A Hundred Lashes

Lois Lane wasn't sure when something broke inside of her.

Maybe it was the sight of blood as the whip, lashing the bruised and reddened buttocks, finally broke the skin. Something about seeing that bright red flow...hearing Circe's mingled cry of pain and ecstasy...should have made her stop. Should have made her fall to her knees, release those bonds, to comfort the hurts of another human being.

Instead, she whipped harder.

Droplets of blood splattered the reporter's face, carried by the blazing lash. A hot rain on her face. Every strike brought more and more, and Circe's screams became a strange soundtrack to the crack and hiss. The whip almost seemed to be an extension of the reporter's arm, and as it rose and fell, her whole body involved in the movement, she knew precisely where each blow would land. Savored and anticipated each strike. Nostrils flared to drink in the smell of blood and cunt.

Lois had heard how, when flogging was practiced in the navies of the world, a hundred lashes would destroy the nerve endings in a man's back. He could still be hurt...could be whipped to ****...but after a while, the pain would fade and there was just the monotonous destruction of flesh.

At a hundred lashes, Lois let her arm drop to her side. Circe's breath came in ragged gasped. Her ass was a criss-cross of ruined flesh. Yellow fat showed, blood dripped from cuts, blackening where it had started to scab. Yet Lois saw between her legs, the steady drip-drip-drip into the sand...

"Cunt," Lois Lane's voice was ragged and strange to her ears. "You got off on that, didn't you?"

Lois stepped forward. The sorceress was handing between the violet pillars now, only held upright by the reporter's energy constructs. A part of Lois wanted to let her fall into the sand, to kick the grit into the wounds. Instead, the Star Sapphire ring on her finger buzzed and crackled, and the energy whip vanished...and a two-pronged dildo, like the horns of a rhino, and a harness for the strap-on appeared on her hips.

The reporter placed the rounded tips at the entrances to Circe's holes.

"You want it, slut? You want Mistress to destroy your holes like she has your ass?"

Circe's head lolled over her shoulder. Eyes, bright with pain, fixed on the reporter beneath an idiotic grin.

"Oh yes," Circe whispered, with the fervor of a true masochist. "Hurt me."

Lois Lane's lip curled back into a sneer...but one thing stopped her. The mission that had brought her here. Now that she had Circe at her mercy, perhaps...

"If you want it, ****," Lois spat. "Then you had better do what I say!"