End: Lois Leaves Through The Opposite Door...And Finds Out Where The Cum Goes

Lois Lane shook her head. This was too weird. Too...fucked up. She shook with barely-contained emotion. The events of the night had seen her violated in ways she hadn't imagined when she had started out tonight. The smart thing to do would be to just leave the way she came in, make her way out of the club, call Superman or the Justice League to deal with all of these supervillains, take a morning-after pill, get an STD test, cry to her therapist...

...yet curiosity burned inside the Daily Planet's greatest reporter. She eyed the opposite door. The one that, presumably, might lead behind the scenes. To reveal the mystery of who was behind this, and why, and what they were doing with all of these "donations."

So with a deep breath, Lois Lane pushed the door open...and stared into what was beyond.

There was a metal catwalk over a series of rooms beneath glass ceilings, surrounded by pipes and ductwork. Lois Lane stepped forward on her heels, conscious of not wanting to cause any noise. Below her, she could see women in small rooms, most of them naked. They lounged on beanbags, played video games, read books, went to the bathroom, ate small meals, made love...yet Lois noticed that none of them were leaving. Nor was there any obvious way in or out.

The air was warmer in here, and the reporter began to sweat in her waitress' uniform, what little there was of it. None of the women looked up, and Lois frowned as she walked further along, counting. At least seven or eight women, but there were dozens of rooms. Enough for many more.

"What is going on here?" Lois Lane whispered to herself.

Then she came to the end of the catwalk, where there was another door. Opening this, Lois looked into what looked like a smaller version of the room she had just left, complete with toilet. Unease growing, Lois Lane stepped inside and closed the door. She sat on the toilet.

There was no surprise as something pushed up from below. