End: Lois Lane Stays To Be Trained

It was not just her courage, confidence, and daring that made Lois Lane the Daily Planet's Greatest reporter, nor her way with words. She was smart, and while she often did go racing off into danger, she never risked any life but her own when doing so. While it galled her to stay put instead of going off to find and rescue those missing women, the reporter knew that she didn't even know if they were in the building—and that running off without knowing how to control her powers was reckless, for them as well as her.

So she swallowed her pride, bowed her head, and said: "I'll stay, mistress."

She could not see Circe smile. Yet Lois felt as the sorceress' hands slipped down from her shoulders, found the gaps beneath the muse's arms, and slid forward to cup Lois Lane's now bigger bust. Lois gave a low moan as the fingertips touched her supersensitive nipples. The reporter had never cum just from someone touching her breasts before...but her slit shook and shivered, dripping into the already-wet sand beneath her feet.

"A wise decision," Circe whispered. "With proper control, you will be able to focus your powers...to inspire selectively. To overwhelm your targets with the creative urge. Without...you will be nothing more than a panting slut with which to sate their needs. Little better than a pin-up and a sextoy."

The sorceress rolled the muse's stiff little nipples between her fingers, tugged at the metal piercings. Circe rested her chin on Lois Lane's shoulder, watching the perky points move beneath the dark fabric of the dress. Felt Lois shake and shiver as her climax rolled over, one into the next, an endless chain of small orgasms, pussy raining down onto the sand beneath...and Lois could hardly stand, could not stop it as the teasing **** went on and on.

"G-great Caesar's ghost..." Lois moaned, leaning against Circe as her knees shook. "I can't...I can't stop..."

"You need to learn to control yourself," Circe said. "Ride the crest of your climax. Let it wash through you. Don't fight it. This is your new normal...you need to become the slut that can orgasm at a touch, without letting it affect you..."

The night was long, and Metropolis was very far away. Lois Lane quickly lost track of how many times she had cum, and how long she had been there beneath that burning sun...though she felt her skin tan, and her pierced holes stopped aching. The dreams of the city stirred as her echoes cried out...and an image slipped into the collective subconscious, a figure in ten thousand wet dreams. Horny Metropolitans began searching for dark-haired brunettes and violet eyes on their favorite porn sites, and writers of internet erotica began to capture something of the figure that appeared in their most depraved and haunted fantasies.

Lois Lane had begun the night out as a mere woman...but as Circe released more and more of her power, as she taught Lois how to control it, the reporter took her first step away from being a mere woman and becoming something more. A symbol of desire, written in flesh. And when she was ready, the world would know every inch of her.

Yet that is a different story.