End: Lois Lane Shoves The Toilet Plunger Up Her Ass

As her stuffed asshole quivered and her distended abdomen ached, Lois Lane's eyes fell on that trusty standby of all good bathrooms: the toilet plunger. A stout black rubber suction cup, and a long, thin wooden handle. Perfect for her purpose...or destined for a trip to the emergency room.

Lois Lane's desperation was such that she didn't care which.

Some lingering sense of self-preservation at Lois made her slather the first foot or so of the pole with lube. She began to feel giggly and light-headed...the **** enema affecting her...and her legs were wobbly and she had to steady herself against sink and toilet as she lined up her butthole with the rounded wooden tip.

In that pose, Lois Lane's cum-filled belly stood out grotesquely. The thought occurred to her that in that moment, she looked almost pregnant—and she was glad that Superman wasn't here to see her like this. Then, gathering her courage, Lois lowered herself down.

The lube-covered pole pressed into her tense pucker. Now was the moment of decision. Lois Lane's buttocks were tightly squeezed together to hold in the burning **** and vinegar. But to let the plunger in, she'd have to relax...and that was a difficult instinct to fight. The reporter quavered, torn between her alternate desires...

...and then she sneezed.

It was sudden, unexpected. As though a wisp of the strange smells in the bathroom finally touched a nerve. The reporter's whole body convulsed...her weight shifted...and with a shock and a cry Lois felt her weight on the pole...and it slid straight inside, piercing her ten inches deep.

In the second it took Lois to find her balance, she cried out in pain...and the pole, deep inside her ass, punched through the weakened seal.

Lois Lane let out a grunt and moan of terrible relief as all the pent-up cum, ****, and vinegar in her bowels flooded out of her ass in a rush. She hung there, ass burning, anus spasming around the wooden pole as the accumulated mess was ejected from her body. The distended abdomen swiftly deflated, and the nasty mix washed over the reporter's feet.

Carefully, the half-drunk reporter stood up...and then, with annoyance, noted that she had instinctively gripped her ass around the toilet plunger, and carried it up off the floor a couple of inches. With an effort of will she unclenched...and it fell onto the floor and toppled over into the muck.

The Daily Planet's greatest reporter surveyed the mess that was her bathroom. A tub full of cum, a mess of a floor, her body plastered with strange jizz, her asshole sore and burning...

...and she could not help but hear, though perhaps hear was not quite the right word, but sense that someone, somewhere was laughing at her predicament. She thought back to the club, mentally retraced her steps that had led her to this point, with a sore ass and a terrible mess to clean up...and a suspicion formed in the reporter's mind that something or someone had guided or dogged her steps through the carnal nightmare that had been her night out.

Yet who it was, and why, Lois Lane did not know. One night, perhaps, Lois would return to the club and find out...but that is a different story.