pulled it down as far as it would go over her bigger breasts—then pulled the waistband of her red disco pants up, as far as they would stretch. The result was not ideal; a dark grey band was visible, and she needed at least one hand to hold it in place if she stood up. Carefully, Lois tied her jacket around her new "waist." The arms were barely long enough, and it probably wouldn't fool anyone that looked at it close, but to casual inspection she wasn't trying to smuggle a grimoire.

With luck, people would be more focused on her rack to check out the support beam.

The stairs proved a problem. She had to hold the book with both hands and go up sideways. Lois regretted her heels now, wondered at which dark step she would slip and break her ass, but over the course of many long minutes, she got up to the top of the stairs.

She breathed, panted a little. A good workout, and the Daily Planet's best reporter was glad she was in shape. Lois sidled up to the doorway that led back to the club, did a quick survey. The dance floor was out of the question, and if she went past the bar Maria or Sal would definitely have questions...but there was a fire door, not ten feet away, that would probably lead to an alley out the back. Then she could walk around the back, call a cab, and be home free.

Lois didn't spend much time on the plan. She went for it. Anyone who glanced in her direction saw a busty woman with the **** look on her face normally associated with a sprint toward the restroom, stride toward the fire door and disappear through it.

In the cab on the way back to her apartment, the book still snug against her stomach, Lois felt a sense of elation. She had done it—the adrenaline rush of the successful theft hit her like a ****.

This must be what Catwoman feels like. Lois thought to herself. She really had to hold onto the book tight, as it felt almost like it was digging into her belly. The driver didn't care, radio turned up to catch the tail end of the Metros game.

The reporter clutched the book to her belly the entire trip, even while she paid off the cabbie, and the long elevator ride up to her apartment—did not dare to end the act until she was safely inside, with the door locked and bolted. Only then did she begin to disrobe. In a hurry she shucked off the jacket, pants and shirt, to stand naked, holding the book.

She paused to admire her new self in the full-length mirror of the room...a small part of her wondering how she would explain the new rack and plumper ass to the folks at the office...but her attention came back to the book itself. Now that she had it...what would she do with it?