End: I Might

So Lois Lane told Circe about the missing women. How she came down here to find them, and ended up riding on the sorceress' conjured cock. Her hips didn't stop, not for a moment; the older woman's hands gently massaged the reporter's back, listening intently.

"...and I think, whoever is responsible for all this...they need to be brought to justice. Or if not justice, then..." Lois looked down at the canine cock moving in and out of her sloppy hole. "...maybe just to get railed good and hard."

"Well," Circe said. "I agree."

Circe raised her fingers into the air, and—

SNAP

Lois Lane blinked. Gone was the sun and the beach. She was riding Circe's cock in an office, tastefully appointed: dark wood paneling, plush carpet, leather-upholstered couch and chairs, a massive slab of a desk, a Goya print on the wall.

Behind the desk was a woman. Dark hair streaming down to her back, face like the bust of Nefertiti, a long lean body in a tight black dress. She stood up.

"Circe," the accent was odd, something vaguely Mediterranean. Unfriendly.

"Blaze," the sorceress tapped Lois Lane's hip, and the reporter slid off the dick, feeling vaguely empty inside.

"I see you're enjoying yourself." The woman behind the desk said...and as Lois watched, the image of her began to shimmer like the air above a highway during summer. Pale skin turned the color of blood on parchment. Dark horns curled back from her brow. Eye sockets darkened into two black pits, from which glowing eyes looked out with no iris or pupil.

"It has been a rewarding evening," Circe said, running a finger down Lois Lane's hip. "But I hear you've been **** women."

The demon shrugged. Her dress began to smolder, human clothes burning away, revealing some sort of costume underneath.

"I don't see that it's any of your business."

"I have decided to make it my business," Circe smiled mirthlessly.

"Hypocrite," Blaze countered.

"Whoremonger," Circe shot back.

Lois didn't actually see who made the first move. There was a soundless explosion in the space between demon and witch; green fires roiled with black lightning. Circe leapt out of the chair, canine cock hard, lavender hair streaming. Blaze pounced from behind the desk, red hands extended into claws to meet her. As they wrestled, arcs of deadly energy wracked the room, destroying furniture, scorching carpet and ceilings.

The reporter retreated, barely able to see as the lightshow intensified. She was standing by the door when she heard the scream. With one hand in front of her face, Lois squinted into the glare...it looked as though Circe had Blaze in an arm-bar...and was plunging her cock into the demon's cunt.

The reporter slipped through the door. There was a fire alarm on the wall. She pulled it.

By the time the Metropolis Fire Department arrived, Lois Lane had requisitioned a shirt and pants, and was corralling the prostitutes out of the building. The clients and clubgoers had managed to evacuate on their own. The flames had spread outward from the office, and as dawn broke over Metropolis a ball of green flame burst through the roof.

Lois swore that she heard a scream of exultation. A woman's scream. But whose?

The police came. Explanations made. One of them was nice enough to give her a ride back to her apartment. The reporter began stripping almost before the door was closed. She needed a shower, needed to file her story...

Lois Lane stopped and stared as she saw herself in the mirror. The letters were still there, burned into the flesh right above her cunt. The rings through her labia were sealed up tight once again, the reporter locked in chastity. She touched them tenderly, wondering if Circe had won.

When she would be back for her cunt.

She hoped it was soon.