Epilogue: Wonderbreeeder IV: Amazons All-Out Attack

Stiff-legged, Lois Lane staggered away. Cock dripping beneath the loose Amazonian shift, ribs showing, hair a crow's nest, dark bags under her eyes. Too many sleepless nights. Too much sex. One foot dragged in front of the other

Is this what my life has become? She wondered. Am I just a delivery vehicle for semen? A glorified sex toy for women? How long has it been since I wrote an article, or spent a day without busting a nut in some tight cunt? I just...I just want to rest...

She staggered past Amazon women, who stared at her, eyes dipping down to where the head of her cock hung out of the shift. Lois didn't care. Never in her life did she think that she would get tired of sex. In truth, after the whole thing with the Batwomen, Lois had felt guilty. Like a ****. She had hurt some of them, she knew. Been rough, harsh. Fragments of memories still haunted her dreams...the utterly mindless state of rut that Luthor's programming had reduced her to...she almost missed it. No cares, no worries. That Lois hadn't wanted anything but to breed bitches...and had.

Her room was small. The bed had clean white sheets, an old-fashioned mattress stuffed with goosefeathers. The room was dark and deathly quiet. Three steps from the door to the bed. Two, her body sagging, already feeling heavy. One, she raised her arms and shrugged out of the soiled shift, naked in the dark. Fell forward toward the soft mattress. Eyes already closed. Welcoming oblivion.

Hands grabbed her. Strong hands, with hard calluses. Lois didn't even bother to scream as the woman—it must be a woman, the reporter realized as she was swiftly bound and gagged, because she could feel the brush of her breasts every now and again—picked her up as effortlessly as Lois would a small child, and swiftly carried her away.

Lois opened her eyes, adrenaline flooding her body and fighting sleep. Journalistic instincts kicked in, memorizing details of their route. Far different from how Lois had come; they traveled through seldom-used passageways, avoiding anyone who might see them. Out of the building and out onto the island, dawn just breaking over the water, making the sea seem to glow. Down a path toward the beach...and for a moment Lois wondered if she was being taken off the Amazon island. But no: there was a low cliff of stone, and a cave worn by water in it.

The Amazon carrying her walked into the surf, letting the waves erode her footprints as she carried Lois into the cave. Salt water splashed against Lois Lane's face as the water deepened. During high tide, she had no doubt the whole tunnel—for it was a tunnel—would be flooded. Darkness surrounded them again, the mouth of the cave a little half-moon of light...and then brightened again. The walls showed signs of being worked by human hands. And at last, the steps grew steadier, the tunnel opened into a lighted chamber, and Lois saw that they ascended stone steps that had been carved into the floor of the cave.

The chamber was not large; perhaps twenty feet wide, and carved like some ancient Greek temple, with stone pillars and a rounded down, at the apex of which was set glowing crystals that provided lit the room. Between one set of pillars was an opening, a set of stairs leading upwards. An apparatus that Lois recognized as the famed Purple Ray stood on one side...and as her captor slung the dickgirl reporter off of her shoulder, Lois recognized something else.

A marble throne. But a harsh throne. There was a gaping hole in the seat, grooves for arms and legs, with metal fasteners that would snap into place at wrist, ankle, waist, and neck.

Without delay, the Amazon plunked her captive in the seat, and with deft swiftness began undoing her bonds one by one...and holding Lois down with superhuman strength, clamping those metal fasteners into place. Tired as she was, Lois sought to struggle. But it was like a five-year-old fighting a grown woman. The reporter was too slow, too weak, too exhausted from days of sex. Helpless as a babe...and not for the first time.

Now, however, Lois could see her captor. Long, straight ginger hair spilled back in a high pony-tail from a severe-looking face. She was as tall as Wonder Woman, but the muscles were more defined, the movement swift but less graceful. There was the impression of barely-contained energy in every movement, a kind of restless agitation. Her white Amazonian shift was soaked through with sea-water, clinging to the thin body with the waspish waist and narrow hips.

When she removed the dickgirl's gag, Lois stared into the Amazon's light eyes. She named her.

"Artemis," she chose her words carefully. "What are you doing?"

The Amazon raised an eyebrow. "You know me?"

