Topless

Industrial music blared from the live band at the end of the room. The decor was eclectic, like somebody had stolen the tables, stools, and chairs from a bunch of franchise restauarants—but the bar itself was an old slab of redwood, and the walls and even the floor had been spray-painted black, the lights set into the ceiling and walls like stars in the darkness, so that people drank and talked and danced in a the void of space.

All of the servers were women—and so were half the customers. Nobody was wearing anything that covered their nipples. Breasts hung out from shirts with holes in them, and many of the waitresses didn't wear shirts at all, their torsos gleaming as if oiled, ta-ta's flying free and swaying with every step. On stage, a rake-thin punk with small screws through her nipples screamed into the microphone. Men sat at tables, the fronts ripped off their t-shirts, or wearing only jacket and ties. Behind the bar, a tall woman with flowing dark hair mixed the drinks; her proud titties were buoyed by a half-bra that mad them jut out like a shelf in front of her, but didn't hid the nipples, from which little gold rings dangled.

"I feel a bit over-dressed!" Lois shouted into Zatanna's ear. The witch nodded in agreement. The reporter saw Zatanna's lips move through another incantation.

"!stit ruo wohS"

A shiver ran through the reporter's clothing, like an invisible wind. Her white t-shirt fell off—though that should have been impossible—and fell around her hips as a kind of white sash. She stared down at her modest boobs, suddenly self-conscious about how hard her little pink nipples were. Lois Lane had never had big breasts, moving between an a-cup and a b-cup all her life, but they were both well-formed, even, with no stretch marks or moles, the nipples small and hard as pencil erasers when aroused.

She looked over at Zatanna.

The white button-up shirt vanished; the white tie, collar, and corset remained, giving emphasis to the witch's breasts—and Lois felt her mouth suddenly go dry. They had to be natural d-cups, and though she couldn't guess the band size, it was clear that they were soft and had that ski-slope shape, the bottoms sagging gently against her chest, the nipples pointing out like the prow of mighty ships.

It wasn't the first time in her life Lois had felt a kind of attraction for another woman. It was definitely the first time she had felt anything like the sudden heat in her loins that came from staring at her friend's pair. With difficulty, the reporter **** herself to look up into Zatanna's face...only to find the witch was admiring her tits as well.

That wasn't what they were here for, however. Missing women, powerful demon. Business before pleasure.

"We need to find some information," Lois yelled into her ear. "We might cover more ground if we split up."