End: Yes, Mistress

Lois Lane's eyes rolled up into her head. Her body shook, pussy squirting involuntarily, face locked into a rictus, muscles so taut they were shaking, hands grabbing the arms of the chair until they fingers were white and rigid. For most women, an orgasm lasts for perhaps five seconds. It took Circe half an hour to finish her work in the reporter's brain.

The sorceress removed her hands. Lois Lane's body immediately relaxed, panting, the endless climax over. Her ears hurt, blood trailing from them reduced to sticky scabs. She hadn't felt the worms or whatever they were withdraw. They were still in her head, somewhere. She was sure of it.

Lavender hair fell over the reporter's eyes. It was the same length and cut it had been before Lois had come here, just the same shade as Circe's hair. Lois sucked in air, trying to get her bearings...what she had agreed to, what she had experienced. Her mind felt exceptionally clear.

"Come," Circe said, slipping into a green gown. "Get dressed. I have retrieved your clothes."

Lois raised herself up off the chair on weak, shaky legs. Her ass and legs were wet, dripping with her juices. She ignored that as she stumbled over to the pavilion, where her clothes were neatly folded. The black thong panties, which did nothing to conceal the brand of her ownership. The black lace bra, which carefully covered her new nipple rings and tattoos. Tight red pants, tighter now in the crotch where the labia piercings were pressed into her flesh. Heels, shirt, jacket.

She wiped the blood away with a kleenex.

The reporter looked at herself, and aside from the odd strand of lavender hair and dark tanned skin, Lois Lane couldn't tell that anything had happened to her tonight. Yet she knew, fundamentally, that she was different. A woman with secrets. The tattoos, the piercings, the brand...but more than that...

"Mistress..." Lois tasted the word in her mouth. "The women..." she whispered, her voice hoarse as though she had been screaming. Maybe she had.

"Yes," the witch's eyes flashed. "Follow me."

Through the door. Away from the sun and the beach, back to the underground darkness beneath the club. Through hallways paneled with dark wood and erotic prints. Circe walked with confidence, and Lois followed in her wake, something of the old confidence returning, yet...her eyes couldn't help moving down to admire the taut, toned curve of Circe's ass in that green gown. It wasn't something that would have held her attention before. Imagined the pussy there, what it looked like, what it tasted like. She could feel a little wetness between her legs just thinking about it.

Is that something that Circe did to me? The reporter wondered, thinking of the worms in her brain. Or am I just...more aware of her now? Have I always been this way, just repressing it?

They passed through a heavy double door. The reporter's instincts instantly had her take in the room. A small, well-appointed office. Heavy desk with a laptop, leather chairs and couch, erotic painting that must have cost a few thousand, a small marble-topped bar. The woman behind the desk rose to meet them. Dark curly hair that fell down to her back, a regal skull like the bust of Nefertiti, a mouth with a Mona Lisa smile, small breasts, slim hips contained in a tight-fitting black dress...then the human seeming faded.

Skin the color of fresh blood on parchment. Dark horns curling back from that brow. Pure white eyes with no pupil or iris. Circe took the transformation without losing a step.

"Blaze, daughter of perdition," the witch spoke in a tone that was half-invocation.

"Circe, goddess of whores...oh, sorry, I meant 'witches.' The languages do change, don't they?" The demon tilted her head to look past Circe at Lois. "Been having fun?"

"Quite," the witch said. "You have women here, under thrall. I can smell your corruption in them. You will release them, now."

The demon rose an eyebrow. "And if I decline?"

Green fire crackled around the sorceress' hands. "There are parts of hell you would not like to be banished to."

Black lightning flared around the horns, forming a stormy halo about Blaze's head.

"Bitch, you do not walk into my office and..."

Invisible powers clashed. Lois hung back near the door, feeling the forces in the room shift. Paintings skewed, lights flickered, flashed, and exploded in a shower of sparks. With a growl the demon launched herself across the desk, and the two figures, red and green, were locked together, their energies conflicting, bolts of raw power scouring the walls and floor, leaving long black burn marks.

The reporter knew better than to intervene, but she looked around for a weapon, some way to help her mistress...and didn't even wonder where that thought had come from. The floor shook and she ended up next to the bar...Circe was on the floor now, pinned down, the demon's red talons almost at her throat. Beneath the black dress, the demon wasn't wearing any panties, her red hairless slit there for all to see.

Circe caught her eye, very briefly. Looked at the bar. Lois followed the gaze.

Thought and action were one. The glass bottle of whiskey in her hand, Lois dove forward. Blaze was so intent on her battle she didn't notice anything until the long neck dove forward into her exposed cunt. The reporter's hand was on the base, doing her best to shove all of it up into the devil's vulva. With a howl of pain and rage the scarlet succubus turned on the reporter...

And with a clap of silent thunder, was gone.

Circe, on the floor, breathing heavily, grinned in triumph as she took the bottle from the reporter's hand. Inside, an angry red figure, half-swimming in the whiskey, hammered against the glass. The witch quickly corked the bottle.

"Well done, pet," she said, staggering to her feet. "I shall have to reward you for that."

The witch's hand came up, and for a moment Lois thought she was going to caress her face...but instead the hand lightly patted the reporter on her head, where their secret tattoo was. Lois Lane felt an absurd burst of pleasure at this little display of affection and approval. She was a good girl!

With the demon bound, the women who had been working there came to her senses. Lois busied herself finding them, getting their names and stories, calling the police...she had more than enough for her article. Circe hung back, watching her work. There was something nice about having her mistress in the background, it made Lois want to work harder, to do a good job to impress her.

When the night was old, and dawn yet an hour away, it was all done. Lois had done what she came here to do. The last cop car left, carrying with them the women who would be putting their lives back together. The Black Door club was closed.

"Now my dear," Circe said, coming from behind to slide her hand between the reporter's legs, gripping her crotch through her pants. "What reward would you like?"

Lois swallowed, barely daring to put her thoughts and feelings into words.

"Mistress, can...can I eat your pussy?"

"Of course, pet," the witch smiled. "I should like nothing better."

That was how the night ended for Lois Lane, on her knees, mortal tongue buried in immortal cunt. Justice of a sort had prevailed...but who knows what tomorrow would hold for the strangely changed reporter? For that is another story.