Epilogue: Big Butch Girlfriend

Lois Lane awoke, as she had more most of the past week, in the arms of another.

Diesel's biceps were twice as big as the reporter's own. Her big hands cupped the reporter's soft, swollen breasts even in her sleep. That hard body curled against Lois in the dark, her face buried in the reporter's hair.

The reporter lay awake, her eyes adjusted to the darkness. Across from the bed she could see the shrine she had set up, from the instructions in the book. Her little experiments had born fruit, and she had regained most of her old body...but Diesel had been determined that Lois would keep the tits, and the tattoos...and Lois hadn't been able to say no to that.

Hadn't even wanted to.

The sound of Diesel's breathing changed. There was still an hour before Lois had to get up, and before her night out the Daily Planet's best reporter would simply get up and put on a pot of coffee, determined to get an early start on the day...but now...

One big hand slid down from the reporter's tit. Over the flat plane of the stomach which was harder and firmer than befoer, because Diesel insisted that all of her bitches be fit and trim, and their work-outs often got hot and heavy...down over the bandage that covered Lois Lane's new tattoo, a winged heart with their initials in it...and there was no pubic hair because Diesel liked her shaved, nothing in the woman's way as she cupped her girlfriend's mons and squeezed.

Lois gave off a soft moan as Diesel's lips kissed her shoulder. She understood, really, that Lois had a job to do. That she couldn't be exactly as she had appeared that first night together. Yet she was also very, very insistent that that first hour in the morning was her time with her little fucktoy...and Lois Lane loved that in a way she had never thought she would.

The way the big, strong fingers kneaded her squishy cunny.

How they groped at her tits.

How strong and utterly helpless she felt in those big arms as Diesel played her body like an instrument. That first hour of the day, whatever it took, Lois Lane knew her girlfriend wouldn't stop until she came.

Sometimes it made Lois late. She didn't care.

There were men and women in the office that cared. They glowered at the reporter's new, bigger tits as they wobbled and shook in her bra. Clark Kent had been somehow colder to her, ever since she had told him about her girlfriend. Cat Grant, the homophobic bitch, treated Lois like she had a disease. Jimmy Olsen looked like he wanted to call her "mommy."

Yet none of that mattered. Every day, her study of the lore in the book deepened—and she was still smart, still had her skills as a reporter, to crosscheck things and expand her research—and she knew now that what had been going on down in that basement went much further than a few missing women. She had told Superman about it...but he had been oddly cool toward her too, unhappy and distant.

"Aaah!" Lois cried out into the darkness as her body reached a crescendo. Diesel held her close, her fingers a blur as she rubbed the reporter's clit, firm yet gentle...and Lois shook and shook and couldn't think of anything.

Until Diesel picked the limp reporter up and carried her into the shower.

The mighty lesbian held Lois by the hair as the water came on. Cold at first, but quickly warming up...and the reporter's mouth opened as Diesel brought her own hairless cleft down to hold it an inch from the reporter's face.

A pungent yellow stream splashed against the reporter's face, and Lois Lane pulled forward, to messily slobber against the shaven slit of her girlfriend's cunny. Not caring how much of the harsh yellow liquid she swallowed along the way.

Diesel, it turned out, was one of those people that liked to pee in the shower...and Lois Lane had no problems with being her toilet.