Lois Becomes the Erotic Muse

Lois Lane could not understand the spiritual surgery that Circe worked, in conjunction with that needles scraping through the skin. How the sorceress cut open the reporter's soul and grafted to it an idea—and so tied the mere blood and bone of the Daily Planet's greatest reporter into something greater, something fundamental to the human experience, but which had not yet had a name, a face, a spirit with which to embody it.

Yet as the sorceress worked, as the metaphysical connections were made, strange energies flowed into the reporter's body...and the human part of Lois Lane, the gross matter of her body, began to give way to a more platonic ideal as the strange energies began to course through her form.

The small blemishes that every human being has slowly faded and away. Little scars, scabs, skin tags that few would notice vanished; the beginning of lines at the corners of Lois Lane's eyes and mouth smoothed. Her breasts swelled slightly, the skin and muscles tightening, pierced nipples growing larger and more sensitive. The tattoos and brand so recently applied by Circe grew sharper, and more a part of her: they would now never fade, gleaming wetly as if freshly applied forever. Piercings would never heal either, the channels now fixed. Subtler changes took place, deep within her cells, as the very DNA ceased to age with each replication, and subtle cancers undid themselves.

Immortality settled lightly on Lois Lane...and the reporter gasped as more overt changes took place. Nerves grew in her genitals, veins and arteries extended themselves, muscles toughened and multiplied, elastic tissues became more able to stretch without tearing and snap back to their former tightness. The reporter shook in her seat, working the wooden pole in and out of her ass faster and harder. Her face flushed as her sensorium increased tenfold. The kiss of the wind on her bare nipples was enough to cause her body to quake with a small climax, her hungry asshole now squeezed eagerly around a thick wooden plug that would have broken her not long before.

Lois Lane writhed in place, howling in sexual ecstasy...a living wet dream, a picture of erotic exultation...and Circe pulled her needle away. Black hair, shiny and wet, pushed through the engraved scalp as the flesh regenerated with supernatural speed.

"Now you will cum into your power," Circe whispered. "Now you will be the dream that inspires the spilling of seed, the walking vision of lust that men and women alike will fawn over. The tenth muse—the muse of pornography and erotica! You shall inspire lust, and that will be your power and your curse."

Lois Lane's entire body convulsed. With inhuman strength, her asshole clenched and shattered the wooden pole into splinters, none of which could pierce her invulnerable anus. Hot juice squeezed from her cunny onto the burning sand as the reporter staggered to her feet, out of the chair. Lightning burned for a moment beneath the reporter's skin, illuming her pornographic tattoos like glowing circuitry. Her violet eyes burned with a violet light, and her bodily proportions shifted and swelled slightly, to a perfection that many would try to capture in vain.