Show Me

Angelica Blaze took Lois Lane by the shoulder, the warm plump breast pressing against the reporter's arm as she guided her away from the four dickgirls in the milking chamber, through an open doorway into an adjoining room.

Most of the room was taken up by equipment—tubes and pipes, stainless steel tanks and small, humming motors. There was also a small set-up like a bar, all glassware and decanters, but every single one of the decanters was filled with white or grey liquids. Blaze fetched a small champagne flute then went over to one of the tanks, which had a spigot. She carefully measured out a cloudy white liquid like watered milk.

She offered the glass to the reporter.

"Still thirsty?"

Lois took the glass, wary of a trap. She waved it under her nose, sniffing gently. It didn't smell like wine or milk...there was a faint and familiar musky reek, but that could just be the leftovers from the cum that the reporter had already swallowed. The woman swished it around...and finally thirst overrode indecision, and she tipped it up to her tongue.

Salt hit her tongue, along with some other more subtle flavors. It was warm but wet, and eased her throat as it slid down. A bit brackish, but no more so than many mineral waters. Quiet refreshing, actually.

"That's how it started with them," Blaze said. "A little mixer in the drinks upstairs. A few of the customers got a taste for it. A few of them...responded to it, in quite interesting ways. It changed them."

Angelica reached over and took the glass from Lois with a smile. "Do you feel anything different?"

The reporter blinked, taking stock of herself. It was still unreasonably warm in this room, and she was sweating...there was a little itch down below, but Lois chalked that up to perspiration, her thong panties slowly being eaten.

"No," Lois admitted. "Should I?"

Blaze laughed. "I would be very surprised. That particular sample is quite watered down. The ladies were coming here for weeks before they exhibited any sign of physical alteration. But when it became apparent that they were ready, I asked if they wanted to...facilitate the changes. They did."

The reporter processed this. Her stomach gurgled quietly, and she was wondering whether she could ask for another glass—but she tried to focus.

"What...is it?" She held the glass up to the light, looking at the slight milky film left behind. "I mean, it can't just be cum. You don't grow a dick just from sucking cock and drinking cum. Biology doesn't work that way."

Blaze took the glass from Lois Lane's hand and set it aside.

"No, it's much more...potent...than that. What you drank is what is served at the bar upstairs: the output of our friends, mixed and diluted. What made them like that...what made me like I am...is something else."

A warm hand slipped between Lois Lane's legs. Not inside her pants, but the hand was just there, suddenly cupping the reporter's crotch. Lois felt an unfamiliar heat on her genitals, and blinked, not sure how to respond to the sudden intrusion of her personal space.

"It's in the next room," Blaze whispered. "My treasure. You must experience it Lois Lane. You must know."

The woman in the black dress took a step backward, pulling gently at the reporter's crotch...and Lois stepped forward. Part of her wanted to run, but another, more serious part wanted to understand the mystery here. So she let herself be led through a black-curtained doorway, into Angelica Blaze's holy of holies...