To Volunteer

"...to volunteer."

Maria's eyes widened. "You don't...you don't know what you're asking. You don't know what they'll do to you."

The reporter smiled. Maybe it was the ecstasy kicking in, or the ****. All the little voices in the back of her head that told her not to take chances were clicked off.

"Trust me."

Maria led Lois through a maintenance door in the bathroom—which, drunk and high as she was, she noticed was newer and sturdier than the rest of the fixtures, and had a biometic keypad. The barmaid laid her palm flat against the electronic rectangle next to the door, and the bolts unlocked with a heavy thunk.

They hobbled along a back corridor; doors led off to offices, storage closets, a breakroom. A large man with a bald head, black glasses, and an earpiece stood in front of a door at the end of it, a heavy pistol visible in a shoulder holster—the lack of concealment alone let Lois know they were close to something big.

Maria steered them into a small room next door, which looked like the patient receiving room at the doctor's office, complete with a padded table with the paper covers. A somewhat heavyset black woman in scrubs sat before a computer and eyed Maria and Lois as they came in.

"I've got a...volunteer." Maria said.

The nurse raised an eyebrow. "Did you explain what we do here?"

"Kinda."

The black woman looked Lois up and down appraisingly. The Daily Planet's star reporter didn't say anything during the inspection, but tried to take in all the details she could without being obvious.

"What has she had?" the nurse said.

"Some molly," Maria said. "A couple drinks."

"A couple?"

"Maybe four-five."

"Hmm." The black woman typed something on the computer than stood up. She got into Lois' face, stared into here eyes intensely—not to make contact, just to look at the sclera, for any broken veins.

"Take off your clothes and climb on the table." the nurse ordered.

Lois shucked what little she was wearing, folded them and handed them to Maria. The paper was cool and dry beneath her ass as she sat down.

The nurse had taken an electronic pad and was making notes as she looked Lois over, with the same dispassionate gaze as before. The anticipation made the reporter's skin crawl a little...that and the open door, where the guard still stood. Anyone could just walk in.

"Move yourself to the edge of the table," the black woman ordered, and Lois did so, her ass on the edge of the cushioned top, legs hanging off. The nurse bent down and plastic pads on long metal arms swung out from the bottom of the table. "Place your feet in the stirrups, please."

Lois did so, and the feeling of vulnerability increased as she spread her legs—and her sex—for this perfect stranger.

"You look fairly clean and healthy," the nurse said. "No obvious signs of prolonged **** use, malnutrition, pregnancy, or sexually-transmitted diseases. No needle tracks, no recent tattoos, or signs of recent illness. We'll still need a blood sample and vaginal swab..."

The black women looked her in the eye. "What kind of procedure are you looking for?" Lois' heart skipped a beat. Her mind blanked. "What do you want?"