Epilogue: Who Do You Belong To?

The appointment was for tonight.

Lois Lane fidgeted all through the day, smiling quietly to herself, finger creeping up to tug at her collar when she thought no one was looking. By the afternoon, she found herself staring at the ring on her finger: a plain band of black gold, set with a black diamond. Is still felt so weird to be engaged...but Blaze had insisted, and Lois couldn't say no.

As she was closing in on the end of the day, the reporter's hand was resting on the skin of her belly. A little over three weeks along, if her math was right, and not showing yet. Angelica had helped her shave this morning. Lois had stood naked in front of the sink, thighs parted a little. Her lover had worked in the cream, making a foamy little triangle on the triangle of fur there. Then, the safety razor.

The reporter rubbed her legs, remembering how the dickgirl had brought the razor down in a smooth, even stroke, then washed the blade and returned. It took less time to do than it did to think about it, the tiny black hairs disappearing, revealing smooth skin. The pudenda had been the hardest part to hold still for. Lois was glad her inner lips didn't extend beyond the labia, it made it a lot easier...but there was always that sense of trepidation as the blade scrape against her cleft. One wrong move and the sensitive skin would be cut...

Quitting time. Lois remembered to pee and wipe herself very carefully, just as Angelica had told her to do. Instead of going home from work, she went straight to the shop, eager to make her appointment.

Angelica Blaze was there, waiting outside in human form. A loose blouse that feel rather low on her, black jeans ripped at the knees, boots that clomped like Satan's hooves. Some sort of a beret-thing on her head. She greeted Lois with a kiss, full on the lips, in public. Lois was shocked, flustered...and Blaze grinned.

"Are you ready?" Her fiance said. "She's waiting."

Lost for words, Lois nodded, and crossed into the threshold of the tattoo shop.

The artist was named Athena. A walking canvas in her own right, purple bra under a wifebeater, showing off full sleeves, angels on her right hand, devils and succubi on her left, meeting together in battle on her back and chest. Plugs in both ears, a septum piercing in her little pug nose. Shaved head and a dyed purple fringe of hair completed the punk-tattoo artist look.

"Skirt off," Athena told her, drawing a curtain around the bed. "You can leave the panties on."

"Not wearing any," Lois said, as she unbuttoned her skirt and slid it off her hips. She didn't bother to tell Athena that Blaze had insisted on that this morning. If the tattoo artist was surprised, she didn't show it. The reporter slid onto the table, and Athena began to swab down her lower abdomen with an **** pad.

"Last chance to back out," the punker half-joked as she slipped on the gloves.

Lois reached out a hand, and felt Angelica's fingers slip inside her own.

"No chance," the reporter told her.

Four hours. The hum of the needle. It felt like a bee sting, scraping through the skin, leaving a raw wound behind. Fine-line work, plain black, but Lois held Blaze's hand as the sun set over the city, the last light of day shining through the shop's windows and casting shadows on the curtain. She told herself the pain was worth it, as Athena wiped away the blood. Everyone makes sacrifices for the one they love.

A little tired and sweaty, Athena moved a mirror in front of Lois so that the reporter could admire her work. Backwards in the mirror, the reporter could make out the fine graceful Gothic block capital letters that now permanently adorned her lower abdomen, in a gently arc between her hips just above her mons:

PROPERTY OF BLAZE

Lois started to rise, but Angelica laid a hand on her shoulder.

"One last little thing, love," she said with a devilish smile. "A surprise for you."

The reporter turned to see Athena preparing a very different sort of needle. She laid a small, hinged black gold ring on the reporter's belly.

"Okay," the punker said. "So, here's what you need to know about clitoral hood piercings..."

Angelica paid, when it was all over. The couple walked arm-in-arm back to the reporter's apartment. The weight of the ring hung heavily on the reporter's clit, an unexpected stimulation that had her panting a little. Athena had told her to expect that too, made an anecdote about accidentally orgasming in front of her grandmother at Thanksgiving—but Lois wasn't laughing now. She wanted to touch it, but the wounds were raw and throbbing.

"She said no sex," the reporter said quietly, on the way up the elevator. Blaze brought the reporter's hand up to her lips and kissed her fingers.

"No sexual contact with your vagina. She said nothing about your ass...or mouth."

Lois didn't repress the little thrill that ran through her spine.

"Are you going to show me a good time?"

"Of course, pet," Blaze said with a smile, squeezing her hand tight. "Who do you belong to?"

"You, mistress," Lois Lane felt her heart leap. "I belong to you."