End: War-Woman Attacks Hera

Alone in her chambers, seated on a pedestal, the Queen of the Gods stared into the fire. The cup of wine lay between her knees. Laced with ambrosia, because she sought not enhanced sensibilities this night, but dullness. Somewhere, far off, Zeus cavorted with his latest conquest. Their marital bed lay cold. For perhaps the millionth time, she gave a little sigh.

Goddess of marriage, and she could not keep her own husband from straying. Perhaps that was what came from marrying ones own brother.

The soft step of a sandal caught her attention. Hera turned, still seated, face flushed. In the gloom, she made out a familiar crest and helmet, broad muscled shoulders.

"Ares?" she said. "My son, is that you?"

No answer. Yet strong hands gripped her shoulders. Thumbs dug into the stiff muscles there, and Hera gave a soft groan. It had been long since anyone had given her a back massage. She closed her eyes and leaned into. Lulled into a false sense of security as the fingers slid aside her robes. Between her legs, a dull, almost forgotten throb pulsed.

Surely, it would be ****. Yet when had such taboos mattered among gods? She had shared her own brother's bed often enough, when he bothered to remember she existed. Perhaps a tryst with Ares would ease her loneliness for a time...

Such were Hera's thoughts as her gown fell down off of her shoulders. Her motherly bosom was bared to the fire, the dark nipples already stiff. A helmeted head bushed against her neck, a pair of lips pressed against her...and Hera moaned slightly. Those great hands continued to work, down her back. The goblet clattered to the floor as she began to claw at her own thighs, the fires of lust aroused within her. Yes...a lover for the evening. Something to take her mind off Zeus' philanderings.

She stood up swiftly, out of that grasp, and let her robes fall off her wide, child-bearing hips. She turned and let her glory shine forth—a beacon of fertile femininity, radiant with quiet dignity and the slow-burning fires of a MILF incarnate. Not the slim nymph-like form of Diana, or the slutty curves of Aphrodite, or even the almost masculine leanness of Athena, but the soft and radiant full flesh of a mother and wife, plump and welcoming. She raised her arms and undid the clasps in her hair, so that the dark tresses fell down to her waist.

Not even when the helmeted and armored figure grasped her and lifted her up, until strong teeth touched her breast and began to suckle did Hera realize the dark, quiet figure was not her son. After all, they had her son's height, his strength, the warm radiance of his godly power. A masculine stride as they carried the Queen of the Gods to her bed.

Yet when she was laid down on the linen sheets, and Hera fumbled beneath the skirt of leather straps for the hard manhood she so desperately needed...her hand found only warm, wet quim.

"What treachery is this!?" Hera gasped...and then she saw the violet eyes that gazed lustily from beneath the helmet. Made out the breasts beneath the god-forged plate. Lois Lane laughed as she tossed the helmet aside, and grinning she delved between Hera's legs, sucking and lapping at the gate through which so many gods had come into tis world.

Unprepared for this ****, drunk and horny, Hera did not immediately lash out against the intruder with her full power—and as Lois Lane sucked at that divine cunt, Hera's power flowed into her limbs. The armor strained as her muscular body grew, the once-mortal flesh struggling to contain the divine energies that the War-Woman drained from the queen of the gods, who flowed so freely as Lois Lane's strong tongue tickled her clit.

The matronly figure moaned in an ecstasy she had so rarely known or experienced. Unaware, or unable to stop, the terrible process which drained her celestial essence with every lap of her labia. The War-Woman was tireless in his battle, and throughout the palace of the gods, the cries, screams, and moans of Hera echoed and re-echoed...

Yet none came to her aid. For too long had Hera been without a climax. Too well did the ancient servitors know that the Queen needed to get laid—and it was not their place to tell her when, or how, or with whom.

By the time Apollo had stabled the horses to draw the sun across the sky, the ordeal was over.

Lois Lane stood, the diminished by still beautiful goddess tossed carelessly over one massive shoulder. Her own cunt-juice trickled down thighs like pillars of marble, and her hips and breasts had swollen as she took on Hera's matronly attributes and added them to her own.

"You will be another in my harem," War-Woman whispered. All the deep lore of Hera was hers, and the reporter's brain was abuzz with plans to take advantage of it. There were other goddesses...Hestia, Aphrodite, Athena, Diana among them. Each would fall before her. Each would add their strength to her own.

Lois Lane reclaimed her fallen helmet from the shattered remains of Hera's bed, which had broken under the goddess' throes of ecstasy.

"First, Wonder Woman, I will defeat your gods," War-Woman swore. "Then I will defeat you. And all the Amazons will be my bitches!"

That was how Lois Lane's night out ended. Swollen with power, grandiose with plans, hungry for cunts that no mortal had ever tasted. Somewhere, Wonder Woman tossed in her sleep, troubled by omens that she could not interpret. Yet soon, War-Woman would be upon her doorstep...and the doom of the Amazons would be at hand.