Epilogue: Overproduction

"Lois—you're, um..."

Clark Kent was blushing. Lois Lane didn't even need to look down to see the wet circles on her blouse. Again.

"Thanks, Smallville," she said, pushing herself away from the desk and grabbing her bag. "Be back in a minute."

Ten weeks. Most women didn't begin producing milk until they were half-way through a pregnancy. Lois Lane's belly was barely showing yet, but she had noticed the puffy nipples and soreness before she'd even taken her first pregnancy test. By the end of her first month, she'd outgrown all of her bras...and showed no sign of stopping.

The reporter felt her fellow employees eyes on her as she made her way to the restroom. There wasn't much she could do to hide it, and none of them dared to meet her eyes, much less say anything about it. She'd ceased being embarrassed about "leaking" at work three weeks ago. Now she was just pissed.

Lois Lane headed into the "family" restroom, which was small and, most importantly, had a lock on the door. Once safely alone, the reporter turned to face the mirror and survey the damage.

Today she had worn the last and largest of her bras—the only 32 C-cup she owned—and had put on a simple white button-down over it, with a black jacket that she could no longer button over her growing milkbags. Staring into the mirror, she could see that the middle button of the white shirt was hanging on for dear life. Wet circles outlined her nipples, and the bulging breast-flesh was threatening to overflow the cups.

The reporter slid off her coat and took it off. Unbuttoned the blouse and set in the sink, turned on the water to rinse it out, then hung it up over the hand-dryer.

It was worse than she thought.

The black elastic of the bra was digging into her tits. It was hard for Lois to remember back when her breasts had been pert palmfuls, mere half-tear-drop shapes with small, pink nipples and areolae. Now, as she undid the brassiere to let her "girls" hang free, it was like a titsploison. Her breasts sagged, but they also jutted; the once-flat areolae now stood out puffy nearly an inch, ringed with the prominent bumps of leaking milk ducts, and the nipples that had been like pencil erasers were now the size of her pink fingers. Ugly red lines showed where the bra had been cutting into the skin, and Lois gave a little shake and reached up to massage her underboobs.

"Definitely time for new bras," Lois told herself, before closing her eyes and relaxing into the massage. She'd been **** to read more about bras and breast-care in the last month than in her entire life. Wearing a bra too small was bad for your health, could break the skin, sweat and grime could get in and cause abscesses.

The reporter moved her hands up, thumbs running across the top of her tits, or as near as she could manage, and squeezed and pulled away from her...

A shiver went up her spine and her pussy clamped tight as the golden milk dripped and dribbled out faster from her leaking tits. She was so sensitive nowadays that even the tiniest sensation would make her nipples get erect, and milking...

There was a discrete knock at the door.

"Occupied," Lois said, trying to keep the moan out of her voice as she bent over the sink, squeezing her milk.

They knocked again. A distinct "Shave and a hair-cut..." that Lois recognized.

"Fuck," she whispered as she covered her breasts with one hand, and with the other, unlocked the door. Somehow she always knew...

Angelica Blaze slid into the bathroom, all black jeans and black t-shirt and black leather jacket. She closed the door behind her.

"Hey mommy," she said. "Hmm, you look bigger than this morning."

"Don't say that," Lois hissed in a whisper. "Just...just fucking do it, damn you. This is all your fault, anyway."

Without further invitation, Blaze slid around behind Lois. Thumbs hooked into the unused belt-loops of the reporter's pants and pulled them down; the panties came next. Lois was gripping the sink with both hands, letting her milkers hang free as she heard the zipper descend on Blaze's jeans.

The cock slid into the reporter's cunny, wet and hot and ready to go. Blaze's warm hands slid around the reporter's breasts, squeezing tightly, forcing the milk out in small high-pressure sprays. Pump and squeeze, pump and squeeze... Angelica's tongue ran up the back of the reporter's neck, and she couldn't stifle the moan.

"Sweetmeat...have you thought about my little proposition?"

"I'm...not...working at your milk bar!" Lois said defiantly.

"No, not that one...the other one," Angelica murmured as she pushed her cock in deep. "You don't want the baby to be born a bastard, do you?"

Lois Lane stared at herself in the mirror. She couldn't even see her nipples, just the pale breasts hanging from her chest like a pair of udders. Blaze's chin on her shoulder, the dickgirl's cock buried deep in her cunt...just like that night when the baby had been conceived.

"I'm thinking about it," Lois said, a little sick to her stomach as she looked down and saw the golden-yellow milk pooling at the bottom of the sink. If there was this much already...what would it be like once she gave birth and her milk really came in?