Get A Drink At The Bar

Lois staggered stiff-legged to the bar, her seven-inch demonic dick straining against the waistband of her pants. She tried not to look at the topless dancers shaking their massive hooter...and instead had to dodge a crowd of horny drunks and big-breasted waitresses whose tassels, pasties, and nipple-shields barely covered their own fat tits.

There she was in big tit heaven, unexpected instincts awakened as her eyes seemed to catch on ever hint of pink areola, even smooth expanse of pendulous breast-flesh, the shake and sway and bounce of all-nature breasts, the smallest of which would give Wonder Woman a run for her money, and the largest of which outshown Power Girl by a fair margin, into territory that Lois had only ever considered for obese women and outlandish breast implants.

Is this me? Lois wondered as she bellied up to the bar. Have I always had a breast fetish, and am only now realizing it? Or is this something from the demon whose cock I have attached to me?

Questions with no answers. The bartender, a tired-looking woman with a series of small piercings through the skin over her sternum. Her breasts were among the smallest in the bar—big enough to give her back pain, but small enough she could still probably by a bra off the rack. Like full, round oranges, the small pink nipples pierced with heavy golden rings, which shook back and forth...

"I said, what did you want?" The bartender shouted.

Lois blushed, caught staring at the hypnotic tits. She **** her face up to look the bartender in the eye.

"Can I get a screaming orgasm?" The reporter asked.

The bartender nodded, and went out to mix the cocktail. Lois closed her eyes and counted to ten, trying to clear her mind.

Mind over matter, Lane, Lois told herself. Get a grip! Something demonic is happening, the women dancing on stage did not have breasts that big two weeks ago. Need to find this Blaze and... She stopped, not sure she wanted to follow that line of thought just yet.

The bartender sat the glass with the milky cocktail before her. Lois fished out her wallet and laid down some money. She raised the creamy drink to her lips. **** burned in her mouth, but there was something off about it. A little too salty, too sticky. Clumps of something caught on her tongue and back teeth. But as she drank, Lois could feel her body relaxing, the sudden rush of booze helping to take the edge off.

The reporter was debating whether to order another, surprisingly still thirsty...when a soft brown mass was laid on her arm.

Lois looked down at the pale tanned breast that rested on her forearm. If it had been contained in a bra, the reporter had no doubt it would have made a sphere bigger than her head. As it was, the soft tit should have hung down to the owner's navel.

"Oh, excuse me!" Lois looked up into a pair of familiar hazel eyes. She automatically recognized Mara de la Cruz, the fourth and final of the missing women. She sat on a stool next to Lois, her left breast propped up on the bar, her right one having landed on the reporter's arm.

"Not a problem," the dickgirl reporter managed.

"I heard you ordered a screaming orgasm," Mara said, not moving an inch. The reporter's mouth was now very dry. "I wouldn't mind one of those myself."

A hand slid onto the reporter's thigh.

"Say, eighty bucks?" Mara pressed, her hand sliding up the reporter's thigh, dangerously close to her cock.