Epilogue: Best Intentions

It went so well at first. Supergirl's new assets caught the attention of other heroines, and soon Lois Lane found herself laying hands on others. Healing old scars. Making little adjustments in breast and ass size. Oh sure, they were some of the fittest women in the world, but surgery-less cosmetic enhancements...where was the harm?

Plus, they gave Lois access. Moving her into hospitals so that she could regrow the skin and eyes of burn victims. Every night, Lois Lane would return home to Maria, her personal fuckdoll, and blow a load deep inside her familiar's fat, tight cunt while patting herself on the back for all the good she was doing...and it was so easy, the power moving through her so easily, sometimes Lois would just relax and let it guide her, loins burning as she shaped those delectable bodies into yet more delicious forms.

Then, one night, Lois Lane was asked to come to Arkham Asylum.

The warden met her at the door, a trim, older woman with silver hair and bags under her eyes, and walked the reporter through silent halls, her badge getting them past access points. None of the guards so much as blinked, and Lois felt the hair rise on the back of her neck as they entered the infirmary.

An athletic woman with dark hair lay strapped to a table, dressed in the orange jumpsuit of a prisoner, in a **** daze.

"Catwoman. Fractured spine," the warden said, in a voice as dry as paper. "Inoperable. She'll be paralyzed for life, unless..."

"Of course!" Lois said, and moved toward the table...but the warden caught her arm.

"This isn't the...only reason I asked you here. Arkham Asylum doesn't have a great reputation for rehabilitation of patients. Most of them don't stay here long enough to benefit from treatment," the warden said. "If you could make it so that she...finds it more difficult to leave...you might be doing more to help her."

Lois frowned. "What are you saying?"

"She currently weighs 115 pounds. If she was 215, she'd find it much more difficult to escape. We could focus on exercise and weight loss as a part of her therapy."

The reporter blinked. "You want me to make her fat?"

"It wouldn't do any permanent harm." The warden assured her. "You'd be doing her a favor. Keeping a dangerous criminal in custody where she could get real treatment for her kleptomaniac tendencies."

Lois Lane's frown deepened. Her fingers itched. It was one thing to heal Catwoman's injury...but to transform her body like that...without permission. She couldn't even consent.

The warden has given consent, the thought popped into her head. She's in authority here. She makes the rules. Go on. Do it. You know you want to.

The reporter circled around to the head of the table. Her cold fingertips touched the soft skin of Catwoman's neck. Eyes fixed on the tight, toned body in the shapeless orange jumpsuit...breathing out, Lois extended her senses as she had learned to do. Felt the cracks and fractures in the spine...and other, older injuries. It was a hard life, as a criminal. The body was hard, but brittle in places. In coming years Lois could already sense that Catwoman would experience back pain, joint pain, arthritis...if she lived that long.

I'm doing this for her own good, Lois Lane told herself as she opened the floodgate wide.

It crackled down her arms like a river of black electricity. Lois opened her mind as she drank in the **** form before her. Desire is what powered her...which helped shape the power...and Lois had to dig into her heart, to the dark fantasies which she normally repressed, ignored.

The cracked vertebrae flowed and healed together. Lesser injuries faded, scars fading to smooth skin. It was so easy, as if another hand was guiding Lois Lane's own, moving through the reporter to bring the **** woman to the pink of health...and then...

All her life, Lois had been afraid of obesity. Gaining weight. Yet she had also found herself admiring the curves of bigger women. Found a terrible fascination in women that just...let themselves go. Huge breasts and asses, soft stomachs and thunderous thighs. Creating all that mass, though, would mean pushing herself past anything she had ever tried before.

Eyes wide, Lois Lane felt herself, for the first time, strive to open the floodgate in her mind further...and her body and mind shook with the effort. In her mind's eye, she focused on what Catwoman would look like, with a hundred extra pounds.

The orange jumpsuit began to fill out. First at the belly...a little pot-belly, slowly swelling. Then the thighs grew tight inside the orange pants. The arms, as fat built up around the biceps, and Lois could almost see the bingo flaps there...Catwoman breathed, and her chest rose, the generous D-cups swelling into shapeless, sagging, massive masses of tit-flesh...the skin under the chin fell, filled out, formed a roll. Lois Lane's fingers were digging into the neck-fat now, feeling the hot, soft, pale flesh push against her...and as the reporter's heart thundered, and a rivulet of juice ran down her thighs, an image was stuck in her mind...like a great fertility statue, wide of hip, with massive belly and breasts and ass...

The taut cloth on the stomach was riding up, showing the great soft, wobbling expanse of belly, the navel a deep hole in the massive gut. The orange suit began to grow too tight, cutting into the soft skin...and then there was a rip of seams and Lois gasped in erotic delight as the morbidly obese body burst free from its confines, the huge soft breasts pushing free of the shredded prisoner's uniform, sliding to either side.

"Enough!" The warden's hand clapped on the reporter's shoulder...and it shook Lois out of her reverie.

With effort, the reporter struggled to close off the torrent of power...and by dint of effort, she managed to slow it to a trickle, Catwoman's fingers and toes filling out to fat little sausages before the reporter could break the contact completely.

In horror and fascination, Lois stepped back...and saw she had far overshot the mark.

Two hunded and fifteen pounds? The reporter stared in horror at the morbidly obese form that had once been the trim, fit Catwoman. She has to be four hundred pounds!

"S-sorry," Lois said. "Never did that before, it's so hard to control..."

"It's alright," the warden said, regaining her composure. "Is her spine fixed?"

"Yes. Completely healed. Although I doubt Catwoman will be doing anything athletic for a while."

"No," the Warden agreed. "But maybe now, she'll get the help she needs."

Lois Lane left Arkham Asylum, trying to tell herself that she had done the right thing. Yet that image kept running through her head...the orange cloth tearing as the body within grew. Orange threads snapping as the growing breasts burst through...and she could feel the desire burn between her legs. Knowing she wanted to see that again...feel that again...