End: Lois Lane Wakes Up In Stuck To The Floor The Next Morning

"Superman! Over here!" A woman's voice said.

The voice was muffled. Lois Lane opened her eyes, but her vision was blurry. There was something on her eyes. All was light and shadow. Her head ached...but she could breathe, albeit with difficulty. Something heavy was laying on her, and efforts to rise were met with great resistance.

Once, as a university student, Lois Lane had drunk too much and fallen asleep after a lover had ejaculated into her panties. She had woken up to find her panties glued to her...and peeling them off had been a painful and nasty practice, especially as she was hungover and in **** need to pee. As the back of her head began to pound, the memories came back to her distinctly. It was the same feeling. Just...moreso.

Like her entire body. Like she was smothered in cum.

Shadows loomed over her. Hands brushed the goo away from Lois Lane's eyes. The reporter saw a woman in a biohazard suit. She had a squirt bottle in her hand and began to spray water over Lois Lane's face. As water dissolved the caked-on cum sealing Lois Lane's lips, the reporter opened her mouth. Her mouth tasted foul...like something rancid had crept in and died.

"Try not to swallow," the woman said, a moment too late. Lois coughed, which sent ringing pains through her skull.

Someone else came along. Lois saw Superman hover over her...and she thanked God when she saw that he was holding a thick garden hose.

"Stand back," he said.

There was a brass nozzle...he opened up the tap...and the water poured forth in a white stream that stung the reporter's skin. The Man of Steel guided it around Lois like a surgeon cutting into a swollen belly to free the helpless life within. The reporter tried not to flinch as in seconds she was soaked to the bone, her body pounded to jelly by the bracingly cold water...but in only a minute or so, he turned it off...and the woman was back, with a pair of scissors, cutting the reporter's black hair away from the globs of congealed man-jelly still cemented to the floor.

"Lois," he said. "What happened?"

The reporter sighed. With help she sat up...and found herself in the midst of a tremendous rescue effort, the remains of the cult all glued into position as she had been. The altar and its idol were a single white, ammoniac mass.

"Well," she said, "these women had gone missing...and I traced them to this club..."

It was a tastefully edited version of Lois Lane's night out, Superman listened as he carefully used the hose to free the cultists. The EMT in the biohazard suit checked her out, and determined she should go to the hospital as she might have a concussion...and Superman promised to meet her there, after he finished freeing the rest.

Lois let the EMT guide her upstairs...and the woman reached into a pocket and offered the reporter a pill.

"What's this?" The reporter asked.

"Plan B," the woman said. "We're not officially giving it out, but we sent some of the samples back to the lab and there's indications some of that sperm was still motile...and all of you were absolutely soaked in it. Like, it's everywhere. So our manager authorized us to offer them on the QT. We're also recommending a typical STD screen, just in case."

The reporter thought about it for a minute...and then dry-swallowed the pill. The cervical spasms and discomfort would be worth the ease of mind.

She shivered as she limped out into the daylight Metropolis streets, wondering how many nights she would wake up with the nightmare of drowning in a flood of cum...and, perhaps, wondering what happened to whomever was behind this whole strange, terrible cult in the first place. Yet the reporter knew such answers would have to wait; and a part of her wondered if she wasn't lucky to have made it through her night out with as few injuries as she had.