"You were Wonder Woman for a time. I wrote about it." The reporter fought down a wave of panic as Artemis snapped the neck-ring into place. It wasn't tight...not tight enough to ****, anyway. But it prevented Lois from leaning forward more than a quarter of an inch. "You're one of the Bana-Mighdall Amazons."

"Indeed I am," the blue eyes searched the reporter's violet ones, as if looking for something. "What do you know of Bana-Mighdall, Lois Lane?"

So the reporter related what she had heard or read—the separate tribe of Amazons, who did not share their sister's immortality. Who lived in a hidden city in the Egypt, and survived by hiring themselves out as mercenaries. How they had finally reached an accord with their sisters on Themyscira...

"Our city was destroyed. Hippolyta welcomed us home. But we still have our own ways. Do you know how the Amazons of Bana-Mighdall survived?" The Amazon stood to her full height and walked over toward the Purple Ray device. It began to hum...power building inside of it, ready to be unleashed. Lois swallowed.

"You...were **** to mate with men." She said.

"Yes. Slaves, kept only for breeding. We would bind them in chairs like that one. Then we would mate with them. No touching. No kissing. It was not making love. That we reserved for each other. No, this was simply...breeding." She looked back at Lois. Reached down between the reporter's legs legs, and brought forth a metal ring on a chain, which she slid along the limp length of Lois Lane's cock.

"Do you like breeding, Lois Lane?"

"I'm getting a little tired of it," Lois admitted. She tried to squirm, but the bonds did not permit that. "Look, I can see where this is going and I'd love to help, but I'm all fucked out. Just give me a few hours to recharge and I'd be happy to..."

The humming of the device reached a crescendo. Purple light flashed from the device. How to describe it? All the building blocks of life, shot into the body at the speed of light. The indescribable swell as dehydrated tissues suddenly engorged, as every fatigue poison in every muscle was suddenly cleansed. Hunger and weariness vanished in an instant, and between her legs, Lois felt her cock stir, the testicles within her body suddenly racing through their sperm-producing cycle, filling her to bursting.

The light vanished. Artemis tossed off the wet shift. Naked, she seemed a statue of some ancient Greek goddess come to life. It was a form that should have been captured in marble, every hair below her eyebrows plucked or shaved off, her mons smooth and oiled, abdominal muscles well-defined, long graceful legs with high calves, and dainty feet.

"Never mind," the bound dickgirl said, as she felt the cock rise, almost painfully stiff. "We're good to go."

"You do not see where this is going, Lois Lane," Artemis said as she strode forward.

Artemis raised her leg, foot planted between the reporter's knees. With two fingers, the Amazon began to stroke her prominent clit...bigger than Wonder Woman's, a little darker. The pussy itself looked smaller, almost...virginal. Which, the reporter thought, might well be the case.

The sight and smell began to affect Lois. Minutes passed, the reporter straining quietly against her bonds as the womanly odor of the naked Amazon wafted over to her. Her technique, Lois saw, was to run her fingers all the way down to her perineum, pressing hard, and then drifting upwards...squeezing her vulva...and finally rubbing that large clit, which began to engorge, growing bigger and more prominent, almost the size of the reporter's thumbnail.

Again and again, a little faster, a little harder each time. Lois became aware that Artemis' nipples—small and pink, the left one criss-crossed by the white line of an old scar—were hard, and with her left hand the Amazon kneaded her scarred breast as the right hand worked her cunt...but to what end, the bound dickgirl could not guess. Her cock stood at attention, veins bulging as her flesh swelled around the tight metal ring now restricting its base.

Eventually, Artemis' breath grew faster...and Lois noticed clear honey on her fingers when she slipped her fingers into her channel. With a show of iron control, the Amazon lowered her leg. She stared the reporter in the face.

"Lubrication is important. If you were a woman..." The ginger-haired Amazon left the though unfinished. "The throne of Hathor only permits mating in one position. You are not permitted to touch me. You are no more than that which is between your legs, to us. There is another part of this tradition...a little defilement. We have no fathers. Only...sperm donors. Do not take this as much of an insult, Lois Lane."

Without warning, the Amazon's cheeks swelled. The spittle splashed across the bridge of the reporter's nose, hot and nasty. Instinctively, Lois closed her eyes. When she opened them again, Artemis had turned her back to the reporter. Two fingers spread her cunt open wide as she lowered herself down into the reporter's lap. Letting her tight pussy swallow the reporter's cock.

