Circe Can't Find Them...And That Makes Her Angry

Lois gave Circe the names of the missing women. Diana Reynolds. Mara de la Cruz. Tonya Wong. Jenny Dunlap. The reporter lay back on the sands and raised her feet up to stroke the great pink-and-black dog's cock that jutted out from the drunken sorceress's crotch.

Circe stood with her back straight, shoulders squared, naked in the sunlight...and with a gesture, the burning sun went out, and they were beneath pale moonlight, huge and round, the ocean lapping at the beach like a hungry thing, the only sound as green fire-trails followed Circe's fingertips through a complex series of movements...like the mating dance of fireflies on a hot Alabama night, the summer when Lois turned 19, out on the sleeping porch all be herself, fingers crawling down between her legs, determined that tonight she would experience her first orgasm...

From beneath, the sorceress's face was lost in strange shadows...and she began to sing, to croon, a weird tuneless melody in some ancient Greek scale. Lois sweltered on the sand, the hot, hard shaft between the soles of her feet, and she thought she heard something in that sound, with the crashing of the waves marking the beat, like the names she had given to Circe...and other names as well.

Gorgo, Mormo, Thousand-Faced Moon, Circe seemed to sing, and the nipples on the witch's small breasts stood out hard, the sweat hanging off of them, gathering in dark drops that caught the moonlight and the glow from her fings and seemed to dance. Yet as Lois watched, the brow furrowed. Green fires danced in those eyes and the gestures became more imperative, grasping at the air. The voice lost its drunken slur and became suddenly sober, then deep and commanding...and Lois felt the cock between her feet begin to slacken.

Instinctively, the reporter sat up, her back coated with sand and sweat, and brought her mouth to the cock. Tasted, she guessed, what dog dick tasted like, though it seemed little enough different from the human pricks she had taken into her mouth from time to time in her adult life. Yet even as her hot lips settled around that strangely-shaped shaft, Lois could sense the frustration...something was wrong. The magic wasn't working.

A growl entered the song. Circe was getting pissed.