Circe

The long purple locks were held back by a golden tiara that framed the stark, youthful face, though the eyes themselves were old and jaded as a hundred-year-old whore's. Her scarlet bustier was trimmed with plates of gold, and was cut to reveal a substantial amount of cleavage, and demonstrated her narrow waist; it dwindled into a kind of skirt that fell across crotch and buttocks, but left her hips bare, so that her long, muscular legs showed. Dark red gloves came up over her elbows to mid-bicep; her left hand glowed with purple fire.

Lois recognized her from front page photos. One of Wonder Woman's foes, a creature of legend—the immortal sorceress Circe.

"Oh fuck," Lois said, a little drunkenly, then quickly covered her mouth. Circe arched an eyebrow.

"In due time, I'm sure." The woman said.

The reporter looked around the chamber. It seemed to be made of...flesh. Smooth, living skin, ruddy and pink. There was no furniture, no light source other than Circe's glowing hand, no other entrance or exit, though there appeared to be a few other orifices similar to the one she was currently stuck in, except tightly puckered.

There was a sudden pressure on Lois legs—then a sense of movement. The muscular sphincter around the reporter relaxed and... Circe stepped back as Lois was catapulted forward onto the floor.

"Welcome, my dear." She said. "To my prison. I must admit, I was growing rather bored. Now that you're here, however, I'll at least have something to entertain myself with..."