End: Lois Lane Gets Fucked

Through the veil of the opium she had just smoked, Lois Lane's thoughts came languidly. Emotions were muted under the effects of the ****, and there was a curious lack of excitement and need for speed as she surveyed the monstrous forms of the women she had come to save.

"My name is Lois Lane," she heard herself say. "I'm here for you..."

Strange mouths grinned at those words. The women stepped closer, and Lois could feel their eyes on her tanned skin, the dark, lewd tattoos and heavy piercings that hadn't been there when she had begun her night's out. Her thoughts came so sluggishly, and the words seemed just on the tip of her brain. She needed to rescue them...or form a union...

As the reporter stood there, dazed and confused, the four she-creatures crept ever closer. Like cats, when mother has brought home a new stray.

Jenny Dunlap, head bowed beneath the weight of her horns, loomed behind the reporter—and Lois cried out as massive hands came up from under her arms, so that the huge paws completely covered Lois Lane's breasts.

Tonya Wong, the centaur, bowed low and grabbed the length of silver chain that ran to the reporter's clitoral hood. A tiny yank made the reporter's hips thrust on empty air, and as Lois gasped a hot dribble squirted from her pussy.

On her hands and knees, crawled Diana Reynolds, the goatish eyes fixed on the reporter's pussy. The reporter rolled her eyes as the satyr-girl's long pink tongue pushed its way past the reporter's pierced labia and deep into her belly.

"Ssssister," Mara de la Cruz hissed, a strangely sibilant voice, as the harpy roosted up above, one wing-tip rubbing her own pierced pussy. "Sssave sssome for ussss."

The minotaur-girl adjusted her grip to pinch the reporter's pieced titties. Lois Lane opened her mouth to cry out, to scream...and Jenny ducked her head, so that her mouth met the reporter's her tongue invaded Lois Lane's mouth.

There was no thought of escape for a while. More than their bodies had been changed by Circe's magic. Like creatures of myth they were now, with passions scarcely less bestial or godlike than the figures they had become. In time, Lois would come to know all of them, as she had never known others. The soft down feathers on Mara's chest. The weight of Tonya's horse-like hindquarters on her face, as the huge, thick pussy rubbed against her. How gently Jenny could take one finger, and stretch Lois Lane's pussy wider than any cock ever had. The happy bleat of Diana as she straddled the silver chain that ran down to Lois Lane's pussy, and frigged herself with it until the satyr's cunny-juices ran down the shining length of it and mingled with Lois Lane's own wetness.

There would be time to talk. For stories, for the retelling of dreams. The mortal world would seem so ever far away and strange...as they waited for Circe to come and cum again.