End: Lois Lane Gets A Clue

Circe slept. No magic beach, no wine and sun. Just a naked, busty sorceress for the equally naked and well-endowed reporter to play with, in a small room that might at one point have been a supply closet, lit by a dim bulb.

Lois Lane jiggled the tits with single-minded satisfaction. She straddled Circe's hips and pressed her tits against the sorceress's own, so that she could rub their nipples together.

"Two plus two equals four...four nipples...four hard little nubs..." Lois whispered, not wanting to wake the woman as she pressed her clit against the older woman's firm, flat stomach, leaving a trail of pussy-slime. The bimbo's brain worked...not in the way it used to, but still processing. The violet eyes caught every wobble of Circe's mighty knockers. She pressed them together, watching the flesh distend as the fat tits squeezed and squished, warm and soft and heavy as her own big titties.

Things slid into place. Little bits and pieces of things she had picked up on but hadn't been able to put together. Now, as her hands and eyes had something to play with, the bimbo reporter's brain worked at the puzzle.

Circe obviously wasn't behind the brothel situation. She was a customer, not a madame. That meant there was someone else behind things...someone with the resources and vision and guts to create a supers-themed brothel and cater to immortal sorceresses. Someone, in other words, well out of Lois Lane's league to handle directly.

"There's more than one way to lick a pussy," the reporter said. The busty reporter looked around the room again. It was mostly bare, and mostly clean; someone had emptied it and then cleaned it out, so that Circe could work her magic. There was a drain in the floor, inch-thick wooden shelves built into the concrete walls, the grain of the wood stained with circles from cleaners, varnish, and other substances. There was a faucet that emerged from the wall opposite the door, a dim ten-watt bulb overhead that could be switched off with a cord...and, next to the door itself, a black phone attached to the wall.

"Lovely jubbly," Lois said as she stood up. She picked up the phone. There was a dial tone. She tapped away at a certain number, and waited as it rang. Her free hand twisted a loop of hair around her finger. Her left leg stretched out so that she could grope the sleeping sorceress's breasts with her toes.

Someone picked up. There was no sound on the other end, the listener holding their breath. Lois knew that meant it was Batman.

"Hi!" She said, a little more high-pitched than she intended. "This is like, Lois Lane? I've got, like, this suuuuper problem..."

Questions were asked. Lois answered them as best as she could. Part of her wondered what it would feel like, if she rubbed the old hand-held phone against her pussy. She didn't know if it would actually fit inside her pussy, but the rubbing would probably feel real good...

"Um?" She said, then nodded, even though Batman couldn't see it. "Ayup. Magic. TOTALLY magic. Has to be." Listened intently. "Like, some kind of a closet? I'm playing with Circe's titty." More listening. "Okay, I'll stay right here!" She came to attention and saluted the phone. "Byeeee..."

Lois Lane hung up and slid back onto Circe. The Justice League was on its way. Circe was snoring gently, her voluptuous body all Lois's to play with. The bimbo smiled to herself as she lay down, her big breasts pillowing against the tops of Circe's thighs. She could hang her head and really lick that pussy now.

Which she did, for the rest of the night.

By dawn, the demon Blaze would be defeated, the missing women rescued. Come dawn, perhaps, they would find Lois Lane squatting over the sleeping Circe, trying with some success to stuff one of the sorceress's big tits into her twat. Zatanna would push past Batman and Superman, an incantation on her lips...and perhaps Circe would stir, magical senses awakening her at last...

Lois Lane's night out would end in triumph; the reporter having achieved all her goals. But at what cost...and what would happen next? That is another story.