End: Lois Lane Retreats While She's Still Mobile

By the time Lois Lane had found her way out of an emergency exit and into the alley that ran alongside the building, she was leaking. More than that, her nipples weren't just sensitive—they hurt. All four of them. She felt dizzy and light-headed as she staggered out onto the sidewalk. Out in the open air, her smartphone had a signal...and one speed dial to a very secret number had help on the way.

Which was good, because the reporter's legs, increasingly weak, gave out two blocks from the club.

The hours after that were a blur. Flashing lights and sirens. The boring ceiling of an ambulance. Hospital smells. The aching pressure on her chest, growing with each moment. Screams. Shouts. A bright red arc, bursting into the air, splattering down on her face like a warm, thick rain. Darkness closing in...a feeling of weightlessness. Heart beat slowing. Sinking down...down...

When she awoke, a huge, warm hand held Lois Lane's own. Her thin fingers loosely entwined with his. She turned her head and opened her eyes to cat-like slits...and saw Clark Kent by her bedside, his eyes closed beneath those black plastic frames, his suit rumpled as if this wasn't the first night he'd slept in it.

Then the reporter's attention turned to more pressing matters.

Or perhaps more accurately, pumping matters.

The reporter stared at a chest fit for a herd of cows. The two great white globes of flesh were the size of medicine balls. Metal tubes sucked at her tremendous teats, the hoses leading off to something straight out of a dairy farm. The reporter's free hand traced the outline of her tits, where they intersected her chest...and was surprised to feel how her ribs stood out against her skin, and the smaller, supernumerary breasts, utterly hidden by the huge, heavy tits that pinned her to the bed, were bigger handfuls than her breasts had been originally.

Lois opened her eyes a little wider, and winced at the light. As if she had her eyes closed for a long time...and saw that this wasn't a hospital room, exactly. She was in a hospital bed, and there was an IV stand with leads going into her arm, but it was a bedroom, wallpapered, full of old, dark wooden furniture topped with white doilies. A hand-knit quilt lay over her legs. A framed newspaper page, her first front-page article on Superman for the Daily Planet, stared at her from the opposite wall. Outside the window to Clark's left, she could see the bright moon shine over a red barn...and then the door opened.

It was no nurse. An older woman, silver-white hair in a bun, an apron tied over sturdy farm clothes. She smiled to see Lois Lane's eyes.

"Oh, you're awake!" She whispered. She smiled to see Clark was still asleep. "Poor Clark. He hasn't left your side. Don't mind me, dear."

The older woman knelt down, and Lois saw she was changing out the reporter's bedpan. An unwelcome heat came to Lois Lane's cheeks, embarrassed but at the same time too weak to do anything about it. Yet curiosity burned inside her.

"Who are you?" She asked in a whisper. "Where am I? What happened to me?"

"Lois, I'd like you to meet my mother, Martha," Clark said, his bulk shifting as he shook off the dregs of sleep. He smiled at the old woman. "Thanks, Ma. I'll take it from here."

The old woman smiled, nodded, and left, bedpan and all. Clark turned tired eyes on her...and Lois realized she had never seen him like this. There were bags under his eyes, lines of worry and concern.

"You're at my family farm, in Kansas," Clark said. "It's...off the grid. We weren't sure who might be looking for you. You almost died, several times, and there were attempts to locate you...so once you were stabilized, we moved you here."

"How long?" Lois asked.

"Eight weeks tomorrow," he said. "Since you called Superman."

"But what happened to me?" Lois said. "I mean, I remember the club...and then the piercing...these breasts...I was lactating. But I wasn't this big..."

Clark licked his lips. "You were part of someone's experiment. They used a retrovirus to graft Kryptonian genes on yours. Then they used red kryptonite to activate them. Except the combination didn't quite work. Your breasts kept lactating, which caused them to keep growing. It put a dangerous strain on your body's resources. Your body was literally eating itself to make your breasts bigger."

"We found out that keeping you milked regularly keeps the growth under control. And since then we've been trying to feed you up a bit. Until your body had recovered enough. Hoping you'd wake up."

"Oh, Clark," Lois said, realizing all the things he must not have told her. The long days and nights at her side. If she'd really been out eight weeks, he couldn't have been here that long, but still...it touched her in a way she hadn't realized was possible. Eight weeks of her night gone, after one night out...and Lois Lane's free hand slipped down between her legs, feeling how overgrown her bush was.

How hot and wet she was.

"Smallville, tell me the truth," she said, with a little bit of her old confidence. "Do you like big breasts?"

He gave a shy grin, like a young man caught staring at his date's decolletage.

Lois Lane grinned back, a bit savagely. Eight weeks. A little more time off wouldn't hurt.

"I think we could both use a little physical therapy," she said, her thumb rolling over his knuckles as her other fingers rubbed her slit.

"Okay," he said, nodding. "I'll..."

"Clark, I mean that I need you to climb onto this bed and make love to me," Lois Lane said. "And do it before your mother comes back in and catches us."

So he did. And it was everything Lois Lane needed, and more.