End: It's A Start

The reporter swallowed. Instinctively, convulsively, the salty load sliding down her throat, achingly familiar. She could barely taste it, but she kept sucking, lips tight on the cock in front of her, trying to keep it hard, trying to milk out that last little bit...

Lois wanted more.

She ran her tongue around the head of his dick, let the tongue play with his slit, pressed her lips against the hole and took it deep. Lois Lane's mind zeroed in her task with a focus she had rarely felt for anything. Yet it was a losing battle. The cock began to soften in her mouth, the body it was attached to withdrew it slowly, the reporter's lips fighting it all the way...until she held his foreskin, delicately, between her teeth...and then even that was gone.

I don't even like it. Lois realized, as she licked her teeth. The bare tablespoon of baby-batter had gone down like a shot of whiskey on an empty stomach, whetting her appetite for more. She looked over at the other two women, who were finishing serving their own "customers." Neither of them appeared to be demonstrating the same level of mania that Lois had a moment ago, and Lois had to repress the surge of jealousy as the men came and pulled out, leaving their loads in the women's mouths. What is wrong with me?

Lois slid the hand from between her legs, unsatisfied. There was a hunger inside of her that she had never known—but she knew what it was. I want...I want to suck cocks. I want to eat cum. Why?

"Because that's what the baby wants," the voice floated from beyond the stall. Feminine, but butch, confident, in control. Lois stared through her hole and saw a tight pair of black jeans on feminine hips...but with a large, distinctive bulge down the left leg.

"Those two in there with you—they're just sluts." Long feminine fingers with black-painted nails undid the zipper on the jeans...and Lois was shocked to see that the skin on that hand was red, bright red. "The women you were looking for, it's a lifestyle thing. This is their turn. They get off on it. Now you..."

Ziiiiip.

"...you're different, aren't you...Lois?"

The reporter's heart skipped a beat...and then her eyes went wide as she saw the red hand fish an equally crimson cock out of her pants leg. A long, soft tube, maybe six or seven inches flaccid, with a bright pink head. It looked like a blood-bloated worm...and Lois felt her mouth start to water. The red hand didn't stop, lifting the trouser snake up to free a pair of fat hairless testicles out of her pants, swollen as plums.

Lois felt her heart beat faster as the fat tube approached her hole—her hole and no-one else's—and the red hand laid just the tip of into hole. Self-restraint evaporated as the reporter pressed her lips to the grimy bathroom stall, tongue stretched out to lick at the pink cockhead. Her hands unconsciously clawed at the wall...and she was rewarded when the piece of meat pushed forward, and opened her mouth wide to receive it.

"You're not addicted." The voice beyond the wall was amused, sardonic. Lois could picture a crude red smile. "It's only that your body has certain needs now. All pregnant women have cravings for what will help their babies grow. And our baby...well, she needs cock. Lots of it. More and more as you go along."

The reporter was slurping on the shaft, feeling it harden in her mouth. It was different than before...richer, more complex. By comparison the dick that Lois had been sucking minutes ago (had it been only that long?) was bland, nearly tasteless. This was earthy, grit rolling across Lois' tongue as she circled it around the flaring crown, feeling it press deeper into her throat as it filled out.

There was a soft whud as the wall shuddered, the cock surging forward, right past the back of Lois' mouth, the swollen head lodging in her throat. The reporter gagged, tears in her eyes, but she didn't move her head. Instead her lips wrapped around the pole, trying to swallow, to suckle, to milk it, the hunger gnawing deep inside of her, drool running out of the corner of her mouth.

"I think you're going to start coming down here regularly, Lois. After work, of course. Just an hour or so in the evening, before the heavy traffic picks up. You can come in through the back door. Nobody will deny you. I'm sure the sluts will be happy for the company."

For the first time, Lois felt a tingle between her legs. Sucking cock was not exactly an orgasmic experience for her, she wasn't that bimbo from Deep Throat with a clitoris lodged somewhere anatomically impossible. Yet the words...the idea...it was a sexual fantasy, and Lois felt her body respond to the idea of heading to the club after work, instead of going straight home. Feeling her stomach rumble as she got on her knees, waiting for the cocks to arrive.

The cock began to move. Lois' lips remained locked in place, the shaft slowly pulling back, then pushing forward with a gently whud as those swollen balls smacked into the wall, the stranger beyond fucking the reporter's face through the gloryhole.

"I'll visit you, to make sure you're getting along properly, just like this. And as you start to show...you'll need to come her more often. Break away during the day, at your lunch break. Maybe stop by in the morning before work. Oh, you may think you want it now, but you're sucking cock for two now, sweatmeat."

Whud whud whud whud whud...

Lois could feel the cock slam against her uvula, sliding in and out of her throat. She wanted to ****, to vomit, to cum all at once. More than anything she wanted to disbelieve what she was hearing, but her pussy was soaking wet inside her pants, thighs slick and trembling. The reporter wanted to believe that she could stop, pull her face off that swollen dick, escape the dirty bathroom where her knees ached against the hard floor and her tits were pressed so hard into the wall that she could feel the slam as the strange red woman on the other side humped her gloryhole.

She wanted the cum.

And she got it.

WHUD.

The final thrust shook the whole stall. In Lois Lane's throat, the crimson cock hit a new depth, the pink head wedged halfway down her neck. She could feel the surge of jism pass through the bloated flesh as it swelled in her mouth, forcing her aching jaw apart, blocking her airway...and then a scalding stream ran down her esophagus. It wasn't the salty spoonful from before, it was a torrent. The tap opened and it ran down into Lois' stomach like boiling oil, to pool in her stomach as a pit of liquid heat that she could feel inside her torso.

Lois sucked on the cock, milked it, nostrils flaring as she tried to get a little oxygen into her starved brain, but she never took her mouth off that cock. A calm began to descend on her, as the crimson cock spent its load inside her. She realized her hands were trembling, and stopped them. A heat seemed to be clearing from her mind, though her pussy was still wet and burning; something to take care of later, at home, one hand between her legs as she remembered the details of what had happened this evening.

She had no doubt, as the torrent dropped to a trickle, as the invader slowly softened and withdrew, leaving a final gooey, salty splurt over her tongue, that the unseen speaker was correct. That Lois would be back her, night after night, taking her turn beside the naked sluts. But she was a reporter...and she wanted to know one more thing, before her night was over.

"What..." Lois coughed, licking gooey lips, swallowing the thick mass in her mouth and throat. "What's your name?" she asked of the swollen scarlet trouser-snake as it disappeared back into its hole.

"Call me...Ember. A servant of she who grows within you." The voice was satisfied, and a little drained, adrift in a post-orgasmic haze. "You did well, Lois. Very well."

Lois stared through the hole, as the red hand began to stuff the saliva-sticky cock back into the too-tight jeans. The reporter watched the legs disappear, moving around to the stall door...and saw the lock fall to the floor. Heard it ring against the tile with a clang.

"Feel free to go home, get a good night's sleep." Ember's voice carried over the door, strangely content. "I'll see you tomorrow night."