Epilogue: In Her Place

In the mirror, Lois stared at the woman she had become. The heavy rings that tugged at her nipples. The dark tattoos that covered the underside of her breasts like a bra, and crept along her crotch like a pair of panties she could never take off. Metal rings hung from her pussy lips, stretching the labia.

The spread of the tattoos meant Lois Lane had to be even more careful of what she wore, since she had more skin to cover—and yet at the same time she ceased to wear pants at all. Just skirts, and no panties underneath them.

The reporter had learned her lesson well.

To offset the occasional jangle of her labia piercings, Lois had taken to wearing jangly earrings. Trips to the gym were out; you couldn't work out in a skirt. So Lois had burned some of her savings on a weight bench and a treadmill for her apartment. Cramped, but it gave her the chance to keep in shape without incurring any more penalties.

That was during the day. During the nights...

Circe came to her in the midnight hours. She brought with her strange scents that clung to her hair and body. Exotic flowers, spices Lois didn't have names for. On the cusp of dream sometimes, Lois would feel a presence in the bed beside her, reach out...and a warm, soft hand reached back. To cup her jaw and turn her head so that their lips might meet. With eager fingers, Lois would explore her mistress's body. Sometimes Circe had a surprise for her, but more often than not she was simply wet, the honey running down her thighs, like a woman fresh from prison and **** to make love.

More than once, Lois had woken up still able to taste her lover on her tongue...and found whatever she had left her. Makeup, sometimes. Golden earrings, a thousand years old. A perfume, complex and subtle, with verbena and lavender with spicy undertones. Lois wore them. They weren't commandments, but they were for her, and if the men and the women in the office noticed that Lois was wearing a little more makeup, or wore a scent that some ancient houri might have dabbed between her ears...well, no one said anything. Not openly.

One night, Lois came home to find something new in her apartment. The couch was gone, and in its place was a metal poll that ran from floor to ceiling.

"You must learn to dance," Circe said, as she came behind Lois. It was too early, and the reporter wasn't prepared...but that was part of it, she realized. Part of Circe's plan so that she would know her place. The realization came to the reporter as Circe lifted up the reporter's skirt. There was nothing to hinder the sorceress's access to Lois Lane's slit.

The cunt she owned.

The reporter leaned forward, hands grasping the metal pole as Circe pulled at the rings, her tongue licking Lois Lane's labia from clit to taint and back again, and Lois shuddered as she tried to figure out how she was going to learn to pole dance without her coworkers finding out.

A part of her wondered what Superman would say if he saw her now. What she had become. Her knees trembled against the skill and **** of Circe's tongue, the whole face buried in her hot cleft. Or what she was becoming...