There's A Serial Number Around Her Butthole

"Son of a bitch," the reporter said, so shocked by what she saw in the mirror that the cuss word came out without a second thought. The numbers 2-12-A-26-5 were picked out very distinctly in black lettering, surrounded by red inflamed flesh, her pink pucker right in the middle.

The first thing Lois wondered was if it was a real tattoo. Her ass didn't hurt, there was no sign of blood...maybe it was just a temporary tattoo, a dye. The reporter closed her eyes and hated herself for what she asked next.

"There's...a container of Lysol wipes by the sink," Lois said. "Could you...wipe my ass? Just to see if it'll come off."

Lois didn't have to ask twice. The reporter's cheeks burned as she heard Angelica rummage for a moment...and then there was the wet, soft feel of the wipe, running over and over her exposed anus, the Lysol stinging...but after a moment, Blaze said:

"Not coming off, sweetmeat. You have a real pretty butthole, though."

The reporter growled. If she really had been tattooed, and it looked like she had, that corroborated Angelica's story, at least in part. She let her hands drop, buttcheeks hiding the tattoo, and twirled around, pressing her ass against the table. Not even caring that she was naked before the seated woman.

"Okay. So...you followed these Men in Black. To LexCorp," Lois said. "Can you take me there?"

Blaze's dark eyes narrowed. A strange half-smile graced her lips, reminding Lois of Da Vinci's Mona Lisa.

"I can," Angelica Blaze said. "For a price."