End: Right In The Tits

Lois Lane had learned to shoot with a shotgun. Her father had told her they were safer than handguns. Heavier, so you had to use both hands. Loaded with rock salt, they could blow a can off a rail fence at ten feet, sting at twenty, but nothing more than scare birds at thirty. He had emphasized that they were less lethal than bullets, not non-lethal. Salt in the eye could blind. Close enough, rock salt would cut you down to the bone, and sting like the devil. It had taught her respect when handling a weapon.

All of which flashed through the reporter's mind in a moment as Maria pulled the trigger.

Instinctively, Lois threw up her arms to protect her eyes and face. There was a crimson flash. A red cloud exploded from the barrel. Then something hit her chest, carried her right off her feet. The back of her head slammed into something hard as she landed. Her chest was on fire, a million tiny slivers of red kryptonite punched deep into the fatty tissue of her newgrown tits.

Then darkness took her.

A weight pressed on her chest. Warm and soft. Like the buttocks of a giant. A huge, film weight. Lois remembered the stories of the Salem witch trials, how they had pressed the accused to **** a confession out of them. Rocks piled up, to crush their bodies, to make each breath a laborious chore...until the next breath didn't come at all.

"More weight," Lois gasped as her eyes opened.

The back of her head ached. Clark Kent stood over her, a relieved expression on her face as she blinked, focused on him.

"Lois! Don't move too fast. You've had a concussion."

The reporter blinked. She looked around, and found herself in a hospital bed, the back of it lifted so that she sat in a slightly inclined sitting position. The paper gown or smock was tented out in front of her, and the cold metal arms of the siderails had been raised up to keep her from spilling out. Lois blinked as she stared ahead of her, not able to process exactly what she saw.

Then it clicked.

Lois raised her arms, grabbed the paper smock, and pulled it toward her neck. Her tits...and they couldn't be called just boobs or breasts now, these were huge honkin' massive mammaries... sat on her lap, each one as full and firm as the abdomen pregnant with triplets. The reporter's jaw dropped as she saw each perfect round teardrop shape, the nipples as protuberant as the popped belly button of a pregnant woman. There were no scars, no signs of the blast, but...deep inside, Lois could still feel a pins and needles tingle. Just her utterly perfect titanic titties.

"What happened?" Lois said, as the back of her head throbbed. There was a bandage there. The events of the night were a hole in her memory. She had walked into the club, and then...nothing.

"You, um, you were shot with red kryptonite," Clark said, as he carefully looked away. "You're at S.T.A.R. Labs. Some kryptonian DNA sequences have been added to yours...some sort of retrovirus, they think. It's why you responded to it. The problem is...the shards of red kryptonite are still inside of you. Embedded in your bosom. You're still growing. It's slow down, but they don't know how to stop it, short of a mastectomy."

Lois reached forward. She could just, by extending her arms all the way, cup her nipples. An erotic thrill ran through her body so intense that she felt as if she had just wet the bed.

"Not on your life, Smallville," she breathed. "Fuck. Look at these. They're fucking perfect."

"Language, Lois," Clark gulped.

"Smallville, I have tits the size of small planets. This is...this is fantastic. I mean, I look like a freak, like I've got udders fit for a herd of cows, but I don't fucking care! Do you know how much I've regretted not having boobs? Real boobies? Great Caesar's ghost but I'm hot..."

"You're a little disoriented. The concussion..." Clark said...but then he felt her hand press against his pants.

There was a bulge there. One with real potential. The reporter grinned wickedly as she tore off the smock.

"Clark Kent, I need you to make love to me. Right now," she said.

"Lois, I can't do that, you're not in your right mind..." he said, but she already had his zipper down.

"Please, Smallville. Don't make me beg," Lois bit her lip as she fetched out his dick. The smell of it made her nipples hard, and she pushed her knees apart.

He wouldn't, of course. But he let her stroke his cock. Let her lick the tip. Let her jerk that hard shaft with both hands until the swollen purple peckerhead pulsed and shot gooey ropes of jizz onto her swollen udders.

Maybe Clark Kent was right. Maybe it was a side effect of the concussion, or the red kryptonite that made her already massive mammaries slowly grow bigger and bigger. All Lois Lane knew, as the hot sticky rain erupted all over her juggs, was that her night out might just have been the best night of her life...and now that she had a taste of Clark Kent, she wanted more. A lot more.

Yet what happened next, and how it affected their relationship, is a different story.