End: Me. I Deserve It.

Lois Lane turned on her knees and bent over in the sand until her breasts pressed into the hot, gritty surface, heedless of the danger of sand getting into her new piercings. She reached back behind herself and spread her lips, raising her ass to present her pink, dripping cunt to Crice. The reporter turned her cheek to look at her, face flushed, body aching with need.

"Please, mistress? I...want it...I need it...haven't I been a good cunt? Don't I deserve to get a pussy full of mythological spunk?"

The sorceress seemed to consider. Her great doggy dick, with its swollen knot at the base, began to drip. The wind on the beach picked up for a moment, blowing sand and Circe's lavender hair, but the Grecian goddess didn't move an inch, her eyes aflame with green fire.

"You know," Circe said slowly. "I really think you do."

Smooth, womanly hands rested on the reporter's ass. A hard, hot tip, spiked and narrow, slid along the base of the reporter's exposed cunny.

"I suppose I should warn you that this isn't like your normal canine cum. All those stories in Greek myth—Leda and the swam? Pasiphaë and the bull?—oh yes, those cases of mythological **** were more than just lurid tales. They happened. You should have heard Pasiphaë scream in the stables during her travail...her husband the king couldn't even bear to be there with her. The minotaur came out the size of a newborn calf...the surgeon actually broke her hip during birth, to let the head pass...walked the rest of her life with a limp..."

Circe seemed lost in her reminiscence. Lois Lane could feel her hands shaking, wondering if that would be her own fate...and somehow not caring. Her whole body ached for her mistress's cock.

"Don't worry pet. Her fate will not be yours. If you do get pregnant...if you do squeeze a pup or six out of that pussy...I'll be sure that it heals until you're tight as a virgin again."

Nails dug into the reporter's ass. "At least until it pleases me to have you so loose that I can fuck your prolapsed cunt like one of those fleshlights you mortals are so fond of."

With that image seared in the reporter's brain, Circe pressed her hips forward.

Lois Lane had seen dogs mate. The bitch on all fours, the male grasping her from behind, hips jerking steadily. When the heat came upon them, all other considerations fled. Lois had seen labradors try to **** themselves on chihahuahs. Circe, however, was still human...or close enough to one, despite that one throbbing rod jutting out of her crotch.

She slid the pink spear into the reporter's pussy smoothly, carefully. No roughness, no ****. The reporter quivered as Circe gently pressed forward, the cock thickening a little more and a little more, the head of the dick scraping now against the top of the reporter's pussy, and then the hard swell of the knot pressed against the reporter's lips...and it was so fat and swollen that even though Lois Lane was holding her labia splayed open, her fingertips were brushing the edges of that swollen knot. It must have been as big as the reporter's fist.

Circe began to withdrawn. She pushed against the reporter's ass with her hands, causing Lois Lane's breasts to bury themselves deeper in the sand. Lois flexed her thighs, which were beginning to ache with the stress of maintaining her position. Somehow that made it all the more hot...the challenge of maintaining her position, the growing ache in her legs, the heat building up inside her pussy as the doggy dick began to piston in and out, a little faster and a little faster, the knot now bumping regularly into her pussy, so hard and swollen, and Lois began to shake with the strain of holding herself up...and stranger than that, she could feel her body heating up. Normally penetration alone wasn't enough to make her cum, but it felt damn good, and Lois felt like maybe...just maybe...

"You've never given birth," Circe huffed. "I can tell. I remember after my daughter, I thought my pussy would never be tight again. Yet it healed. I healed. And there was never a shortage of men that wanted to share my bed."

The hands gripped Lois Lane's hips now, and with great strength pulled her tighter onto that dick, whose thrusts had grown shorter, more and more of the cock remaining in with each stroke. The reporter was glad for even the slight shift of position, as it brought her breasts up out of the sand, shifted her center of balance lower, took some of the pain off her thighs.

Then it happened. What Lois had feared, dreaded, and desired. Circe pushed her canine cock deep inside of the reporter...as deep as it could go, the knot flush against the reporter's cunt, Lois Lane's fingers pressed into the sorceress's crotch...and Circe did not draw back.

Her fingers dug into the reporter's hips. The pressure increased, and Lois almost barked as she felt the impossibly swollen knot press deeper and harder against her cunt.

It was impossible. It couldn't fit. Lois knew that. To even think about it happening was impossible. Sure, some women took massive toys in their cunt, but that was always with lots of exercise, lubrication, practice taking bigger and bigger toys as they acclimated their loose cunts to being stretched open. They didn't just...

"Hrk," Lois said as pain lanced through her pussy, causing her whole body to freeze and her cunt to clamp shut on the doggy dick. Her mistress's hands were digging painfully into the reporter's hips.

"It's my cunt," Circe whispered. "And I'll break it if I want to!"

