An Even Twenty

In her teenage years, Lois Lane had read about corporal punishment. They had written books about it, back in the 19th century. Weird quasi-academic texts that talked about spanking and whipping. How much a body could take. Before the skin split. All those people trying desperately to write something without...experiencing it...

Lois **** herself to stop at twenty.

Dark red lines covered the pale globes of Circe's ass. Some of them criss-crossing, some of them laid on so accurately that the center of the long striped bruises was a deep purple. There was a clear puddle beneath the sorceress' bared pussy.

"Enough," the reporter panted to herself, arm aching from the unfamiliar exercise. She had put all of her strength into those last few hits. "Enough now."

The whore dropped the whip, which vanished before it hit the floor, the energy construct decoalescing the moment Lois stopped thinking about it. From behind she wrapped her left hand around the sorceress' throat. Her right hand gripped that pussy, which squelched noisily. Three fingers slid in without resistance...but Lois knew that the well-trained cunt could take more. Much more.

"Do you want it?" Lois whispered hoarsely in Circe's ear. She began to move her fingers in and out, feeling the woman's juices run down her arm, her own cunt burning in reciprocal feeling, a part of her wishing that it was her bound between the pillars.

The lavender-haired woman shook as Lois pressed her fingers in tighter.

"Tell me," her fingers pulled at the gag, taking it out of Circe's mouth. "Tell me you want it all."