The Interview Room

They took the service stairs, Lois following Maria's ass as it bounced before her, sometimes catching a glimpse of the fat vulva peeking out of the crotchless panties. They passed through a storage area and emerged from an employees-only door into...a subdued elegance.

There were brown leather couches along both walls, with clawed wooden feet and dull brass studs. The walls themselves were paneled in oak, and covered with framed prints behind glass and small art deco light fixtures. The floor was made of thin, dark slits of wood, small Persian carpets under each piece of furniture. Opposite the door they came in was another, more finely made wooden door with a moulded brass handle.

"Just wait here a moment," Maria explained. "Nobody can go to the club floor until they've been inspected." She blew Lois a kiss and quickly left by the door they had come in.

Lois examined the prints. Classical, but...unexpected. Luis Ricardo Falero's Vision of Faust. Henry Fuseli's The Night Hag. Gustave Corbert's The Origin of the World...she stopped to stare at that one, as she always did. Something in her had always been drawn to the subject. The reporter felt...rather ridiculous, in this outfit, tits and pussy exposed to the cold air, staring at artwork, waiting to be inspected like a piece of meat. Yet at the same time, it felt completely natural to be dressed that way. She continued to stare at the painting. After all, we were all born into the world naked...

"Beautiful, isn't it?"

The voice from over her shoulder shocked Lois. She hadn't heard anyone come in. She turned to look at her.

Raven hair, slightly wild, but dark as Lois' own ran down to her back. The woman wore a black business jacket and knee-length skirt, but no undershirt or bra, which gave her a rather deep cleavage. She was tall, stately even—she carried herself with chin raised and broad shoulders thrown back, which caused her heavy breasts to jut forward, just a hint of wide areolas visible. The reporter her **** herself to look up, into half-lidded eyes that seemed so dark as almost to be black, and were set in a face that reminded her, vaguely, of the bust of Nefertiti—smooth, almost streamlined and alien yet distinctly human.

Lois quickly became aware that while she was looking at the stranger, the woman was also evaluating her.

"Maria was right. You are lovely." Lois blushed, then wondered if that was the right reaction. Do whores blush?

"But are you eager to work?"