Epilogue: A Weekly Engagement

"Oh, Lois, I'm headed out for dinner—care to join me? My treat."

Lois Lane flashed Clark Kent a smile. He'd probably been working up the courage to ask her out to dinner all week. Yet she felt the cold weight of the invisible collar around her throat. Her eyes glanced at the clock. Not enough time, if she was going to get ready.

"Have to take a raincheck on that Smallville—prior engagement!" She said and walked out of the Daily Planet office.

At home, the clothes came off. Naked, the reporter stepped into the bathroom, to shower, shave, and clean herself out. That was part of their ritual. Lois would present herself clean and ready for whatever the night's entertainment was going to be. And Circe...her mistress would surprise her. Sometimes with pain. Sometimes with pleasure. Yet it was always different, never the same thing twice...

There were marks on Lois Lane's body she could not show off at the office. Small burns, tiny scars on her nipples and labia. Last week, her mistress had used small metal rings to seal her pussy shut, and had left them in there. The added stimulation had almost made Lois cum several times over the next few days, and keeping them clean was an embarrassing effort. Yet that was what her mistress had ordered.

As Lois came out of the shower, wet and dripping, she could not find her towel. Steam filled the bathroom, hot and billowing...and then Lois felt unseen hands lift up her arms. Spirits of the air tittered as they carried Lois Lane away from her bathroom to another place. The reporter never knew the name of the island, though she knew it was in the Mediterranean. The ancient ruined temple was secluded somewhere, the marble floors kept clean, the hot, steaming pool in the center a place of healing.

Circe lay on a marble divan, as Lois Lane was deposited onto the floor before her. Immediately, Lois dropped onto her knees.

Before the divan were ornaments. Golden shackles for wrist and ankle. Lois waited, eyes lowered, not making a move toward them. Circe's legs swung off the divan. Her bare toes touched the marble tile. Tonight, the nails were painted lavender, and gold rings adorned the toes.

"Do you want to wear them, pet?" Circe spoke, her voice soft and gentle.

"Yes," Lois said. This too was part of their ritual.

"Are you willing to pay the cost?"

"Yes," Lois said, as she **** her body to relax.

The toes didn't stir...yet the golden shackles rattled as unseen hands dragged them along the floor. They closed, cold and heavy, around Lois Lane's wrist and ankle. As she let out the breath she hadn't been aware she was holding, Lois felt once again that strange kind of freedom that came with bondage. The fact that she was no longer in control, no longer responsible for her actions was, after a long and arduous week at the office, such a relief.

Circe snapped her fingers, and with a crack the reporter was drawn up in the air. The golden shackles **** her arms and legs wide, as she was splayed in midair, naked and ****. Her mistress stood, the soft emerald gown falling from her body to reveal her nakedness to the reporter. Tonight, Circe had rimmed her eyes with kohl, and dusted her nipples and vulva with some pink powder.

Long fingers ran lightly over Lois Lane's body. The reporter was helpless to stop Circe as the nails scratched shallow furrows down her thighs. As the lips kissed and bit at her breasts. In mere moments, Lois was biting back a moan. The need between her legs was growing. It had been a long week without anything in her pussy.

Then Circe produced a little weight. With a hook. She dangled it in front of the reporter's eyes. So that Lois could see it. So that Lois could anticipate what was about to happen. Circe stared into the reporter's eyes even as she hooked the weight onto the rings that dangled from Lois Lane's labia...and let it go.

Immediately, Lois felt the tug at her cunt-lips as gravity took hold. The stretching, the stress as it pulled on the rest of her pelvis. The reporter could feel her muscles pull against gravity, uselessly. If it had been inside her cunny...

Circe had already shifted her attention. Her tongue licked at the reporter's armpit. One lubed-up finger rubbed against the reporter's asshole, teasing what was to come. Lois hung suspended, utterly powerless...and somewhere, as Circe teased and caressed her, as the weight on her cunt-lips slowly increased, so that Lois could feel her labia stretch, as Circe's finger slid up inside her asshole and the fingernails drew long, shallow scratches down her back...Lois felt the tension of the week ease out of her. Sweat dripped down from the reporter's naked body as the moon rose to its zenith, and when at last Circe wanted her to cum, Lois Lane's breath came in quick, hot gasps as one finger fucked her ass and the others rubbed her scarred clit.

Afterwards, the floated in the hot, healing waters of the spa. The golden shackles lay before the divan. The moon dappled the waters until they seemed to glow. Circe held the exhausted reporter's head above the water, the sorceress' breasts pressed against the reporter's back as the hands rubbed at the little wounds, which Lois Lane knew would heal swiftly.

"You seemed tense this week," Circe said.

"A lot of meetings," Lois croaked, her throat dry. Circe snapped her fingers, and brought a shallow bowl filled with some blood-warm, spiced wine to the reporter's lips.

"The rings do not come off this week," Circe said. "But before you leave, I will slide in a small vibrator. You will not remove it. It will stimulate you at odd times. Perhaps during your sleep. Perhaps during your meetings."

Lois gulped the warm wine. A familiar languor filled her body. And an excitement.

"Yes, mistress," Lois Lane said...and wondered what punishment, and reward, lay ahead for next week.