They Turned Into Potato-Women

A crash interrupted Ivy's goons. Aimee's tongue froze in the act of sucking on Lois Lane's clit, and the others turned to stare at something behind the bound and naked reporter's head.

"Shit!" Mac said. "The sput-sluts are loose!"

"What do we do?" Aimee said, as Lois Lane's cunt-juice dripped from her chin.

"Run, bitch!" Jorge said...and he led the retreat.

"What about her?" Aimee said. "If Ivy finds out..."

"Ivy can grow another fucking potato! Move!" Mac said.

There was a beating of feet. A slamming and locking of doors...and then Lois Lane was alone, tied to the table, a spud crammed up her pussy...and something crept forward. Lois could hear the soft thud of bare feet. The crash as things were knocked over carelessly. Yet not a word of human sound, not a whisper or a moan, or...

The first of the potato-women loomed over Lois.

It might have been a pretty face, once. There were wisps of fine blonde hair still, now dirty and unkempt...but the face and body were lumpy, deformed. One small breast was pert and perfect, the other was swollen, sagging, graying, and with a distinctly bumpy and hard appearance, the nipple replaced by a sunken dark eye...and the reporter barely held in her scream as she recognized the smell that hovered around this being like an aura.

It was the rank smell of a potato that has gone bad.

A twisted, sagging mouth drooled a black spittle that dripped onto the table near Lois Lane's shoulder. The dead eye stared at Lois as if not able to even register she was there. She swayed in place...and as the drunken and **** reporter did her best not to move, other of the potato-women wandered into her line of sight. Four in all, stumbling about, the stench from their rotting and malformed bodies hideous to bear...

...and Lois Lane wondered if what had happened to the missing women would happen to her, when Ivy's control spud's roots had dug their way into her body.