End: A Face

A crimson goo, bright as blood and thick as cum clung to the reporter's fingers.

It had a face.

White eyes without pupil or iris, drooping as gravity had its way with the viscous goo. The suggestion of lips, in a thin smirk of a Mona Lisa smile. The dimple of a nose.

"I want to thank you, Lois," the voice burbled. There was no throat or lungs, but the voice bypassed the reporter's ears and came straight into her head. "I couldn't have hoped for a better mother."

Lois Lane was not given to fainting. Yet as the face slid off her fingers and ran in little snake-like rivulets down her stomach to her aching cunny, darkness closed in on her. Something was working, inside her ravaged hole...squeezing itself deeper inside of her. She grunted once, faintly, as a sharp pain pierced her innermost recess...and for a pace, Lois knew no more.

The throne was hard against the reporter's back. Women, naked beneath their red robes, genuflected before her. Strange, narcotic incense was tossed into the fires on either side of her, sending stinging smoke into her eyes. Spicy and exotic. Lois felt herself go lightheaded, body relaxing as she sank against the hard stone...heart fluttering, breathing deeply...and the air teamed with colors now. Limning each of the robed women, who rose and formed a single file line.

The first one came up to her. There was fear and desire in her eyes. She reached forward with quaking hand...and for the first time Lois saw the immense bloated belly which trapped her in this throne. Larger than any pregnant woman she had ever seen, grossly fecund, the great swollen dome crisscrossed with stretchmarks, like a soldier bearing proudly their scars.

The hand, sweaty and nervous, rubbed across the bare interruption in her great dome that had once been a belly button.

"Bless me Demon Mother," the woman whispered. "That I may bear a child."

The woman moved on, pressing the hand that had touched Lois to her own stomach...and the next woman came on, and the next. Young and old, fit and fat, some bearing the scars of previous pregnancies some taut and thin, never having had one...and Lois could feel something flowing between them, some exchange. Her stomach rumbled and she groaned as her terrible cargo shifted within her. It was almost time.

Lois Lane awoke like a cat. No slow return to consciousness, but all at once, without moving a muscle. With her eyes closed, she listened...waited.

She was not alone.

There were bodies moving around her. She was on a mattress, sheets over her naked form. The people were moving, but not speaking. Lois felt soap, and sensed she had been washed. There was none of the demon's funk on her, no sweat or secretions. Her pussy still hurt, but the ache had subsided somewhat. The rings, though...the rings were still there.

That much was not a dream.

Tentatively, Lois opened one eye, just half way.

She was on a couch in what looked like a small office of faded opulence. Deep blue plush carpet, wood paneling. Where a desk should have stood, however, had been set up an altar, a great block of stone in which grooves had been carved. Four women were moving around, cleaning quietly. Lois recognized them. She could put a name to every face. They were the women she had come to rescue.

One came over to Lois, smiling softly...and Lois opened her eyes.

The young woman, a pretty blonde named Diana Reynolds, dropped to her knees.

"Good morning, mother." She said. At the sound, all three of the other women turned and knelt.

Lois had a bad feeling about that.

Frowning, she sat up. The blanket that had been placed over her slid off, and she looked down to see the dark rings through her nipples, another through her clit...and above the clit, just below her navel, a strange sign, like a serpent atop an inverted pentagram...

No, the reporter corrected herself. Like a uterus.

"What is going on?" Lois said.

Diana Reynolds looked up. "The...the demon goddess Blaze chose to be incarnated within you, mistress. Our lives were hers. Now they are yours."

There was innocent fanaticism in those eyes...and Lois asked more questions, on until the night died and the sun rose overhead. Her stomach gurgled, the reporter suddenly ravenous.

"You're hungry, mother!" Diana said. "Let us prepare you breakfast!

"You're not..." Lois paused and shook her head. "I don't want a cult. You're free. Blaze is gone. You don't have to..."

The cultist smiled. "Whether you want us or not, we are yours. We live to serve you."

The naked woman sat back, not sure how to respond to that. The women took her silence as acquiescence, and two of them rushed off to make a meal. The others produced Lois's clothes, prepared a tray table...and answered the reporter's questions, simply and forthrightly.

Lois Lane's night out was at an end...but she had a feeling her true work had just begun.