Diana Reynolds—Certified Public Accountant

There was a sense of travel without motion. The sensation of falling inside her guts, but no rush of wind or movement of air. One moment Lois Lane closed her eyes, and when she opened them again...

They were in an office. Small but modestly furnished with brand new furniture, a couple of ferns, diplomas and certificates framed on the wall. A woman sat behind a slab of a desk, tapping away at a desktop computer. She looked older than her nineteen years; reddish copper hair up in a tight bun, green eyes hidden behind glasses. A conservative business suit that did nothing to hide a pair of breasts easily larger than her head.

A little plaque on the desk read: Diana Reynolds, C.P.A.

The reporter blinked twice, just to make sure her eyes were working. Opened and closed her mouth. The Diana Reynolds that she knew was 19, a literature major who hoped to write romance novels, and worked as a barista. The pictures that Lois had found of her online showed a modestly generous bosom, probably a C-cup. Nothing like this.

"I..." she said, then looked hard. The buxom CPA was tapping away at some spreadsheet, completely oblivious. "Can she hear us?"

"No, nor see or hear us," Blaze said, her warm hand on Lois Lane's shoulder.

"But this is so..." Lois searched for words. "Boring!"

"Is it?" The dickgirl mused. "She has financial security, education, professional qualifications and certifications. Diana can still write her romance novels, but now she can do so from the comfort and financial safety of a well-paying dayjob."

"And the..." Lois mimed a pair of basketballs curving out from her chest. "...her tits?"

Blaze shrugged. "It's what she wanted."

The reporter shook her head. It made a weird, perverted kind of sense, in a way. Still...of all the ways she could have changed her life...

Diana Reynolds fidgeted in her chair. She pressed a button on a small intercom.

"Manny, could you come in here? I need you," she said, slightly breathless.

The door opened. A young African-American man swept in, tall and professionally dressed with slacks, suspenders, and a black bowtie. Broad shoulders barely constrained by his salmon-colored button-down shirt, curly black hair cropped close to his head. He smiled wide, showing very white teeth. Closed the door and began to unzip his pants.

The C.P.A. was already rising, heaving her massive breasts up as she bent over the desk. His cock, a chocolate colored monster that belonged on a porn set, strained the condom he slipped on it. Lois pressed herself against a cabinet. It was a small office. Barely big enough for him to squeeze in behind her...and no room at all for him to escape, once he was inside of her.

"Manny?" Lois asked.

"Short for Mandingo. She's not a terribly good writer," Blaze admitted. "But the job does come with its perks."

Lois watched the black secretary fill out the C.P.A. like an application. She bet he could type, too.

"Okay, that's enough." The reporter said as the sounds of financial passion filled the small office. "Show me someone else, show me..."