The Staff Lounge

They exited through the maintenance door—into a fairly nondescript back hallway. Lois had seen the other side of enough cub to recognize the hallmarks of a converted office space, the carpeting torn out to reveal the bare concrete floor, the paint flaking and covered here and there by impromptu graffiti, some of the doors absent from the frames leaving darkened, empty rooms hanging off of the hallway.

What was different was a rhythmic squeaking noise. Lois furrowed her brow when she first heard it, but Blaze did not elaborate, only led the way through the twisting corridors. It was getting louder as they walked—they were approaching the source of it, Lois was sure—and she could make out other noises as well now. A huffing pant, deep and masculine; idle chatter.

Once or twice a bouncer passed them, always a muscular young man with a black t-shirt with SECURITY blazoned across their pecs in tall yellow letters, and Lois noticed that they always seemed slightly winded, and one was buckling the belt on his pants. The bouncers nodded to Blaze as they passed, deferential and subdued, but if she even acknowledged their existence, Lois saw no sign of it.

Finally, they arrived at a room with a door. The faded letters of STAFF LOUNGE were painted on it. The demon opened it without a word...and then stood back, holding the door open. The reporter walked to the entrance and stared at the scene inside.

A hair pair of buttocks was bouncing up and down on some inflatable plastic toy on a round table. Lois blinked, trying to take the scene in. The familiar black t-shirt of the man on the table. The floppy plastic legs on either side of his, the hairy balls just visible in the dark thicket of hair around his thighs, the dark brown shaft sliding in and out of a nearly-transparent barrier that was propped up on the tabletop. Every pounding thrust was accompanied by a squeak of plastic on faux-wood.

Lois looked a question at Blaze, but the demon had her head down, unwilling to meet her gaze.

The reporter stepped inside...and saw three other dolls, scattered about the room. Their skins were transparent, so that Lois could see the pools of jizz collecting inside them. Separate pockets for plastic anus, vagina, and mouth. Each of the dolls, Lois also noticed, was unique: styled with different colored hair, eyes, the painted on rudiments of facial features, even their breasts and nipples were different shapes and sizes.

On the table, the man let out a muffled roar, and Lois watched in fascination at the white spurt, visible through the transparent plastic skin, as the man came. With a heavy pant, he pulled himself out of the dripping inflatable sex doll, dick already wilting, reaching for a container of wet wipes placed conveniently nearby.

There was something inexplicably sad about the sight of the despoiled toy. Lois found herself staring at the inanimate object as it lay where the man had left it, cum splattered in its well-worn plastic hole, the eyes almost painfully expressive... She had strawberry blonde hair and blue eyes, just like Diane Reynolds, one of the missing women.

Sudden recognition came to Lois. She looked again at the other toys, checking this time for hair and eye color, and more subtle traits. Each of them matched one of the missing women.

The bouncer, pants now buckled, coughed and squeezed passed Lois and Blaze, leaving them alone in the room.

Alone with the dolls.