End: Call 911

There was no answer to the reporter's knock. She tried the key. The door swang wide...

The room stank of sex. There was a huddle of limbs amid the wreckage of the bed, the mattress broken and half-way off the bed spring. Lois crept forward carefully.

"Hello? My name's Lois Lane, I'm a reporter with the Daily Planet..."

Tonya Wong and Mara de la Cruz were locked in each other. Literally. Both were sporting cocks, which by dint of careful positioning they had managed to mutually bury in each other's pussies. Tonya gave a low moan.

Lois knelt close to her head. The dickgirl's lips were dry and cracked, her eyes bloodshot.

"When was the last time you had something to drink?" The reporter asked. The dark eyes blinked wearily. "How long have you been fucking?"

"I...I can't...feel my legs..." Tonya managed.

Lois stood up and shook her head.

"Call 911." She told Blaze. "The idiots are dangerously dehydrated."

The reporter fetched two plastic bottles of mineral water from the minifridge and cracked them open as Angelica dialed the three digits on the room phone. She knelt next to Mara and Tonya, holding the bottles to their lips and dribbling in small sips. The story, told in bits and pieces, was about what she'd expected: forbidden love, an urban legend, a transformation, then two weeks of non-stop fucking.

The young woman's ribs showed through her skin, utterly emaciated from two weeks of eating almost nothing. Her genitalia looked raw and sore, entire crotch splattered with dried sperm. The reporter took notes on her phone, mentally reminding herself to stock up on bottled water and lubricant.

"We were trying to make a baby..." Tonya said, eyes closed as the Emergency Medical Technicians arrived.

"Good luck with that," Lois said sincerely.

The cops arrived and the reporter gave an abbreviated and lightly censored version of events...substituting a cache of ecstasy for the magical pink glowing pool...and mentioned the other couple. The police took the second key and Lois was right behind their shoulder as they opened up the other honeymoon suite.

Jenny Dunlap and Diana Reynolds, fools in love that they were, had not wanted to get pregnant immediately. The condoms, Lois gathered, had run out on day two. After that, the two dickgirls had to get creative. The reporter felt queasy as she observed crumpled and stained wads of saran wrap, candy bar wrappers, torn pieces of shower curtain...and when they had run of out makeshift prophylactics, events had moved on to anal play.

The smell was incredible. Judging by the results, Lois suspected that at least Jenny would need surgery if she ever hoped to shit solid again. The reporter talked to them as the EMTs loaded them up with a saline IV and then on the stretcher and into the ambulance; Diana Reynolds on the bench seat and holding her lover's hand the entire way.

It was sweet, in its own way.

When the cops finally disappeared, Angelica stepped out of the shadows.

"I was wondering where you'd gone off to," Lois said, bumping her ass against her lover's crotch. The bulge shifted in the dickgirl's pants, even with that brief encounter.

"I don't get along well with law enforcement," Blaze wrapped her arms around Lois from behind, hugging her close. "Do you think that will be...us?"

"Hmm, tempting as that might be...I think we can be a little more forward thinking. Remember to get plenty of fluids, at least. Stay hydrated."

Lois Lane raised a hand to trail along her lover's arm, watching the dawning sun shine on the Fuck Shack. It had been a long night out...and she was eager to see what the day would bring.