End: Circe Does Eventually Figure It Out

"Has to be something wrong," Circe muttered, and made mystic passes with her hands. Eyes with centuries of sorcerous experience examined the warp and weft of the spell where it touched the reporter's aura, which was deeply tinged with pink now, but even as she watched, the reporter's natural colors and energies were reasserting themselves. Some of the magical energy was disippating, but it was all too fast...and as Circe traced the flow of energy, she found a thread that was not hers.

One that led through the scrying portal that Circe now belatedly noticed. The shape and weft of the spellwork was familiar, and the sorceress uttered a mild oath as she realized where all the power had gone.

As Lois Lane sat there, placid as a cow, her massive tits slowly shrinking, Circe grabbed the bimbofied reporter's shoulder and made a gesture...Lois felt the world rotate, and when it stopped, they were in a dark chamber, like a natural cave, but expanded into a kind of lair. There was a throne, dark and gothic in its imposing mass and fearsome skulls...but the figure that sat upon it...

The demon Blaze, queen of Hell, the dark and imposing foe of Superman and Shazam, smiled vacantly at her guests. Lois Lane, who could think more clearly every moment, estimated that the naked demon was about five feet tall...maybe shorter. The great mass of black hair was streaked with gold, and the blood-red skin paled to pink at her throat and torso, all the way down to the puffy, drooling pussy. The horns were a bright bubble-gum pink, and Blaze's little feet kicked, not able to touch the floor. Swollen, cocksucking lips were set in a permanent pout.

Yet the demon's most defining feature were her tits. They were massively oversized, each as big as a small beanbag, soft and swollen, filling the succubus' lap and overflowing the arms of the chair. The crimson skin paled to pink like an inflated balloon around those massive tits, and Lois could see the fragments of orange cloth that suggested the sudden, explosive growth had burst whatever outfit the demon had been wearing.

"Dark gods dammit," Circe muttered as she made mystic passes in the air. It might have been the reporter's imagination, but the sorceress looked older. There were crows-feet at the corner of her eyes, the breasts sagged a little more than before, the lips less plump, a strand of silver ran through the lavendar hair. Her hands left green trails in the dark air of the cave...and Lois noticed, as her IQ ticked up, that her "assets" were slowly shrinking, even as Blaze's continued to grow. "Ugh. You're entangled."

Lois blinked. "You mean, as I get smarter, Blaze gets...more bimbofied?" she asked.

"The fact that you can make that observation and put in a sentence should tell you," Circe said, disgust in her voice. "You'll probably keep the hair and some of the tits and ass, but most of the spell is being drained off into the demon's aura. She's suffused with it. Demons are mostly magical energy, so they're more sensitive to such spells than mere mortals. No offense."

"None taken," Lois said, and reached up to rub her head. She swore she could almost feel her brain work better. Her mind was correlating her contents, and she didn't like the picture of things. "So what now?"

"Now?" Circe said. "Now I say, 'fuck this shit.' I've wasted a century's worth of carefully hoarded magical resources on this little debacle, only for this big-titted bimbo bitch from hell to soak it all up like a sponge. I need to go get a drink and recharge."

"What about Blaze?" Lois said. "Is she going to stay like this? Can she...can she even take care of herself as she is?"

"What? No. She's basically the idiot goddess of tits at this point," Circe said. "Someone will come along and turn her into a sex **** or drain her into a husk, send what's left back to hell. Not that I care. Trying to extract my power from her aura would just taint my own magic. Not worth it. Anyway, I'm done with all of this."

So saying, Circe made that rotating gesture again—and Lois felt her eyes water as the figure of the sorceress seemed to turn sideways into another space, until she was just a single green line that hung in space—and then that was gone.

Leaving Lois Lane alone with the bimbo succubus.

"Nnngh," Lois pinched the bridge of her nose as her intellect slowly restored itself. Already, her tits had shrunk dramatically, to little more than E-cups. Her ass was now more proportional to her body, and her beestung lips had slimmed down to only slightly swollen. The reporter tried to think of a plan...and the scarlet succubus slipped off her throne.

However short and soft that Blaze was now, her strength was undiminished. She stepped forward lightly, her ridiculously oversized breasts bobbed and jiggled, jutted forward like the prow of a battleship. The demon actually lifted the unnaturally perky tits up with her hands and pulled them apart so that she could hug the naked reporter. Lois felt oddly secure, wrapped about by those tremendous, warm tits. Blaze stared up at her, pink eyes bright and shining, and with a sultry voice, deep and resonant, she asked:

"Wanna eat pussy."

The rational part of Lois Lane's brain wondered if the still-active entanglement between Blaze and herself created some emotional rapport, an empathic connection through which the demon was attempting to realize the reporter's libidinous desires. The still-bimbo part of Lois Lane's mind realized she was horny, hot, wet, and actually she very much would like an eager tongue in her cunt.

"Sure," Lois said, and gestured back toward the throne. "Let's do it over there."

Which is how, at the end of Lois Lane's night out, the naked reporter found herself slouched in Blaze's throne, her buttocks just perched on the edge and thighs spread, as a succubus with neon pink horns lapped lovingly at her vulva. Somewhere, somehow, a balance had to be struck, the reporter rationalized. Lois would stop getting smaller and more intelligent, and Blaze would stop growing dumber and bustier. Even if that happened, the reporter realized that she now had a horny and powerful little fucktoy on her hands...and one with an intimate, if ethereal, connection to herself.

As the reporter grabbed those horns in her hands, and felt a pleasant tingle run between them, to guide that hot tongue deeper into her pussy, she knew that she had to protect Blaze. Care for her. Give her an outlet for her passions. Surely Zatanna or some of the other Justice League magicians could make that work...if Lois could just find the right words for it...

Blaze, for her part, was only thinking about how tangy that Lois Lane's pussy tasted. The wonderful heat that built between her legs as the succubus instinctively finger-fucked her hot little hole. The old instincts, the old self buried or washed away under a pink haze.

For Lois Lane, it was the last night before her new life as a demonkeeper, charged by the fates to keep Blaze safe and way from those that would **** her powers. For Blaze, it was the beginning of a bimbo existence defined by sex and tits...and one which, if her older self could see it, would be recognized as the happiest and most carefree period of a long and often tortured existence.