Epilogue: Breast Friends

Lois had taken two weeks off when she came home from the hospital. The doctor had gone in through her armpits, and inserted the implants under the muscle. There had been some bruising and discomfort, though not as much as the reporter had imagined. She'd thought that she would come out with her chest wrapped in bandages, but that hadn't been the case.

Blaze had sat with her throughout the procedure. No one asked why she was there, nor had Angelica herself asked. She simply walked in next to Lois, and stayed with her throughout. When the surgery was over, it was Angie that took her the pharmacy, still a little drowsy from the pain meds, to fill her prescription. It was Angie that had brought Lois home and tucked her into bed.

And it was Angie who Lois saw, at midnight, walk over to the bed and pull the sheet down, to stare at the new hills on the reporter's breasts.

400cc isn't massive, but considering how little Lois had to work with to start with, and her overall slim figure, the effect was dramatic. Her breasts rose from her chest, high and tight, not sagging down on either side of her sternum as they would have done before. The dickgirl stared at them for a long time.

Lois didn't say anything. After all, Blaze had paid for them.

For the whole week, Lois stayed inside, and she stayed topless. The bruises under her arms turned an ugly blue-black. Exercise was very limited, under the doctor's orders. Lois had some five-pound barbells, and moved slowly through a few yoga routines, wincing as the weight on her chest shifted, getting used to the new balance.

Getting used to the new me. Lois thought, as she caught sight of herself in the mirror.

Blaze did everything for her. Made coffee and meals, measured out her meds and watched Lois take them. Once a day she would announce it was time for a bath, and Lois would dutifully slip out of her pajama bottoms and panties and sit in the shower, so that Angie could come and rub her down with a wet, spongy loofah—sliding them gently in between the reporter's new tits, up under the arms, down between her legs to make the clit piercing jingle.

Lois liked the baths. Angie always started by taking off the reporter's collar...wiping the wet sponge around the reporter's neck—and when it came time to dry her off, Lois could feel the strength of Angie's fingers caress her throat, like a farmer deciding whether or not to snap the neck of a chicken—and then the collar would snap back into place. Where it belonged.

The days and nights bled into each other. Until one night, after the bruises under her arms had become ringed with ugly yellow, Lois woke once again. She couldn't move, in that strange paralysis that sometimes comes when one wakes suddenly, pulse pounding in her ears.

Blaze had pulled back the sheets again, until they were folded just below her breasts. Not touching them. But standing over Lois...and now, now the shadow of her cock fell across Lois Lane's new tits in the moonlight, and Angie was stroking herself off, thumb running over the head, then grasping the cock right behind the glans and shuffling her fingers up and down, up and down. Those dark eyes fixed on the reporter's mounds...and Lois couldn't move, not an inch, her nipples so hard they ached as she watched her mistress jerk off over her breasts...her big, beautiful new breasts...

Lois never heard her cum. But she felt the hot wet drops land on her taut skin, like wax dripping from a candle. Blaze angled her stiff prick downward, leaning over Lois as she spattered the reporter, her gaze oddly focused...and when she was done, the dickgirl stared down at her own handiwork.

The busty reporter couldn't move...and decided not to. She closed her eyes, and eventually drifted off, as Blaze's cum dried over her mounds.

It was only in the morning, when Lois rose and stared in the mirror, that she recognized in the flaking jism, what Angie had been doing. It was crude, distorted, and it had dripped down the valley of her hills, but Lois could still make it out fairly clearly.

Blaze had drawn an S-shield on her tits, in her own cum.

"You're healing well," the dickgirl said from the kitchen. "I think you'll be fit to go back to work next week."