There was not one sudden surge of strength. It took minutes. Lois felt a reedy whine rip from her throat; it was really a scream, but at the volume of a whisper. The pain in her cunt was beyond anything she had ever experienced; like shitting a rock, only backwards. Yet time and pressure were stretching her tight little whole. Painfully, slowly, millimeter by millimeter, the reporter's cunt was pushed into her body...and when it could go no further, it began to stretch, distend, distort, the hard knot plunging forward, the tip of the dick rubbing inhumanly deep inside her canal, until with a sudden cry of sudden triumph, Lois felt the whole mass bury itself inside of her, and her cunt muscles, stretched painfully taut by the passage of the knot, immediately clamped down on the base of the doggy dick, trapping it inside her.

Then, and only then, did Circe begin to cum.

Lois had never actually felt a man cum inside of her. A normal load of jizz was a tablespoon, maybe two. The kind of thing you only felt as it dripped out of your pussy and over your asshole after a hardy fuck, the kind of sickening sensation that made Lois roll over to keep from making a puddle on the sheets, that had her run to the toilet with one hand between her legs, hoping she wasn't leaving nasty little sticky drops to dry on the carpet.

This was different. Like a hot stream of piss against her womb. Lois Lane's hands gave out, but Circe caught her arms and pinned them back, holding Lois in place as she pumped string after string of mythologically potent jizz into the reporter's cunt, the swollen knot acting as a stopper to keep so much as a drop from escaping.

"Ah," Circe said. "Almost done."

"Mistress?" Lois said, confused. Her pussy hurt and her thighs ached. She had to pee, and her cunt was stuffed full, to the point where the reporter was surprised to look down at her stomach and see it wasn't grossly inflated. Yet this wasn't some cartoon, this was real.

Circe released the reporter's right arm. "Lean against me."

Lois did. She felt Circe's breasts press into her back, to large, warm, soft circles on her shoulderblades. The sorceress's right hand slid over the reporter's hip, where five bruises showed where her mistress had gripped it. The older woman's hand slid down to the reporter's clitoris, to the ring that ran through the hood...and gently tugged.

"Aaaah!" Lois cried out at this unexpected ****. Circe's left hand let go of the reporter's arm now, and came around to run a finger along the sensitive, taut pink skin that gripped the base of the doggy dick.

"You still haven't cum yet," Circe explained.

If the fuck itself had been gentle until the end, Circe's hands were strong and assured from the start. She tugged at the rings, rubbed the lips and clit, hard and fast, squeezing and stroking, working blindly by touch as her mouth pressed warm kisses into the reporter's shoulder. Lois Lane felt like an instrument in the grip of a master musician, and as her moans grew louder and more frequent, she knew that this was the tune that Circe wanted to hear...this cunt that belonged to her, this tight twat that had begged and demanded for her dick, was hers to do with as she would...

...and Circe wanted Lois to howl and scream and buck beneath her fingers. Sweat streamed down the reporter's body as time lost all meaning, the stiff prick never growing soft, the terrible pressure of the hot cum in her pussy never subsiding, and Lois Lane felt the heat grow and grow, electric arcs of pleasure running up her spine as though a single great nerve connected her cunt and her brain, and Circe was tugging so hard at her clit that Lois's voice grew hoarse, her back arched, her toes curled, her aching thighs quaked and quivered and...

Hot juice exploded from Lois Lane's pussy as she squirted hard into the burning sands. Her whole body shook in the intensity of her climax, white light eclipsing the reporter's mind, and she could feel her cervix spasm as the orgasm set the ancient biological mechanism into motion, the inner sphincter opening and closing, sucking potent canine sperm into the dark, fertile depths of the reporter's womb.

Circe held her until the reporter went limp in her arms, the reporter's bladder emptied into a bare drip, and still the cock was hard and stiff inside of her.

The sorceress drew the hair back from Lois Lane's face, and bent down to press her tongue into the reporter's mouth...and the Daily Planet's greatest reporter was too shell-shocked from the **** of her orgasm to even return the obscene kiss.

"I know why you came here," Circe whispered, when she broke the kiss. "Four women have gone missing. A certain old devil has them. But you didn't find them tonight, did you? No, you failed in that tonight. You found me instead. Do not worry. I will see to your little mystery...and tomorrow, perhaps, it will be my pleasure to see you cum again."

Lois Lane felt her heart hammer in her chest. She could hardly keep her eyes open. So she said the only thing that she could.

"Yes, mistress. Thank you..."

The reporter slept. In a few hours, the city would wake. In the morning, her pussy empty but sore, Lois Lane might wonder at what had really happened during her night out. Yet she had brushed up against a thing of myth and legend...and like the women in the old tales, that had left its mark on her. The brand burned above her pussy was real; the tattoos and piercings she would have to carefully conceal were solid things. And a part of Lois Lane wondered and hoped what the next night might bring...and if her mistress would remember her...