Find The Mirror

Furred cunts spasmed on thrusting fingers, the cat-women arching their backs and howling their lust to the heart of the world. Lois Lane smiled as they went boneless, sliding onto the bed as purring lumps, hard nipples still poking out through the fur. The reporter smiled at her handiwork, even though she felt a little frustrated, her own pussy still wet and unattended. But there were more important things to do.

Lois slid off the bed and began to dress, finding long hairs in odd places as she slid into her shirt and pants. Her panties and bra, she quickly discovered, were nowhere to be seen. The reporter suspected the darker-haired cat-woman had made off with them. She felt like one of those sneaky types, the sort to have a little stash of toys under the couch. Lois just smiled and decided to go commando, not caring who could see her nipples through her shirt.

Now, however, she had a lead. Sex demon, mirror. The mirror sounded like the important part. The catalyst and probable means for the transformation, assuming it was more than just a prop. If Lois found the mirror, she could probably reverse this...or at least stop anyone else from turning into selling their souls and becoming weird prostitutes.

And if the cat-ladies were trapped in their current form... Lois smiled. Well, she wouldn't mind adopting a couple of strays.

Standing up in her heels, Lois lane slid out of the room, leaving the two cat-women on the bed. Promising to herself that she'd be back, no matter what.

The corridor outside was not like the entrance she had first seen. This was the customer entrance, all plush red carpet, walls with oak trim, framed erotic prints. Low moans and grunts echoed from behind some of those doors. Lois wandered down, not trying any of the doors. She wasn't looking to interview more whores, she wanted something more...central.

The reporter came, at last, to something that looked like a lobby. A wider open space between two corridors, the chromed-metal doors of an elevator, scattered couches, a small wooden bar tucked away in one corner. And opposite the elevator, equidistant from the two corridors, was a double-door with golden handles.

Lois Lane walked over, glad the carpet was silencing the sound of her heels, and carefully tried the door. Locked. She dropped to one knee. Seemed like a fairly standard commercial mechanism. Her hand slipped into the pocket of her jacket, finding the little stiff pieces of flat wire tucked into the lining, and drew them out. Better than hairpins for picking locks...

Working with two hands, ears out for anyone coming up behind her, Lois jiggled the tumblers. It took her a couple of minutes; the lock wasn't particularly good, but she was out of practice. As always, it gave her a sense of satisfaction to hear the distinct click as the mechanism disengaged, the door swinging open.

The reporter peeked with: the room was almost empty, not even carpeted, walls bare and unpainted. Hard, smooth concrete all around...and in the very middle, a tall object draped in white cloth, like a dust sheet. Lois smiled.

The elevator chimed behind her. Moving quickly, Lois slipped inside the room, closing the door behind her. Tried not to breathe as she heard people moving about in the lobby.