The Fuck Shack

The Love Shack was one of the more venerable establishments in this part of Metropolis, though few knew the full history of it. When the first English had arrived at the Dutch settlement, it had been a public house with rooms to let, and no bed ever went cold. During the great Civil War, legend has it every Union soldier was offered a free tumble among the bedclothes before battle—and none of them were allowed a tab.

By the 1950s, the old building had been torn down, and on that spot had been erected a gleaming fresh motel, with rooms to let by the hour, the day, and the week. More Metropolitans had been conceived in those cheap premises than in any other establishment in the history of the city, though few knew it. Even though the faded sign declared that this was the Love Shack, every highschooler, pimp, prostitute, and adulterous couple knew it as the Fuck Shack. A name that had gone down in infamy in the 80s when certain local punk bands had written ballads to its clean sheets and shoddy mattresses.

Lois Lane led Angelica Blaze there, feet carrying her along the way by memory...though it had been years since she had actually been a paying guest.

"Hello Carl," she said, smiling sweetly.

"Why, Miss Lane," the old man behind the desk smiled as if his sainted mother had died again. "And...companion?"

"Not tonight, Carl," she said. "I'm more interested in some of your guests..."

The old man's normal reaction reassured Lois, who wasn't sure what he might think if he saw her with pink skin, horns, and her pussy pushing out a rent in her pants. Before they had left the Lesbian pit, Angelica had done something...she'd called it a glamour...and said that people would see what they expected. Privately, Lois was glad it appeared to be working.

"Well now, Miss Lane, you know that our guest registry is strictly confidential..."

She laid two hundred dollar bills on the counter.

"Four women," she said. "Two couples. Probably pawing all over each other. Been here a week or two."

Carl held the hundreds up to the light, and nodded absently.

"Room 1 and Room 2—the honeymoon sweets. Been banging the headboards against the shared wall. I think they're in competition to see who can cum loudest."

The bills disappeared.

"Law troubles?" He said, with a hint of hopefulness. "Prostitution? Carried across state lines for obscene acts? White slavery?"

"Just your average lesbionics, I'm afraid," Lois flashed him a smile. "Thanks, Carl. Any chance I can get the keys?"

The old man tsked. "I really shouldn't..." he eyes the keys hanging on hooks behind the counter, and lifted them down. "...but then, they have been quiet today. Don't suppose you could do me the favor of a wellness check?" Then his grin turned into a leer. "And don't spare details?"

"You're a lecherous old bastard, Carl," Lois said cheerfully as she took the keys. "Don't ever change."

"Love," Blaze said, once they were out of earshot of the old man. "What exactly is your plan here?"

Lois Lane beamed. She liked the little warm feeling in her stomach when Angie called her "love." It was something she wanted to hear frequently.

"I'm going to interview them," the reporter said. "For my article. Then we're going to go back to my apartment and I'm going to fuck you until we can't walk—"