Kryptonian Sex Dungeon

As a cub reporter, Lois had once explored Metropolis' BDSM scene for a series. It had all the thrill of an adult-oriented Hallowe'en party or a cosplay convention, men and women in their leather and latex, playing their roles. She'd met a kindly old gentleman that wore nothing but a skin-tight rubber suit, his genitals a placid dangling pocket hanging in front of him as he introduced her around. Toured the hanging acts and the shops that did custom harness gear, the high-end stuff costing thousands of dollars—but most of the folks kinks and pockets didn't run into those extremes, and the few who did, the real violent types, quickly found themselves outside the community.

Consent was king, and bondage and domination were done on a budget, with bungee cords and thrift shop neckties, Walmart plastic tarps and generic label cleaning products. DIY stocks, spreader bars, and the like were often made with lumber from Home Depot, by those who had the skill to make them. Not necessarily bad—some of the people in the scene were dedicated to their craft—but Lois had often remarked how much effort they put into things, to play through their fantasies.

Looking down into the room with the women she'd been looking for, however, Lois knew she was looking at a whole other level of kink.

The room was like a cave crafted of crystal, some milky white and opaque, others clear. It was not all natural, however...there were art deco flourishes in cold crystal, variations of a familiar shield-and-cape. She couldn't see the door, but the four women were naked, spread throughout the chamber in positions of bondage, none of it looking homemade. And it was cold in there, because she could see their breaths. The women themselves...

Diana Reynolds and Mara de la Cruz were in stocks, heads and hands encased in bare crystal that rose up from the floor, bent over, opposite one another, their naked buttocks almost touching—sometimes did touch, as they squirmed. Lois watched and caught a hint of something white between them, segmented like a pale worm. A twisted game, to set them up like that, so that the movement of either one would have to affect the other...and Lois wondered what it felt like.

Tonya Wong was on her tiptoes above a stalagmite, her slender arms held above her by a glass chain from the ceiling. The rounded tip of the slender stalagmite was already in her vagina. If the woman didn't stay on her toes, she would impale herself on the pale thing—and indeed, Lois saw as Tonya's toes flexed, and her pussy slid on and off the tip, she wondered if it wouldn't end with the woman slowly fucking herself on the pointed mound for hours.

Jenny Dunlap was manacled to a kind of spreader bar, her bare buttocks on the floor, knees **** apart, hands shackled outside her legs, leaving her cunny open and exposed. There was a brace around her neck that prevented her turning her head, and blinders on either side of her eyes that cut off her peripheral vision. **** to look ahead into a crystal orb that hung from the ceiling. Lois could make out images shifting within. A montage of pornography, a constant, never-ending clipshow...but intercut with scenes of something else, something she couldn't quite make out...

"What do you want to do?" Maria asked.