Epilogue: Lois Lane's New Life

At the Daily Planet, few people noticed anything different about Lois Lane. Perhaps she smiled a little more. She dressed a little more conservatively, never showing as much cleavage or bearing her lower belly. No one could see what she was hiding, and most of them had no idea that there was something to hide.

Every woman has her secrets, after all.

Perhaps they noticed that Lois went out for drinks after work less often, begging that she other commitments. That she spoke a little less often of Superman. A few might have wondered if she didn't have a boyfriend or lover that she didn't want to share. Lois would say nothing...and most people, even the worst gossips, tend to be so wrapped up in their own lives as to not wonder too long or too loudly.

Lois Lane felt almost as if she was going through the motions of her life. Always conscious of the piercings in her nipples and pussy, the tattoos on her breasts and crotch. Never knowing when her mistress might contact her, what task she would set for her next...and what the reward might be if she succeeded, the penalty if she failed.

What the reporter had found was that Circe might appear anywhere...taking a cup of coffee at a cafe that Lois passed. Trying on a dress in the same store. Once she had appeared to Lois Lane on a crowded train...and the reporter had remembered the warm hand that had slid down the back of her pants, that had tugged at her panties until they had ridden up the reporter's pussy and the crack of her ass, and the reporter could say nothing, could not make a move for fear that everyone else would see.

"No more panties," Circe had said, and Lois had known it for a commandment.

Just one more secret. Lois was nervous the first day. Afraid her rings would jingle in her trousers without the panties to muffle them. By the end of the day, she was so excited that she was afraid of leaving a damp spot when she sat down. It was so strange, to "go commando" in a crowd...yet the longer Lois did it, the more she got used to it. Once or twice she even forgot about it, and spread her legs too far, the zipper pressing against her pierced cunt lips, and Lois had to bite her lip to hold in the little moan that threatened to escape from her throat.

At night, Circe would often be there. Sometimes to meet Lois for dinner, sometimes simply to share a glass of wine. Her mistress asked her about her day, and slowly Lois learned the subjects that caught and held the sorceress's attention. The doings of superhumans, archaeological research related to ancient Greece or magic, that kind of thing. It made Lois feel good when Circe would ask a question, obviously intent on learning more. Those were the nights when her mistress would lead her back into the bedroom, to unlock the rings that prevented access to her pussy, and then they would play...it was always different, never the same way twice. With magic, Circe could choose any shape, or combination of shapes. Lois learned what every cock tasted like, what every tongue felt like on her cunt and clit...

One night, Circe stared at Lois after making love. Dawn was not far away.

"No more trousers," the sorceress said. "From now on, you wear skirts."

Lois felt a tightness in her chest...but had simply nodded. Skirts without panties...

That first day, the reporter had gone conservative. An ankle-length skirt, something that swished freely, but was unlikely to flash her pussy. Once again, it was a change, a commitment. People in the office noticed, but didn't comment. So what if Lois felt like wearing skirts? She was a woman after all.

It wasn't a problem, until her period came.

A bad period. Aunt Flo had arrived in ****, and Lois had to wash the blood off her legs in the morning. The rings, locked together, would not permit a tampon. That left only pads, and only panties could hold those in place. So Lois had worn panties under her skirt that day, heart thundering as she wondered what punishment Circe might have for her tonight...but the mistress was not there when she got home.

Nor did she come after dinner, for a glass of wine.

So Lois went to her cold and empty bed, laying awake for hours, until she fell into a fearful sleep.

To awake in horror.

The room was dark, but Lois could feel the presence of someone else. Her body was stiff and heavy, as it sometimes was when she woke up suddenly from a dream, her limbs not responding to her commands. Awake, but paralyzed...and slowly, the reporter could feel her body lift free of the bed. The sheet and blanket slipped off, leaving her naked...defenseless...

Her mistress stood above her, the needle gleaming in the light of the alarm clock.

The reporter had a mouth but could not scream as the needle pierced her skin, sharp and fine, and began to draw.

The tattoos around her breasts and crotch had spread, an inch in either direction. Graceful vines now reached up toward the reporter's nipples, and extended beneath her arms. Miniature naked women writhed in a carnal chain around her stomach below her waist, creeping down her buttocks and up her lower back. Too much now to be concealed by a standard pair of panties.

"You will obey me, pet," Circe said, as she kissed away the reporter's tears. "Or I will punish you again. Until there is no inch of you that is not marked as mine."

Lois Lane awoke on the bed, alone. Her tattoos had already healed. Magic at work. She stared at them a long time, the fine dark lines. Blood still flowed...her period always lasted a few days, especially a heavy one like this.

The reporter wondered what she would do.

"What has my life become?" she whispered, nipples hard in the cool night air.