Around Midnight, Lois Wakes Up Still In The Chair

The room was dark. The distant thump of the club music boomed through the walls. Lois Lane woke like a cat, giving no external sign of being awake but coming into all of her senses at once. Nostrils flared as she breathed in the reek of sweat, body odor, and sick—and then realized a moment later she was the source of it. Her body felt gummy; she had perspired freely, and then the sweat had dried in place, oozing into sweaty pockets at elbow and back of knee, armpit and groin. There was a weird chemical taste in her mouth, like a mutant turtle had climbed in there and died...but that wasn't what caught the reporter's attention.

Her pussy ached. Lois Lane had sometimes been sore after a particularly thorough visit to the gynecologist visit, but this felt like something else. Her whole pelvis felt swollen, stiff, throbbing and pulsing. Deep inside, her poor cervix was a tight ball of pain, like the worst menstrual cramps she'd ever experienced...and beyond that, there was the itchy, swampy feel to her pussy, as though a pint of molasses were slowly flowing out of her battered and bruised birth canal. She could actually feel the thick, viscous drop hanging off the lower lip, and an instinctive effort to squeeze her pussy to hurry it along only resulted in a moment of such blinding pain that Lois couldn't think, couldn't even breathe.

Yet as the reporter recovered from that, breathing slowly and calmly, pretending to still be **** in the chair, her mind swiftly reached out with her other senses. There was no sound of anyone else in the room with her. No bonds on wrist and ankle, though there were tubes in both arms, feeding her saline and God only knew what other ****. Yet to the reporter's surprise, her mind felt clear. There was none of that dazed lust which had made her putty in Poison Ivy's hands.

With exaggerated care, Lois raised her right leg and dew it out of the stirrup. Muscles strained in her thighs, and her aching crotch felt it. Lois knew that some women were able to walk right away after birth, but the medical **** of her insemination had obviously done much more damage.

As she lowered her left leg from the stirrup, the reporter dared to open her eyes to slits. The room was not completely dark: light filtered in beneath one door, which judging by the music that seeped through must have led to the club. There was another door behind her, light streaming in from beneath it, and Lois didn't know where that went or if it was even unlocked.

Unsteadily, trying to make as little noise as possible, the reporter sat up and pulled the IVs out of her veins. They had been secured with tape, and Lois knew the blood would run, but there was nothing to do about that right now. With care, the reporter slid herself to the edge of the chair, and then leaned forward to stand up...

...and encountered an unexpected obstacle: her stomach.