End: Lois Lane's Marijuana Milf-To-Be Future

As Lois Lane stepped toward the bar, she experienced a moment of disorientation. She blinked, not sure what exactly was wrong with her. Was it the brownie coming on? The reporter had only had the one every now and again, when she went out with Angie...they didn't usually hit her very hard.

The reporter shook her head and took another step. Her foot slipped, and she nearly fell, but Angie caught her arm. Instinctively, Lois Lane's other hand went to her stomach, to the little protuberant bulge there, hidden by the jacket. It was amazing how swiftly being pregnant changed her priorities.

"All right, sweetmeat?" Blaze said. "Not more morning sickness, is it?"

"No...no, just dizzy for a moment," Lois had smiled back. The pot brownies had been Angie's idea. Morning sickness had hit the reporter so hard, she had vomited so copiously, that she'd lost a lot of her appetite. That wasn't good for the baby. The little brownies Angie brought her helped with the nausea and the appetite.

Lois Lane took a deep breath and another step.

The world seemed to lurch. Lois clung to her girlfriend as her gravity seemed to take hold. The tight red pants clung to her wider ass and thighs, and her swelling belly was pushing its way out from beneath her shirt. The reporter knew the weight gain was the result of Angie's brownies. The dickgirl told her that it was good that she gained a little weight, that her body needed that for the pregnancy, but it made the reporter self-conscious, especially wearing these tight clothes.

Step by step, Lois Lane approached the bar...and step by step her pregnancy advanced, the conception date pushed retroactively into her past. Angelica Blaze was with Lois every step, the demon's power—and the tainted brownie—working through the reporter. Little by little, the demonic dickgirl's smile grew as Lois Lane's matronly curves came in. The swollen curve of the reporter's stomach pushed forward, and the tight red pants threatened to split as the ass inside of them swelled plush and soft. It wasn't more than twenty steps to the bar...but by the time Lois Lane sat down, she looked full-term, her breasts straining inside a bra now two cup sizes too small, long uncut hair now falling down past her shoulders.

There were other changes too, less obvious to the naked eye. The marijuana dispensary card in the reporter's wallet. The "emergency brownie," pre-rolled joints, and lighter. The little five-fingered leaf tattoo on the lower swell of the reporter's belly, just above the mons, which was visible now that the reporter's t-shirt was riding up over the gravid curve of her abdomen. Articles on marijuana legalization and safe use of cannabis to ease pregnancy symptoms that had been published in the Daily Planet over the past weeks and month.

The demon's hand grabbed Lois Lane's ass and squeezed, a public display of affection that the pregnant reporter had learned to appreciate. In her mind, after all, she and Blaze had been together for months...all through her pregnancy. Ever since Lois Lane's first night out. So much had changed since then.

"Can't believe we're back where it all started," Lois Lane said as she eased onto a bar stool, one hand rubbing her gravid swell. "I should leave the investigating to Clark, at least until I give birth."

"I thought it would be fitting to come back here," Angie said. "After all, it was nine months ago that we..."

Lois blushed and rubbed her legs together. The reporter couldn't even see her pussy anymore, but she knew she was wet.

"I was thinking..." Angie said, and dropped to one knee, a black jewelry box appearing in her hand like magic. "...that maybe we don't want junior to be a bastard."

The music stopped. All eyes in the bar turned to Lois Lane. There was a moment when the world seemed to freeze.

Then a mumbled yes. A louder, more affirmative yes.

A cheer. A ring slipped onto a finger. The world slipped into a new track. Everything had changed for Lois Lane on her night out, all because she had eaten that brownie...and Blaze grinned at the success of her plan, her cock ached as it planned to plow her new fiance's cunt hard and slow as Lois Lane toked on her bong, while somewhere poor Superman lived with the knowledge that someone else was fucking the woman he loved.

Dimly, later that night, through the haze of smoke that had become the reporter's perpetual companion, as Angie big-spooned her and hot spunk dripped out of her well-fucked cunt, Lois Lane would try to think back to how this all started. What had led to these moments. The memory of that first night out was dim and hazy, and she wondered at the choices she had made that led to this moment. Lois wondered if, if she knew where it would all lead, to this future where she was pregnant and high, if she would do it all again...or choose another road.

Then a kick in her stomach reminded Lois Lane it was too late for her to go back now.