Lois Ceases Fellating the Faucet

Instinct made Lois Lane disengage, sliding off the faucet as quickly as she dared, even as the liquid continued to pour into her stomach, for fear of breaking her teeth. A salty splash coated her tongue as she finally pulled herself off, and the front of her shirt was soaked with it...yet even now, feeling her stomach sloshing and somewhat nauseous, Lois couldn't bring herself to cough or ****.

"Great Caesar's ghost," she muttered as she stared down at her white shirt, now painted against her chest, the bra clearly outlined, nipples hard from the cold water...and whatever was in it...

Downstairs

Brainiac grunted in frustration as he cut the feed. The reporter's premature withdrawal had made him waste some of his own personal nanite reservoir.

"Additional payload interrupted," one of the drones intoned, uselessly.

"I am aware," Brainiac said, as he reached down to his crotch and manually disengaged the hose. "Did any of it make it into her body?"

"Affirmative. Infection via stomach lining proceeding. Approximately six hours to stage two." One of the drones said, voice flat and emotionless.

Brainiac wasn't even listening. Lois had zippered her jacket up over her breasts and was heading out of the bathroom. If she moved out of the building...

A thought occurred to him.

"The nanites on her skin—are they still active?" He said. Without waiting for an order, he issued a command. "Order those nanites to begin secondary infection protocol."

"Secondary infection protocol engaged," one of the mindless drones repeated...and Brainiac steepled his fingers, calculating probabilities, monitoring the flow of wireless signals coming from the reporter's body.

In the Club

Lois Lane emerged from the bathroom feeling worse than when she had went in. Her body shook as though from a touch of fever, eyes hot. The bright dazzling lights playing about the dance floor and the pounding music, the bass beat that she could feel through the floor and up her heels, was not what she needed right now...not when she felt bloated, almost sloshing side to side.

She looked around at the young, unfamiliar faces of the college-age crowd. Here she was, zipped up in her jacket, feeling older than she looked...out of step...and Lois Lane didn't know who had slipped something into her drink or what it was doing to her. Logically, she knew she should escape...maybe seek medical attention...

...and then she felt something happening to her breasts.