Lois Lane could have cum right there. The purple ray had made her as sensitive as if she hadn't cum in days. Yet the metal ring clamped into her cock, tighter than Artemis' pussy, preventing her from cumming. The reporter fidgeted, muscles bulging beneath her skin as she strained against the metal rings.

"Hundreds of men have sat where you sat," Artemis panted, and Lois could not see her face or breasts, only the well-muscled back, the pristine globes of her ass as they rose and fell, fucking herself with the reporter's dick. "The bonds are Promethium. They will not break. Men have torn their muscles and broken bones, to no avail. The purple ray healed them. As it will heal you. There is no escape."

The voice was steady, but there was an edge to it. Lois recognized it—the sound of control slipping, pleasure growing. How many times in her life had Artemis been penetrated? Not many, Lois imagined. Hippolyta told her that Amazon women did not enjoy penetrative sex much, but most of them broke their hymens one way or another during training—so Lois Lane might well be her first. The first real cock inside her impossibly tight tunnel. And all for one purpose.

Lois shook in frustration, the pressure building at the base of her dick. Her cock hurt, and she wanted, needed to cum more than at any point since she had first gotten this stupid dick. She sat there in impotent rage, muscles straining. Bewildering fantasies played through her mind, of ripping herself off of this throne, of bending Artemis over, of pounding her tight twat and jizzing her hard as she screamed at being taken...and Lois felt tears run down her face as she realized how the Batgirls must have felt, tied down and helpless, as she pounded their cunts into oblivion, fucked babies into their waiting wombs.

She wondered how they were doing. Would Batgirl have given birth yet? Would she let Lois see the baby, hold her? It was the wrong time and place for such sudden parental considerations, but the trauma of this **** fucking, her utter impotence as it felt like her cock was going to explode, was a greater strain on her than she imagined. All the stress of her life these last few days...weeks...months...were bubbling to the surface.

"Please..." she said, and her eyes were so watery she could barely see the ass that was now slamming down hard and fast. Artemis, panting like a bitch in heat, was beyond listening. A hand reached down between the reporter's legs, strong fingers scrabbling at the base of her dick as the Amazon began to grunt, her pussy squeezing down impossibly harder. Lois screamed as though her cock was in a vise...and then screamed again as the ring suddenly released, and all the pent-up seed burst forth through the painfully constricted dickgirl prick into the Amazon's once-virgin cunt.

A sigh escaped Artemis' lips. Lois could not tell if it betokened satisfaction or sadness. A little quiver ran through that athletic body as she stood up, leaving Lois half erect.

*CLICK*

The metal ring was back in place around the base of her deflating penis.

From her right, Lois could hear the tread of feet. She turned her head as far as the neck-ring allowed. At the doorway, she saw women. Naked women. The one in front looked young, only college-age. Behind her, an older woman reached around, her fingers rubbed between the younger Amazon's legs, blindly but expertly stroking that clit, her lips...

Lois looked at Artemis, who stood next to the purple ray device. The hum had started again, rising in pitch...and the dickgirl remembered her words.

"How many?" Lois asked, mouth suddenly dry. She had a bad feeling about this.

The cold blue eyes met Lois Lane's...and maybe they softened, just for a moment.

"All of them. But don't worry," the pitch of the machine rose into a whine. "There are only a hundred or so of us of age to bear a child."

The purple light flashed...as it would many times, over the day. The familiar surge washed over the reporter's body. Torn muscles knitting themselves together. Emptied seminal vesicle refilling. By the time the hum died and the light faded, Lois was hard again. The young woman at the front of the line stood in front of her.

Younger, not as well-muscled. Fewer scars. Honey-gold hair. But the eyes were as cold and blue as Artemis'. Her cunt dripped. She added her spittle to Lois Lane's face...and then turned and sat, determined to wrench another daughter from the dickgirl's loins.

In her mind, Lois Lane remembered that old cartoon. "**** by Snu-Snu." had been the punchline. Yet the men who wrote it—they must have been men—never guessed the terrible truth.

The Amazons would not let her die. Not until she bred them all.