Epilogue: Owned

Lois Lane awoke—naked, in her own bed, jizz dribbling out of her pussy and staining the sheets, the bright red letters declaring who owned her cunt vivid just above her mons. Her labia was pierced with those metal rings that had no break, and tied together with that strange lock so that Lois couldn't penetrate herself, even if she wanted to.

It made it difficult to clean herself out, in the shower. The reporter winced as she tried to spread her labia apart with one hand, aimed the shower attachment at her pussy with the other. She couldn't really process everything that happened last night. She had been ****...fucked...branded...pierced...her stomach curdled a little as she remembered the taste of Circe's piss in her mouth, her ass and pussy ached when she remembered that doggy dick stretching her out... Yet she couldn't bring herself to cry. She just felt...numb. Almost empty inside.

There were messages on her phone, when she finally got out of the shower. Lois knew the names, although she had never spoken to them. The missing women. The reporter scrolled through them, grateful to have something else to do, to think about.

The day passed. Calls were made, interviews taken. Each of the women had their own story about how they had ended up in the brothel, the mysterious madame Blaze who ran it, how they had been freed...Lois could feel the story coming together, and barely acknowledged the weight of the rings pulling at her lower lips. Just that little reminder that it had not been a dream.

In the back of her mind, in the quiet moments of her day, Lois knew she would have to deal with that, eventually. Not so much the rings...though she knew her pussy should be aching and sore, the holes had fully healed, as if she had been pierced months ago...but the chastity device had to go, certainly.

To tell the truth, Lois rather liked the rings.

When the sun fell, and the article was done and submitted, she slid out of her clothes and fetched her hand-mirror. Sat cross-legged on the bed, the little round bit of glass and metal a few inches from her pussy. The labia rings were thicker than her earrings, the hopes nearly an inch in diameter, 16 gauge, maybe, though Lois was only eyeballing it rather than measuring. The weight of them tugged at her lips when she stood up, and Lois knew she'd have to be careful what she wore from now on...nothing that might reveal a cameltoe.

Of course, it's not like there's anyone to see that my pussy is off-limits anyway, the reporter thought with a frown. No boyfriend or girlfriend...

That caused her to pause. She'd never really thought about having a girlfriend until last night. That had been the first proper lesbian encounter she'd ever had. Not that it had been...entirely unpleasant...

One finger reached down and touched her clitoris. The heavy ring that pierced her clitoral hood seemed to circle it, and the top of the lock was nudging it. There had been more than once throughout the day, doing nothing else at all, when the constant rubbing had made Lois Lane's clit get erect...and that had only made it worse, harder to ignore. Once or twice Lois had actually rubbed herself down there, but it was so had to really do it properly with the lock on. She could get horny, but she couldn't really get off.

There's another way.

The thought came into the reporter's head, and it was her mistress's voice. Lois tilted the mirror and stared into her reflect...except it wasn't her black hair and violet eyes when her face came into view. Lavender hair and hazel eyes, burning with green fire.

Your ass, pet. Play with your ass.

There was a bottle of lube in the bedside table. Almost without thought, Lois reached for it. Got onto her knees on the bed, still staring into those burning eyes. She popped the cap and let the cold goo run into her fingers. One hand held the mirror as the other reached back, and Lois Lane shivered as her fingers rubbed the cold, wet, slickness into her asshole...which opened so easily when Lois slipped a finger in that her breath fogged the mirror.

The view shifted from Circe's face to a very familiar cunt. Clean-shaven, unpierced, the labia larger and darker than Lois Lane's own, but the insides were pink and dripping wet where the fingers spread them...and Lois could smell it, actually smell that scent like lilacs and musk, above a slightly fishy odor...and as the mist cleared she brought her tongue forward, instinctively wanting to lick that mirror and imagine her mistress's cunt.

Only for her tongue to run into a warm, sour furrow, her nose nuzzling the top of the mirror. Behind her, the slick fingers explored her ass deeper, stretching the once-virgin hole, remembering when it had been spread so wide she had feared it would break.

Nor did Lois Lane stop, even as the moon rose above the city. Though her jaw ached and her tongue felt numb, she was three fingers deep inside her ass and she was moaning into that cunt, her own pussy dripping over its hard metal rings, **** for a relief that wouldn't come.

That's enough, pet.

Lois Lane's tongue ran over the hard surface of the mirror. It was late, and her ass ached, three fingers spreading it far too wide. Exhaustion gripped her muscles and she collapsed onto her side on the bed, panting in desperation.

Sleep.

Fingers still lodged in her ass, the reporter's eyes fluttered once, twice...but her mistress's command could not be disobeyed, and soon her breathing was heavy, regular, her eyes closed, hand still holding her ass open...