End: The Last of the Missing Women

Tonya knew where Mara de la Cruz was. Tonya knew what Mara was.

Lois Lane left behind the bar and its various sexual antics and walked through a door marked "Employees Only." Walked past the dressing room, the staff lounge, and the manager's office...and stood before a door with a bronze plaque that bore a pentagram and a simple title.

ASSISTANT MANAGER

Before she knocked, a woman's voice rang out: "Enter!"

The decor inside was a bespoke version of a Spirit Halloween store. Black wooden shelves lined the walls, filled with books, skulls, and tchotchkes....a glass globe with a pair of human eyes stared at the reporter as she went in, a wooden mask of a leering demon face with a penis for a nose seemed to catch and hold her gaze until the reporter tore it away. Except the books were genuinely ancient and leather-bound tomes, and the skulls looked real. Everything looked real. A black carpet with an elaborate magical circle picked out in gold thread covered the floor, leading up to a desk that could have been a sacrificial altar.

Behind that desk, smiling sweetly, was Mara de la Cruz. The Latina's dark hair was tied into a business-like bun. Her steel-rimmed glasses flashed, but behind them Lois saw the eyes were pure white without pupil or iris. Small pink horns erupted from the woman's forehead, the dark complexion giving way to a bubble gum pink around them. She stood up, her impressive breasts prominently displayed within a black silk blouse, flaring hips barely contained by her skirt.

"Please, come in. I've been expecting you," Mara said. "Sit. Make yourself comfortable."

Lois stepped forward. The door closed behind her. A chair, black as night, appeared before the reporter, and she sank into it.

"Assistant manager," Lois said.

Mara smiled as she settled back into her own chair. Lois saw that the woman's fingernails had become pink claws.

"We've been brujas in my family for a long time. My mother didn't take it seriously, but I did. I knew there was power there, opportunity. I could smell the weaknesses in those other girls in the dorm, the needs they had. So when, one night, I finally made contact with Blaze...I made my pitch for this little establishment. And she gave me what I desired."

The claws pulled at Mara's shirt, ripping them open. There was no bra. The breasts, which Lois thought were impressive before, hit the desk with a massive thump. Lois found herself pushing back in her chair as she stared at the great swollen orbs, each the size of a basketball, the areolae like dinner plates around thick pink nipples that could put an eye out.

"Just a taste of her power. Her knowledge. A position where I could learn from her, grow as a person," Mara said as the breasts began to creep across the desk, slowly but steadily swelling. "To master my body and mind. All I have to do keep this place running smoothly...and deal with the occasional sneaky reporter."

Lois Lane swallowed hard. This was not what she was expecting. Different tactics ran through her head...ways she could talk her way out of this, fight her way out. After all, for all, Mara was just like the others...

The reporter realized how wrong she was when the arms of the chair folded across her body, trapping Lois in place.

Mara stood. Taller and thinner now, the beachball-sized breasts still ridiculously ill-proportioned.

"I take care of little issues like you to prove my worth to the mistress," Mara said. "And a tricky issue you are, too. Simply killing or disappearing you would elicit unwanted attention. You're not ready to be corrupted yet. ****, sadly, would just energize you. You are, after all, a dedicated reporter."

The massive tits overshadowed the seated reporter, blocking out the light. Lois couldn't see what touched her lips in the next moment. Something soft and cylindrical, like a finger. Instinctively, Lois tried to bite whatever it was...and that was the reporter's second mistake. Instead of her teeth biting through flesh, the object pushed forward...to the back of her throat. Lois Lane gagged, but the smooth tube of kept growing, pushing its way down. Her esophagus burned and Lois choked...but she couldn't stop it.

Then Lois smelled it. A heady, overwhelming aroma, like paint-thinner. Something liquid sloshed through the tube in her throat. It hit the reporter's stomach like acid. Too late, Lois Lane tried to scream as the liquid poison was pumped into her guts...and then the world went fuzzy.

Dizziness struck Lois...then tiredness. Her body sagged in its bonds. Her protesting stomach gurgled as the heat spread. The aches and pains of the night faded, leaving only the exhaustion. Her eyelids grew heavy. Lois could feel her stomach bloating, pressing against the bonds...and then the deluge turned into a trickle, and stopped. Slowly, carefully, the tube withdrew, splashing Lois Lane's face on the way out.

Lois finally recognized the smell. Tequila...and something else. A slimy, ammonia-taste.

"Cum," Mara said as she moved, the light shining down on the reporter once again. The arms of the chair folded back, and the reporter sprawled in it, barely able to move. "Just a little. You're black-out drunk now, Lois. You've had the equivalent of two bottles of rotgut tequila and two blowjobs. You will wake up tomorrow with a bad hangover, reeking of jizz and booze, but otherwise...unviolated. You won't remember anything, or have any record of anything. Your night out ends here, and you will leave with nothing to show for it."

The reporter listlessly tried to stand, but lost her balance and collapsed back into the chair. The door behind her opened and two security guards came in. With expert ease, they grabbed the reporter beneath her armpits.

"Miss Lane has had too much to drink," Mara said. "Please call her a cab, and make sure she gets in it safely."

The reporter wanted to protest...to vomit...but instead her head hung limp as darkness took her.

Morning found Lois Lane on the floor of her own bathroom, still dressed, next to a puddle of vomit. Some evil little goblin was attacked the inside of her skull with a pickaxe, and the reporter issued a long, low moan of suffering. Her night out was over, and the day after had begun.