End: Ella Lane Modifies Her Daughter's Womb

Later on, after it was all over, Lois Lane found it impossible to reconstruct what exactly happened in that brief time with her mother. Ella Lane's pussy had stifled the reporter's screams as her fingers worked on her daughter's pussy. Lois had felt the cold fingers push into her...and there had been a disconnect, then. Sensations that didn't make sense, not at the time and not afterwards.

She had felt the fingers slide into her pussy, to press her labia apart. To seem to reach deep inside of her, deeper than anyone, even her gynecologist, had ever been before. Lois had felt the flutter of fingertips touch parts of her anatomy that had never been touched.

Then there was an odd pressure as things inside Lois Lane's abdomen began to move.

With her sight blocked by her mother's ass, Lois couldn't see what the older woman, or her ghost, spirit, shade, whatever she was did to her. Yet Lois could feel it. The rearrangement of organs. Pinches and tweaks. Not very painful, or even uncomfortable, but odd. Lois found herself grunting as ghostly pains, reminiscent of her period, caused small spasms inside of her. Then an odd pressure, as if she was bloated. The reporter wasn't even sure if she imagined those senses until a tightness gripped her hip bones, and Ella Lane murmured an apology.

"I'm sorry dear, this next part is going to hurt a little—these aren't childbearing hips."

With a mouth full of cunt, there was nothing Lois could say to that.

Pain spiked through the reporter's lower body. Her mother's weight pinned Lois Lane's torso to the bed, but ghostly hands gripped her hips and pulled them apart. The reporter's nails tore at the sheets as an audible crack rent the stillness, the shock of the impact traveled up her spine, and Lois could feel her legs come a little further apart.

Then, almost as swiftly as it had come, the pain faded. Leaving only a traumatic memory as the reporter, now dabbled in a cold sweat, felt something cold and sour flow into her mouth from her mother's pussy.

"There. That wasn't so bad, was it?" Ella Lane said brightly. She lifted her pussy away from the reporter's face...and Lois stared up at th older woman, now almost transparent. Only the eyes, as violet as Lois Lane's own, seemed solid and present, while the reporter could clearly see the ceiling through the older woman's forehead.

"I'm glad, Lois, that I could give you this last gift. A special power, that only women can use. You might not feel that different at first, but you are—you're...super-fertile."

The reporter's forehead wrinkled. She swallowed the cold liquid that filled her mouth, and felt it slide down her esophagus, which elicited a chill.

"Take care, my dear. Find yourself someone special. You have so much love to give...for all your children..." Ella Lane said, her voice fading.

Through and behind the ghost, who was now little more than an outline that hovered in the air, her weight no longer pressed against Lois at all, the reporter perceived a dim figure, female in shape, but red as blood, with dark horns that grew from her forehead. The too-generous mouth was twisted into a half-smile of dark bemusement.

"It is time, Ella Lane," a voice echoed, more in Lois Lane's head than in her ears. "Your work here is done."

A red hand reached out to grasp her mother's ghostly shoulder. Ella Lane's head dipped, and Lois felt, for the last time, the press of those cold lips on her own.

Then they were gone. Lois Lane found herself alone, naked, in a strange bed, in a room off of a strange club beneath a club.

The reporter got up, awkwardly, and nearly fell over. Still processing the events of the night, she attempted to get dressed...only to find that it hadn't been her imagination. Her widened hips didn't fit her tight red pants. Lois cursed and grabbed the top-sheet from the bed, to create a makeshift sarong. Her stomach, she saw with a frown, was a little bloated too. Not so much as to be a potbelly, but as if she had just had her period, or eaten something weird.

On her feet again, Lois Lane stood for a moment, and rubbed her stomach, right below her navel, where it was exposed. She wondered what Clark Kent would have to say about all this.

It should have been impossible for a womb to gurgle, yet Lois felt the rumble inside of her. A warm spike that seemed to drive itself from her pussy straight into the core of her being, a sudden contraction that made her knees wobble. Lois grabbed at the poster of the bed as something dripped own her thighs, panties immediately soaked...and an image came to her then, popped straight into her brain, that made her salivate like Pavlov's mutt.

Clark Kent's cock.

She had never seen it. Scarcely thought about it, except in the general, disinterested way everyone thinks about everyone else's genitals from time to time. Now his throbbing erection pushed into the forefront of Lois Lane's brain, and the reporter could hardly think of anything else.

Her hand found her phone, and she speed-dialed a number.

"Smallville? I'm at..." she rattled off an address, then instructions. "...can you come and get me? Now? It's important. I can't...I can't really...leave under my own power?"

"Why?" his voice came through, tinny but full of concern. "What's wrong?"

If I see or smell another cock than yours I might spread my legs and beg for them to seed my horny cunt, Lois Lane thought. I need you to father your children in me now because my babymaker has gone into terminal overdrive and I think my the ghost of my mother fucked with my womb and my brain, I can't stop thinking of your cock, I've never been wetter in my entire life, and if even one drop of sperm touches me I'm going to be superpregnant and you're my best friend in the whole world...

"...and I want it to be yours," Lois Lane said, to her utter horror, as she realized her internal monologue had made it straight to her lips without her realizing it.

There was a moment of silence on the other end of the phone. Then, in a very serious voice, Clark Kent said:

"I'm on my way."

"Please hurry," Lois Lane huffed as she sat back down on the bed. One fist knotted her impromptu sarong between her legs, and she began to rock back and forth as the need inside of her built and built.

There was time yet until morning, yet Lois Lane already knew her night out, as it were, was over. She had forgotten about the missing women, forgotten about everything except the cock-shaped hole that seemed to fill her entire being...and when she heard a polite knock at the door, in what seemed to be far too short of a time for Clark to have gotten there, she felt a pang of terror in her heart.

Then his voice came: "Lois? I'm coming in?"

Her heart leapt as he walked in. Suit ruffled, blue eyes staring through his black plastic frames, jaw set in a grim pose...and the reporter's eyes went automatically to his pants, to the bulge she knew must be there. She licked her lips as she unwrapped her sarong and whispered:

"My hero."

Neither of them were prepared for what happened next...or the long fallout of the demon Blaze's manipulations. Yet that is another story.