End: There's A Sex Swing In The Back...

Blearily, Lois Lane stared at her wrist. It was pock-marked with little black stamps. The first one had been the cocktail Angie had served her in the bar. Then they had retreated to a private bar in a back room. A spacious place where Angelica would stamp her wrist and mix Lois Lane the most delicious cocktails. The reporter had only sipped them...or at least, had only meant to. Angie was so open about answering her questions, yet at the same time was so mysterious. Everything she said hinted at something else, some bigger picture. Lois had felt that if she just kept her talking, soon she'd know everything about the demon, the Magdalene Grimoire, everything.

Which is how, utterly sloshed, the naked reporter had willingly climbed into the sex swing that hung above the pentacle that Angie had drawn on the floor, as the other woman lit the candles. All the other lights in the room were extinguished, and the sounds of the club were far, far away.

In the candlelight, Angelica stood tall. Graceful and elegant as a gazelle, her limbs long and lean, her breasts small but with puffy, prominent nipples. The dark hair that hung back from the bartender's wide forehead was like black foam that melded with the darkness, and her labia was shaved bare...yet there was no hint of childishness about her. Angie was all woman as she made a gesture in each direction and then stepped into the circle.

"Funny," Lois said, as the heat of the other woman's body seemed to radiate out. "I always thought to use a sex swing you needed at least one person to have a cock."

Angie smiled. There was something devilish about that grin. Like she knew a secret that Lois did not. Her hot hands gripped the ropes that held Lois Lane's legs wide.

"Oh. We can manage," Angie said...and Lois Lane looked down and saw a red glow, half-transculent, jut from the other woman's pussy. Mentally, the reporter rationalized that this must be some kind of translucent double-ended dildo or strap-on. Yet as she felt Angie slide it into her pussy, the reporter's skin crawled at its touch, and she felt every hair stand up on end as though charged with static electricity.

"You're so perfect, Lois," Angie said as she pushed gently on the ropes. Lois Lane felt herself swing freely, sliding along that almost-invisible cock. The reporter's breath came in short, hot gasps. In her time, Lois had tried sex in many positions. Yet there was something odd about being suspended like this. No bed against her back, utterly weightless in some respects, yet moving so freely. Bound in place, like a toy.

Angelica stared into Lois Lane's eyes. There was something almost hypnotic about those eyes, the whites of which had an oddly luminous quality. As the naked woman manipulated the ropes so that Lois Lane's pussy slid forward and back, she murmured words. No, murmured wasn't right. There was a pulse to them, a beat, like poetry; and a tonal quality to the sounds, unlike any language Lois had ever known, yet some sense, some impression of their meaning seemed to stir in her drunken brain.

In her mind's eye, Lois Lane saw a woman, huge with child. It was some kind of barn or stable. She lay back in a pile of straw. Her husband had left, and it was only the animals around her, eyeing her dully. Exuding what sympathy donkeys and cows have for what all women must go through. The pain filled her—and fear—as she felt her precious cargo move within. It was of a time when many women did not survive childbirth, even with help, and she had no one.

Then a figure came. Even in that antique age, the costume was archaic. A vestal of some forgotten religion, perhaps, a priestess of some hoary, ancient fertility rite. Yet she knelt between the young mother-to-be's quivering thighs. Pressed her fingers on either side of that hairy labia, to help stretch the muscles further. And she murmured the words, the spell, the ancient prayer or charm that tumbled from Angelica's lips...

Lois Lane's arms crept up on the ropes. She was pulling on them now, swinging herself up and down on Angie's cock. Sparks flex up into the air each time she bottomed out, and it felt like a pillar of fire in the reporter's pussy. The anticipation rose and rose, and Angie's voice grew louder and louder, her eyes brighter and brighter, sparks zipping around her skin, and then then a light came bursting forth from the very core of her being so that in one impossible flash Lois could see all of Angie's skeleton as dark shadows.

The reporter bucked and screamed as she was sent over the edge, and Angelica burst into burning sparks, her body dissolved into a million motes of light that shot up inside Lois Lane's pussy like a hail of shooting stars, and the reporter screamed and broke her traces as her body convulsed and she stood up in the fbonds that held her feet, gripping the ropes for dear life as, for a moment, her womb glowed from within like a newborn star.

Then the ropes broke from the ceiling. The candles winked out.

When Lois Lane came to, a moment later, she wsa completely sober.

The book was not hard to find. Deadman and Black Alice saw the reporter carrying it as she left the back room. If they noticed any oddness to her gait, or how she carried herself, they said nothing. Lois demurred any questions until they had paid their bill and reclaimed their clothes.

"Blaze...is dealt with," Lois Lane said. "At least for a while. The Magdalene Grimoie, the spell she used. It wasn't what she thought it was. I saw that much. I don't think Blaze understood what exactly would happen."

Black Alice looked dubious. "But like, are you okay super-MILF? You're acting all, weird. You wanna get a drink or something?"

Lois gave a sad smile to the young woman. Instinctively, the reporter laid a hand on her stomach. "No, I'm avoiding **** for a few months."

So Lois Lane walked into the night, and the night welcomed her as one of her own. A warmth emanated from deep within her womb. A power that was hers to use, until the child was born. In that last moment, Lois had felt everything that had been Blaze stripped from her. Every sin, every memory, every foul deed. The life that grew within her womb now would be a new one, an innocent one, unmarked by good or evil. Able to make her own decisions.

Lois Lane knew that she would help her make the right ones. To be the mother that she needed, to guide her daughter into using her powers responsibly. No matter what it took.

In the course of Lois Lane's night out, her whole focus in life shifted. She lived now, not just for truth and justice, but for the future she was now in part responsible for.