Epilogue: Dream Lover

Night. Sleep. The city outside her window never slept, but it would grow slow in the nighttime hours. Streets emptied, buildings darkened. Lois could lay in bed, staring outside the glass door to her balcony, to where the towers rose toward the moon. The only thing she missed was the stars. Too much light spill, too much pollution. The stars never really came out over Metropolis...and Lois Lane's breathing would slow, her eyes would close...to sleep, perchance to dream...

The rings through her body were colder than the rest of her. It made her clit hard, pressing against the hard, thick ring through her hood. Sometimes she would wake up at night with her body flushed, panting for breath, nipples and clit hard. Wanting to touch herself but unable to move, staring out over the city...aching, yearning but unable to touch herself.

The lock clicked open. Lois breathed out, somehow unsurprised. Yet she could feel that freedom between her legs now, the weight of the rings drawing her labia apart, a think trickle of dampness there. She had kept it shaved clean, all these nights, waiting and hoping...and now...

Callused fingertips slid the panties off of her hips. Lois couldn't move her body an inch, but she could watch the reflections in the glass...her own face staring back at her, and hovering over and above that a figure...naked, female. Pale lavender hair hiding her face. She turned Lois onto her back, spread the reporter's legs open...but her head she left facing toward the window.

Warm thighs came up, holding Lois's legs open. She had other uses for her hands. Lois couldn't see the fingers slip through the rings, but she could feel them. Tugging, pulling, splaying her cunt wide. So the cool night air played against those inner lips, and Lois began to shake uncontrollably, teeth chattering, nipples hard.

Her lover's hips shifted, and now Lois felt the warm kiss of another pussy on her own. Another clit rubbing and pressing, the cold ring trapped between them, stimulating the reporter's hard little clitty. Her limbs felt so heavy, and the woman was moving so forcefully...rubbing, grinding, cunt against cunt, pulling at those rings until Lois was sure her labia could stretch no further...and then the mouth dipped down, the woman still grinding the reporter's cunny as her mouth enveloped her breast.

A small breast, a wide, generous mouth, it sucked in so much of it. Lois could feel the heat of htose lips like a circle of fire on the chilled flesh, the warm wet saliva dripping down as the tongue slid over and around her stiff nipple...and just when Lois thought she couldn't take it anymore the woman moved to the other tit. Lois panted in the cold, the saliva quickly chilling in the night air...but by then her body was growing hot...naked woman with naked woman, moving in the night, and Lois lay there utterly helpless, unable to kiss those breasts or taste that cunt.

The first noise she made was when her body spasmed, unable to control itself. Thighs that couldn't close trembled and shook, the muscles bunching painfully. Her cunny clenched and shook and spat into the invading cunt that had settled on her clit as though the hard little nub were a cock. And from Lois Lane's mouth came a moan from deep within, her diaphragm flexing, lungs emptying all of the hot air that had been up...

Then and only then did those warm hands release the rings. Slide up and grasp her chin. Turn her face to look up at her.

Circe. Her mistress. With her small smile, like she had watched a dog do a particularly good trick. She brought her mouth down and pressed it against Lois Lane's own, those hot lips burning against hers, the slimy tongue delving into her mouth, tasting, testing, seeking something that Lois Lane, in her weakness and paralysis, could not give.

Or perhaps it was simply that she wished to take tonight, rather than be given. A willing **** was less fun, sometimes, Lois had once heard her say.

"I will leave you unlocked tonight," Circe whispered. "Until the morning."

Lois blinked. She could blink, and control of her body came back to her, as it does when a dream ends. The naked reporter sat up, still tasting Circe on her lips, still feeling the wet spit on her breasts...and between her legs...

The reporter's hands slid down, into her warm, wet cleft. There was only an hour until dawn. She rubbed fiercely, plunging her fingers into the cleft, eager to use every precious minute that her mistress had given her.