End: Blaze's Sex Dungeon

The elevator door opened...and for a moment, Lois thought she had been transported to Hell.

Naked women lay splayed out on X-frames. They were arranged in rows...and each was being subject to a different sexual ****. One woman near the door had a great skull-shaped candle suspended above her, the dripping red wax falling on her naked breasts. The one in facing her had a hose shoved down her throat through a gag; her abdomen was so distended with water she almost looked pregnant. A vibrating wand had been taped to the woman's clitoris, and as Lois watched, she shook and squirted uncontrollably in her bonds, the puddle of piss on the floor beneath her draining into drains set in the floor.

The reporter walked forward. There were four rows, six women per row...twenty-three women, trapped, screaming, moaning. Caught in their individual pleasures and pains. Lois walked forward gingerly, not sure whether to take them down...the women seemed not to see her. Their eyes didn't rest on the reporter, didn't beg for help. Something unnatural was at work here...and Lois found the architect at the back of the room.

The wooden desk was as large as a sacrificial altar. Videoscreens behind the desk showed the scenes from various cameras throughout the club, and the brothel beneath it. The woman behind the desk was busy typing away at a laptop. There were stacks of paper, ledgers, one of those Newton's cradles, and a half-finished glass of what could have been red wine...but as Lois got closer, she saw the flies settled on the rim, and new it for another scarlet fluid.

The woman looked human. Her face was regal, like the bust of Nefertiti, with a broad forehead, long dark hair that fell down to her shoulders, dark eyes and a mouth caught in a perpetual Mona Lisa smile. She was tall but thin, tending to bony; she dressed in a conservative grey business skirt and blouse that showed little skin, but her wrists were thin, the breasts were barely suggested, and her waist was almost inhumanly narrow...Lois felt she could almost put her hands around it and the fingers would touch. Like a human built on the scale of a greyhound.

Except if Circe was right, she wasn't human at all...

"Blaze," Lois spoke, and the woman looked up at her.

"Lois Lane," Blaze leaned back in her chair. If there was any surprise at seeing the reporter stand there before her, the woman hid it well. She looked Lois up and down critically. "Where have you been? I lost track of you."

"What are you doing here?" Lois gestured at the women around her. "What is all this?"

The demon shrugged. "Decor, honestly. I feel it reminds me of home. Would you like to meet them?"

Blaze stood up. Now Lois could see how much taller she was...at least a head taller than Lois, and with arms and legs subtly longer than the human norm. She came around the desk with surprising speed.

"You came here looking for something, didn't you?" Blaze said.

"Someone," Lois told her. "Women who had gone missing."

The demon nodded as she led Lois among the rows. A mechanical screw was slowly piercing one woman's breasts with a single long needle. A clear glass bowl was strapped to another victim's crotch; the bees within were stinging her lips, which were already abnormally puffy and swollen. Some of the women writhed, and some hung limp and exhausted.

Lois knew that she should be disgusted...but after the events of tonight, she found herself...curious. What would it be like, to be strapped to a table while a hamster ran in its wheel, driving a tiny generator to send electric shocks to her clit? Or to have her breasts clamped so tight that they turned a vivid purple, as if being slowly squeezed off by the metal coils? She shivered with guilt, a strange warmth pervading her body as she saw one erotic horror after another. The products of a diseased mind, a perverse libido...and they turned her on, at least a little.

The last rack was empty.

Lois felt Blaze's bony hands grip her shoulders.

"Well...you have found them. All the women who have gone missing. My little soiled doves. Now Lois Lane...you shall join them. I will have to think of a special pleasure for you..."

The reporter's hands gripped into fists. A part of her wanted to hear what it was...but another part of her knew she was here for something more than that. The women suffering in this room weren't doing so willingly, Lois was sure of that. She had to do something...

Which is when Circe made her move.

Blaze's hands on her shoulders stiffened, dug in to the sensitive flesh...but Lois could already feel Circe moving inside of her, through her. It was like a pair of arms pushing themselves out of her back...but it was moving through Blaze's skin, into the demon's body. Lois couldn't speak to the supernatural conflict that had to be happening, only what she herself could feel...and what it felt like was a full-grown woman crawling out of the reporter's back. Like giving birth in reverse.

Lois could almost feel every kick and elbow, impossible as they might be from any purely physical perspective, yet somehow Circe moved around inside her skin, braced against her hip bones, the back of Lois Lane's head pulled tautly back. She sank to her knees...and then, it was done, over.

Circe was gone...and for a moment, though physically intact, Lois felt hollowed out. With a shiver, the reporter turned...there was a burst of green light...and Blaze's clothes fluttered about, burst from within. Standing in her place, limned with green fire, was the sorceress.

Her mistress.

"You did well, pet," Circe said as she bent to help Lois to her feet. "Now, I think, you will have your hands full dealing with the...mortal authorities...in helping these women. Something I had best not be here for."

Lois Lane wasn't sure how she felt about that. That sensation of "hollowness" had not yet faded. Curiosity prompted her next question.

"Will I see you again?"

"Of course, Lois," Circe winked, as her form began to fade out into green light.

"After all...a part of you belongs to me."

The light faded...and Lois was left alone, with the women locked in their individual tortures and pressures. She allowed herself a little sigh.

This was going to make a great article.