They Begin To Produce Milk

Lois Lane could feel something was different, though she did not know what. Her breasts tingled a little, her nipples ached where the seeds had gone in. They felt a little firmer, a little more sensitive, as fluid flowed in around the tiny wounds. Yet what she could not feel yet was the seeds unleash their tiny payload. Retroviruses that attacked her milk glands, to alter their chemical machinery on a genetic level. To insert plant genes as to what, exactly, they would produce.

It was a dance amino acids and proteins, cell walls violated, lactation glands subtly repurposed. As the hulls of the seeds rapidly dissolved, they unleashed a different payload. Biochemical triggers normally associated with pregnancy. That triggered the body to shift resources to that same, now-altered milk-making machinery. A natural but irrevocable process that would lead to a darkening and swelling of the nipples, additional fatty tissue in the breasts, larger and more active glands.

The reporter could not know it, as the green fingers pressed against her tits, but she was about to lactate. Yet not like any normal pregnant woman. Not like some cow out in a field. No, the white fluid which would soon build up inside of her breasts, which would be tender and achy, swollen until none of her bras fit, and finally leaky and inexhaustible...would be soy milk. Heavy in a particularly potent form of phytoestrogen, that had been the subject of Poison Ivy's research.

Yet all of that would not be apparent to Lois on her night out. She simply moaned as her nipples ached, and deep inside her small tits tingled. Ivy smiled as Lois had her first nipplegasm, the overly-sensitive teats like twin pleasure buttons wired straight into the reporter's brain. The villain grinned as she knew that her plan had already begun to work. In a few weeks, she would see the result...but the question that faced Ivy now was what to do with Lois Lane.

Should I send her home, to await the success of this experiment? Ivy wondered. Or should I keep her here, and have a bit more fun? Decisions, decisions...

Lois Lane, putty in Poison Ivy's hands, could do nothing except moan. She leaned against the villain who continued to tease her supersensitive nipples with constant stimulation. Her brain felt like mush, and at that moment she would have done anything Ivy asked or ordered.