End: Lois Lane Straps Herself Into The Birthing Chair and Hooks Up The Feeding Tube

Every movement was pain. It wasn't just the weight of Lois Lane's distended abdomen as it dragged at the ground. Nor the cumulative exhaustion of the hundred-plus eggs pumped inside of her body. Not even the terrible knowledge that the reporter was doing exactly what Lex Luthor wanted her to do.

No, what made Lois Lane's body ache, which sent waves of weakness, nausea, and raw sexual exictement through her tired body was something else. The eggs were tricking her body into thinking she was pregnant. Massively so. All resources were being shunted toward the alien parasites that filled Lois Lane's bloated womb to the bursting point...and it was everything she could do to crawl into that chair, to twist her body around until her buttocks were in the round padded seat...and stare at the bloated belly that filled her lap.

"Good," Lex Luthor's voice came down. "Now, feet in the stirrups...the restraints are going to clamp into place. We don't want you to move much."

Lois grimaced at that. "What's the plan, Lex?"

"You're going to strap yourself in. We'll extend IV tubes, and you'll plug them into your arms. Then a feeding tube down your throat. We'll feed you a constant solution of the ginko solution, so that your body remains elastic and won't tear. You'll be fed a narcotic drop that will render you in a near-comatose state—so you don't upset the IVs or waste too much energy—and then we'll begin to pump a pre-processed nutritional feed into your stomach."

The reporter glowered. "You want to put me in a coma and ****-feed me like a turkey? Are you trying to fatten me up to turn my liver into pâté?"

"Hardly," Luthor's voice was droll. "Without an immediate and continual influx of calories, the alien spawn will drain you dry and eat their way out. The only way for you to survive this is if you go on immediate ****-feeding. Your body will prioritize feeding the spawn over creating fat reserves, and a metabolic enhancer will aid digestion efficiency. You won't even void until the spawn are safely delivered and the feed stops."

Her teeth were bared in a rictus of agony. The skin over her immense midsection was tight as a drum. Lois could almost see it growing larger. She didn't trust Lex Luthor at all...but right now, she had ****.

So it was, with terrible regrets, Lois lifted her feet into the stirrups. Followed Luthor's instructions about inserting the IVs in both arms, secured with rolls of tape that dispensed from the sides of the chair. As if he had planned this. Which she was sure he had.

The last part was the feeding tube. A long, slender clear plastic tube. Prelubricated. There was a mask attached to the end, to hold it in place. Lois had to hold the tube between her teeth as she secured it around her head, tighening the velcro straps to make sure it woudln't slip.

Then the tube pressed forward on its own.

It was everything Lois Lane could do not to gag as the soft plastic slid past the end of her mouth and down her esophagus. For a moment, Lois was worried about it entering one of her lungs...but then she could feel it descend deeper into her chest. Where her stomach was.

A soft vibration filled her...and Lois Lane watched as a grey-white ooze slid down the throat and into her gut. Her arms came to rest instinctively on the arms of the chair...and restraints clicked into place. Locking Lois Lane into the chair...but for how long, she had no idea.

In The Lab

Lex Luthor gave a rare smile of terrible triumph as he watched naked reporter, strapped into the chair. Soon the **** would take hole, and she would be barely conscious enough to see her stomach swell even bigger. It would take a while to understand the extant of his betrayal...when she saw the pounds added to her frame, and her muscles waste away from disuse. After all, once he had successfully used her as an incubator once, why not use her again? And again, and again...

"And the best part," Luthor said as he stared at the screen. "Is that you did it to yourself, Lois. You put yourself in that chair...and now only **** will get you out of it. Perhaps you'll go mad, when you see what horrors you birth...or what else I'm going to put inside of you."

Mercy Graves gave an involuntary shudder. She felt a twinge of pity for Lois Lane, who had come for a night out...and now, would never, ever leave. Too **** to even scream, and soon she would be too fat and weak to even move. Conscious only of the goop being pumped down her throat and the undulations of her growing gut as the eggs swelled and finally pushed their way down her vaginal canal, which would stretch obscenely to accommodate them.

It was a living hell she wouldn't wish on her worst enemy.

It was Lois Lane's reality.

Perhaps in time, the **** reporter would think back to the events of her night out. Imagine what would happen if she had chosen differently. How events might have played out. Or perhaps by then, indolence and chemical **** would have fried the once-intelligent reporter's mind. Trapped as she was, there was no way to tell.