End: They Were Not Followed. Lois Lane Is At The Mercy of Cheetah.

Vampires, being predators, were wary. They soon moved on, to other feeding grounds. Lois Lane had left notice where she was spending her night out. It would be days before she was missed, a week or more before any friend or alley might retrace her steps. Even the world's greatest detective could not check every underground tunnel in Metropolis, and there were so many miles of lead pipe beneath the city that even X-ray vision could not penetrate Cheetah's lair.

There were the thoughts that ran through Lois Lane's mind as Cheetah secured her to the exam table. As Lois Lane's canine teeth grew, to bite into the ball gag the cat-woman had pressed into her mouth. As the soft downy hair that covered the reporter's body was replaced by a matte of midnight-black fur. Massive amounts of protein now made up a substantial part of the former reporter's diet, and her slim frame began to thicken and bulk up with muscle. Not enough to break free...not yet...

Of course, Cheetah made sure to record Lois Lane's transformation. Photographs. Measurements. Blood samples.

Taste tests.

The reporter screamed against her gag and arched her back, every muscle in her body taut as the cat-woman's tongue lapped at the puffy, furry mons. A mindless heat raged through the reporter, stronger even then the hunger that assailed her. Lois Lane's ears could hear the pitter-patter of rats in the sewers above, and she lusted for their blood. She could smell the wet fur between Cheetah's legs, the cat-woman in heat, and the reporter wished to bury her face in that furry muff. The bones of her face ached as they began to shift into a short muzzle.

Languidly, intoxicated by her flavor, Cheetah lapped at the juicy slit. The scientist in her recognized that her interest in the reporter was more than academic. Logically, she hypothesized that this was some permutation of the natural aura of attraction that vampires could project, perhaps coupled with the animal magnetism of the hybrid feline form. Cheetah even surmised that she might be uniquely susceptible to these effects, since it was her serum that mixed with the vampire bite, to rewrite the reporter's genetic code.

Not that Cheetah cared. To her, Lois Lane was like cat nip. An hour of pussy polishing would send the cat-woman into an ecstatic high that could last for the afternoon. It was not long before Cheetah knew she was addicted...and her efforts to analyze the reporter's anatomy became more fervent, with an edge of panic.

Because Cheetah wasn't sure how long she could live without Lois Lane's cunt...and the transformed reporter grew stronger and hungrier every day. Soon enough, Cheetah wouldn't be able to keep her caged here. What would happen then? What would Lois Lane do when she burst her bonds, horny and drunk on her own power?

Cheetah didn't know...but it made her cunny dribble to think about being the first to fall beneath Lois Lane's long tongue.