End: Mercy Graves Personally Uses Lois Lane's Swollen Breasts As A Punching Bag

It must have been the blood trapped in her bloated, oversized tits that made Lois Lane feel weak and dizzy as Mercy Graves entered. The reporter didn't fight as the manacles were released from the floor, so eager was she to feel some relief in her basketball-sized tits, now globular and swollen so taut that the skin seemed shiny. That was why Lois was unprepared as Mercy ruthlessly and efficiently hog-tied the reporter.

Chest-down on the floor, Lois almost screamed as her body weight rested on her engorged breasts, which still burned where the manacles had clapped so tight around them. Then there was the whirr of a motor. Lois shook her head and caught sight of the hook that descended from the ceiling. Watched Mercy, the strong, toned body clad only in boyshorts, wifebeater, and sneakers as she ran the hook through the reporter's bonds. Felt an instant of relief as the hook rose into the air, and dragged Lois with it.

For one glorious moment, the weight was off of Lois Lane's breasts, and the globular funbags hung free. Lois Lane couldn't help but utter a small sigh of relief, as she was raised about six feet off the floor.

Then she saw that Mercy Grave's hands were taped. She saw the five-ounce boxing gloves that Lex Luthor's brutal bodyguard slipped onto her hands and cinched tight. The reporter saw too, the stiff nipples that poked out of Mercy's white sleeveless shirt as she approached the dangling reporter with purpose. The terrible cruel grin that the mousy-haired woman could not keep off her face as she shrugged her shoulders and shadowboxed for a moment, ducking and weaving as she warmed up throwing jabs at imaginary enemies.

Lois Lane quivered as the bodyguard turned her whole attention to the reporter, who hung suspended like an obscene pinata.

"Fucking perfect," Mercy murmurred in appreciation. Then with blinding speed and outstanding form, her left hand shot forward in a jab that would have made Mohammed Ali's eye wet with tears.

Pain exploded in Lois Lane's right breast. The momentum of the punch made her flopping, swollen tit strike the reporter's torso and wobble back and forth like a speed bag. A savage light came into Mercy's eyes and she began to move, circling the reporter who hung helpless and undefended. Punch after punch slammed into the reporter's head-sized tits, and the blows rained with all the practiced fury of a striker. Lois Lane screamed in pain as punch after punch pummeled her huge, sensitive tits, that slapped and stretched. Her shoulders and chest ached as the weighty punchbags swung back and forth with terrible alacrity, but Mercy didn't relent.

Eventually, the reporter ran out of screams. She could barely whimper against the constant teat-****. Sweat poured down Mercy Graves' sides, made the white t-shirt stick to her own small breasts, lent definition to the muscles in her bare arms and legs. The pain became something all-encompassing to Lois Lane. Every part of her tits was battered and bruised, swollen and aching, the huge head-sized tits a vivid purple color as they continued to slowly swell, now pockmarked with deep blues and blacks from the damage that Mercy's fists had caused.

Sweat dripped from the reporter's hard, swollen nipples, and she mewled like an animal. Each blow that hit her now seemed to ring through her entire body. Yet that wasn't the worst of it.

As Mercy Graves began to tire, her breath coming in ragged gasps as she finished her set, she dropped the speed of her ****. Now, every punch that landed on the reporter's massive milkbags had the full weight of the bodyguard's small, compact frame behind it. Every blow made the reporter's super-sensitive tits send a shockwave of pleasure mingled with pain through her body. Lois Lane wasn't sure when she began to gasp, when her face flushed, or her trapped limbs began to cover. All she knew was that at one point Mercy shifted her stance and let loose with a devastating uppercut that caught the reporter straight in the nipple and threatened to turn her breast inside out, and an awful and uncontrollable wave shot through the reporter's body that made her neglected pussy squirt and dribble onto the floor.

The cruel boxer grinned and panted as Lois began to spin, helplessly suspended, sobbing quietly as the aftershocks of her unexpected climax rocked her body.

"This is it for tonight, Lane," Mercy Graves said. "But get used to it. This is your life now. Mister Luthor has plans for you. Wants to see how big we can get you. By the time he's done, you're going to be more tit than woman! And the best part?"

Mercy grabbed the reporter's head with both gloved hands to stop her from spinning, and looked in the reporter's eyes.

"When he's done, he's going to give you to me. You're going to be my punching-bag-bitch for the rest of your miserable life."

The kiss, when it came, was utterly unexpected. As swift as one of Mercy's jabs. The bodyguard planted her lips against the reporter's and backed off before Lois could even think of biting her or anything else.

They left her like that, for the night. Suspended in mid-air. The bruises on her huge, pillowy tits turning yellow and red around the edges. Every stray breeze that struck the jiggling juggs made the naked reporter shiver with pain...and she cursed herself, for the decisions she had made on her night out that had led her to this fate. Yet Lois Lane could not know how things might have turned out differently. This was where her choices had led her...and this is where the story of her night out would end.