End: When They Touch The Ground

"Oh...do your tits hang low?

Do they wobble to and fro,

Can you tie them in a knot?

Can you tie them in a bow?

Can you throw them over your shoulder,

Like a regimental soldier?

Oh do your tits...hang...lowwww..."

Lois Lane was standing straight now. Head hanging down. Tears dripping down her chin as she stared at the floor. Circe danced and whirled around her, singing drunkenly her perverted children's song.

The weights were resting on the floor. The holes in Lois Lane's nipples were hoops, an inch in diameter, and touched the damp sand. The skinny tubes of bronzed flesh hanging from the reporter's chest reached all the way to her ankles, the tanned skin criss-crossed with lurid black tattoos. Tears dripped down on the dark flesh as Lois looked at the utter ruin that was her tits, hanging down past the brand above her mons, the heavy rings stretching her labia.

They hadn't been much, her breasts. Bare palmfuls, never anything for anyone to be proud of. But they had been hers, and they had been shapely and firm, sitting high on her chest, two perfect half tear-drops with prominent pink nipples. Now...now she was a freak. If stretched out in front of her, the reporter's skinny, flat breasts would be easily four feet long.

I could throw them over my shoulder, Lois thought bitterly. Or wrap them around my waist, or tie them in a knot.

Circe knelt down at the reporter's feet and undid the weights from the great golden hoops that pierced her overstretched nipples. The sorceress stood up, still holding the tits, squeezing them in her hands. The reporter grimaced, nausea rising in her guts as the hazel-eyed witch flapped her arms, making the breasts shake and shimmy as if doing cardio with ropes, each whip-like movement tugging painfully at the reporter's pectoral muscles...and then, with a laugh, the sorceress took one elongated titty and rubbed it between her legs, smearing her juices along its length.

"Branded...pierced...tattooed...tanned...and now your titties stretched out to ridiculous lengths," Circe said. "Thank you, Lois, for a wonderful night's entertainment. You may go now."

She snapped her fingers...and Lois Lane shook herself, as if waking up. Stared around herself...and she was no longer on a beach, but in a small supply closet. There was no sand, no sun, no surf, and no Circe. Only her ridiculously stretched breasts, her tanned skin and lewd tattoos, the heavy piercings that clinked with every movement...and, folded neatly on the floor, her clothes from earlier in the evening.

Minus the bra, of course. There was no way that would fit her.

Hurriedly, Lois Lane dressed as best she could. Her panties bulged around her labia piercings. The pants and shirt did not quite hide all of her new tattoos. Her breasts she had to wrap around her waist, and zip her jacket up to hide them. All though of rescuing the missing women was gone from Lois Lane's mind, as she left the closet. She had enough adventure and humiliation for one night out...and already she was hoping beyond hope that one of her superhero contacts would be able to get her back to something like her old form.