End: Messily

There was a messy splurt as the young Asian woman gave a soft, desolate moo. Lois Lane scowled as cunt-juice splashed on her arm...and the scowl deepened as the milky tits flopped against the reporter's bare shoulder, to send streams of white run-off down the reporter's body. Tonya Wong was dead weight, and leaked fore and aft...and Lois Lane held her in a fireman's carry as she gently slid out of the theatre, to leave the other three women behind, at least for the moment.

In the corridor, Lois staggered under her semi-conscious load. Warm milk dripped down the left side of her body, pussy-juice down her right. Every step caused Lois to bump Tonya's tits, and that little stimulation made the hypnotized hucow shudder and moan.

Still, at least the coast was clear. Lois wasn't sure what her plan would be if she ran into an actual guard...although she had a brief, vivid daydream of squeezing one of the fat tits that hung on her left shoulder at anyone that got too close. Still, this deep into the facility, security seemed a bit lax...no doubt because they expected the human cows to be brainless, ditzy milking machines.

A fate that had almost overtaken Lois Lane, the reporter noted, as she felt her own expanded bosom sway heavily. She could feel the added weight of her new tits on her back and shoulders, and Tonya Wong's warm, soft weight was enough to make her stagger down the hallway. Lois knew she needed a way out, or if not a way to escape than at least...

The reporter grinned as she saw the elevator.

The button only went one-way—down—but it wasn't transportation that Lois was interested in, exactly. It was the telephone. Every elevator traveling a certain distance had to have a hands-free telephone installed inside it. And since this was an illegal operation, Lois doubted that they had a security desk on-site to answer calls. That meant that it should go straight to the local 911 system...

The elevator was old. The doors shook as they opened...but, to the reporter's relief, the phone was there. She gently laid the naked hucow with her leaking milkers down and stabbed the call button...there was a buzz, a puff of dust, and then...

"911, what is the nature of your emergency?"

Sirens rang on the streets. The Metropolis Police Department descended on the club. Metahuman-generating human trafficking operations will create those kinds of reactions. Costumed heroes led the way past the security...Lois Lane saw the familiar red capes of Superman and Supergirl, the Guardian with his golden shield, and what might have been members of the Justice League. The Fire Department had found Lois first, as she kept on the line, and she had one of their blankets wrapped around her as she directed cops and heroes to where the other hucows were being milked.

Of the ringleaders of the operation, there was no sign. Maria was led out in handcuffs, but none of the people who she worked for. Lois was disappointed, but then she supposed villains had a way of escaping. There was the slim hope that Maria might confess something to incriminate them...but the reporter wasn't counting on it.

"Next time," she promised to herself. Her new breasts ached, and she knew that she should get to the hospital to get checked out...she was up on the street, just a moment after the last of the superheroes had flown off, when a familiar face appeared.

Clark Kent smiled at her...and bless his impeccable jawline, he had coffee.

"I heard you were down here," he said with a white-toothed smile. "And though you could use some."

"Smallville, you're a lifesaver," Lois said as she struggled to reshuffle her hold on the blanket to grab a cup. She didn't quite make it...and one hefty tit hung there exposed. For the first time, Lois noticed the milky drops that beaded the nipple, and realized exactly why her breasts were so sore.

"Let me...help you with that," Clark said, as he reached over and pulled up the blanket to cover Lois. There was a strange **** to how he did it...and the naked reporter smiled as she sipped her coffee. Maybe it was some residual hypnotic effect, but wicked thoughts suddenly came to mind.

"Clark...you grew up on a farm, right?" she asked.

"Yes," he said.

"Milked a lot of cows?"

"Every day for sixteen years, until I went off to university."

"I, uh...know this is an unusual situation," Lois said. "But I find myself in need of someone with your expertise."

When Lois Lane had started out on her night out, she had never pictured herself at the end of the night bent over the sink in her own bathroom, as Clark Kent's strong hands squeezed the milk from her swollen udders while his thick, condom-clad cock scraped her tight twat. It had turned out that getting him to milk her was the easy part...the hard part had been to get him to scratch her other itch.

It was an itch that needed scratching badly. Lois Lane groaned as a stream of hot juice splattered her floor. She hadn't been a squirter before tonight's treatment, but now it seemed every single climax she had, big or small, was absolutely messy...

...and Clark Kent, who drew himself into her like he wanted to breed her right then and there, loved absolutely every minute of it.

Perhaps that was the night that everything changed for the two of them. No longer just co-workers, but lovers...and perhaps, in time, something more. Lois liked to think that...but then Clark's hands would circle her swollen tits again, and his thumbs would press down on top as he pulled them away from Lois Lane's body, and the hot white milk would spurt out...

It was all she could do not to give an appreciative moo.