The Women's Restroom

Lois Lane squeeze through the crowd of the bar, dodging waitresses and young college students staggering off the dance floor. She could feel eyes on her, shirt too tight, and did her best not to meet anybody's eye as she plunged into the women's restroom.

The stalls were occupied, but there was nobody at the sinks, so Lois stepped up...and lifted her shirt.

Her breasts were spilling out of the top of her bra. No longer the demure, shapely half-tear-drop B-cups that the reporter had been graced with since puberty. These were bigger, softer, with a hint of sag in that 70s Playboy playmate kind of way, overloading her poor black lacy bra. Scarcely believing her eyes, Lois unclasped the bra, letting her tits fly free...and noted the dark barbells that now pierced each nipple.

Exactly like the bartender's.

It must be the spell, Lois realized. It must react to my desires.

"Nice piercings," a female voice behind her.

Lois stared in the mirror at the person it belonged to, a woman just coming out of one of the stalls. Dark hair, pale skin, corpsepaint makeup, pure early 20's Goth. Just thick enough to have some curves, which she showed off in tight black cut-off jeans which didn't quite contain her ass, fishnets covering her long arms and legs right down to the black trainers and fingerless gloves. A ragged black t-shirt advertising a **** metal band Lois had never heard of contained a bust that was, Lois was glad to see, smaller than her current pair.

"Thanks," the reporter said, lowering her shirt, not bothering with the bra. "They're new."

"I just got a new piercing too," the woman said, walking up to the sink. "Want to see it?"

Not sure what else to say, Lois said "Sure."