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Lois Lane could feel her world narrow. Her vision seemed to dim. Heart pounding louder, more incessantly in her chest. She couldn't feel her cock any more, even though she knew it was buried in the cumdump's snatch. There was a vast, yawning emptiness inside of her, muscles aching.

Narrowly, she could see the panting, sweaty form of the slut in from of her, CUM DUMPSTER tattooed across her lower back. It got bigger, and too late Lois realized it was because she was falling toward it. Lungs burning, tongue lolling, the dickgirl felt her heart shudder...stop...miss a beat...and she hit the naked cum receptacle in front of her like a sack of dead meat.

As her eyes shut, as the insistent voice in her head changed to a blaring siren, Lois was sure she was dying. And the most horrible part was, she was still cumming. She couldn't stop. Even if she couldn't feel her cock, she could feel her hips throb and pulse in a familiar rhythm, muscles automatically contracting and releasing, spasmodically pushing sperm out of her body as fast as she could make it.

Lois faded into darkness, betrayed by her own genitalia. In her final moments, she knew that part of her was still trying to fulfill its first and most terrible purpose: to breed, to perpetuate, to seed the willing hole that it had burrowed into. Absurdly, in her final thought before the blackness of night took her, Lois thought about female bears who could give birth while hibernating. That seemed like such a time-saver...

She expected oblivion. Non-being, or at least unconsciousness. Yet something inside of her clung on. Some insistent part of her refused to go quietly into the night, intent on being. Lois could feel dim hands lifting her...occasional words filtering through the static in her ears..."Crashing" "fluids" "plug it"...bright jabs of pain flowering on her arms, near the elbows, where her veins were...and smaller, softer stabs in other places, needles slipping beneath the skin.

Lois was lying down now, she was sure of that, clean sheets beneath her ass, back propped up at a slight angle. Her head felt heavy. Eyes remained closed, but there were hospital smells, hospital sounds. Disinfectant, little beeps, steady and regular. A rasp of breathing that she realized, belatedly, was her own. Feeling was flowing back into her...hands twitched, toes curled, cock...Lois frowned, eyes still closed. There was something wrong with her cock...

"She's moving," a voice said, familiar, strong, confident. "Lois? Are you awake?"

The reporter opened her eyes.