Bimbo Tit

There was paperwork. Lois Lane tried to read it while making a show of not reading it. The woman named Blaze even gave her a bottle of water. Lois sipped it carefully as she pretended to be a ditzy bimbo sloppily initialing various paragraphs as Blaze directed. The room slowly stopped spinning...yet Lois could feel the ache, the tightness in her chest as her breasts continued to expand...her white shirt stretched more and more...each minute that ticked by, Lois could feel herself reading more and more slowly...she couldn't remember some of the words...and then she signed her name, her real name, on the dotted line.

"Perfect," Blaze said, a half-smile planted on her lips. "Lets get you into position."

"Okay..." Lois blinked. She stood up...and Tyrell grabbed her arm and guided Lois toward the third set...the dungeon one.

There were people around her then. Makeup artists, lighting technicians, sound people. The whole studio came alive with a surprising burst of activity. Lois couldn't see Blaze in the confusion, but she could feel it as her clothes were peeled off and set aside, as rouge was brushed on her stiff nipples, as someone gave her another bottle of water and sprayed something in her hair.

Then Lois was in the dungeon set. The manacles clapped around her wrists were lined with velvet, the chain threaded through a ring set into the cement of the floor. The reporter stood there in the middle, utterly nude...and then she saw her bare breasts for the first time in perhaps half an hour.

Normally, Lois Lane was a 32A...a little on the small side, but her breasts were exquisitely shaped half-tear drops, with stiff little nipples like two eraser tips in the middle of small areola the size of quarters. Now, she didn't know how big they were. The small half-tear-drops had swollen and swelled, sagging downward a little, but also outward and to the sides. They sat on her chest like a pair of grapefruits, the skin so taut that she could feel it pulling down from her armpits, the pink areola the size of half-dollars, the nipples as big as the tips of her thumbs.

Lois stared dumbfounded at her tits...totally ignorant of the cameras that had begun to roll, the lights that shone onto her cleavage for maximum effect, the microphone held above her head...and then Blaze stepped onto the set.

The reporter turned to her. The chains tightened as she threw her shoulders back. The woman was topless herself, her tiny tits bare palmfuls on her lithe and athletic form; yet she wore a dark hood over her face, with holes for her eyes, and black pants supported by a heavy leather belt, and black boots. From a rack on the wall, she took a length of rope.

"Confess! Confess you're a witch!" Blaze said haughtily, that strange accent thicker than it was before.

"I...huh?" Lois was tongue-tied, at a loss for words. Her breasts bobbed as too late she realized the situation she had gotten herself into.

"Very well...if you will not talk, we have ways of making you talk!" Blaze said with evident glee.

Lois Lane watched as Blaze's arm passed in front of her face. Felt the rough hemp rope against her soft, sensitive swollen sweaterkittens. Felt it wrap underneath her bloated boobies, and then the rope crossed over in between her cleavage. Too late, Lois thought to struggle...but Blaze was already tightening the rope, and as the hemp dragged against her skin and drew tight about her titties, Lois Lane gave her first scream...

Blaze leaned forward and whispered in her ear.

"Oh, Lois...we're just getting started."