End: As You Wish...Mistress

Hands, delicate and soft and knowing, reached around Lois Lane's hips from behind and slid down the reporter's crotch. She felt Circe's fingers meet at her pussy, one rubbing gently at her clitoris, the other reaching down to caress the lips of her cunt, to the little metal piercings there.

Lois said nothing as she felt Circe's hips begin to move, the wooden cock sliding in and out of her bowels as the older woman's fingers played with her clit, ran up her body. Her mistress paused over the brand that marked Lois Lane's pussy as her own, traced the fine black tattoos beneath her breasts, tugged gently at the nipple rings just to hear Lois gasp.

For perhaps the first time, Lois considered all that had been done to her...the septum ring in her nose jangled, the rings in her nipples and clit throbbed as the erectile tissues swelled. Even the tattoos around her breasts and crotch seemed to itch, just to let her know they were there, permanent signs of her being...

What, exactly? A slut? A whore? A plaything for an immortal sorceress? Lois asked herself. I know what people would say to look at me. A woman her age with those piercings, those tattoos...a sex freak. I'll have to cover everything up.

"Do not be upset, my dear. There is no excitement to life like a secret...and this is our little secret, yours and mine. I shall be your mistress...but you are not my ****, oh no. You are my familiar. Through you I will work my magic...and through me, you will obtain pleasures you have never known."

Lois bit back a response. There was nothing she could say. Her curiosity had brought her to this point, like a cat on a hot stove. She had stuck her nose in a little too far, and this time it had burned her.

Except...as the burning in her asshole grew and spread, as the fingers rubbed her clit and toyed with her nipple piercings...Lois realize she didn't feel burned. She felt almost...free.

"There shall be no secrets between us, my dear," Circe whispered in her ear as her thrusts grew, and Lois could feel the excitement of her mistress as the base of the wooden strap-on stimulated the sorceress' clit, hear it in the tone of her voice. "You can be yourself with me. Tell me your fantasies, and we shall make them true. Explore your sexuality. Unload on me the humdrum troubles of your life. I shall be your lover and confessor, even as you are my spy and the tip of my spear in the world of men..."

A part of Lois knew that was wrong, somehow. That she should resist, that Circe was evil, that she was just going to be a tool in the hands of an immortal enemy of humanity. Yet that part of her was faint and far away, and slowly being fucked away as the smooth wooden cock slid expertly in and out of her ass, as the fingers danced around her clit, as a hot mouth kissed the back of her neck...

Even tools may be cared for with tenderness and love.

Lois felt her breathing go ragged as the strange pleasure in her body grew. Her nipples were like chips of diamond, supersensitive with their new piercings. The reporter's hips rolled to match the thrusts of her mistress. She felt the last few dregs of her self-control slip away as she gave herself completely to their lovemaking, and Circe for her own efforts responded to her familiar's enthusiasm with greater efforts.

Lois Lane came like the waves breaking on the beach. Her clit throbbed as Circe pulled at the piercing, her juices sprayed hot and hard into the sands between her thighs, rivulets running down her legs. The familiar's whole body quivered as the pent-up need of months without sex was released in a single instant, and she cried out with her whole body.

The sorceress released the harness, leaving the wooden cock plugged into the reporter's ass. On her hands and knees in the sand, Lois panted, body quaking, not knowing what was next...and yet, a part of her did know, a part of her she hadn't known before.

Mistress hasn't finished yet.

Circe stood, legs akimbo, fingers spreading the lips of her cunt. She stared down at Lois and then her scalp seemed to burn and Lois saw...saw herself, laying on the sands, the rings in her nose and ears and nipples, body bronzed by the sun, the dark curls of the tattoos about her breasts...and Lois knew she was seeing what Circe saw, just as Circe was seeing herself through her own eyes...and Lois knew what she had to do.

Her hands grasped the woman's knees as she opened her mouth and raised her lips to the chalice of her new communion. Lois Lane's lips sealed themselves about the woman's pussy and she sucked in those bitter juices, her tongue lapping at the slit before diving in, squirming in the tight channel that had known the tongues of many women over the long centuries.

The night was dark and full of magic. The moon was old and the stars were fading when Lois Lane, dressed once again, finished her interviews with the women who had gone "missing"—prey to an escort service that had disrupted their studies. Those women would go back to their old lives, richer in experience and by several thousand dollars. The club beneath the club would move; the proprietress was an old devil that knew not to overstay her welcome.

There would be questions for Lois Lane on Monday, when she returned to work: about her tan, which she could not hide, but not about the piercings or tattoos or brand that she could. By the time she got home, it would be the early hours of the morning and the night would be over...but she would find the first of many gifts waiting for her on the kitchen table, in a small box wrapped with lavender silk the color of Circe's hair:

A butt plug, and a bottle of lube.

Lois Lane, feeling her aching backside, felt her pulse quicken at the sight of it. She would have one more secret to carry with her on Monday morning.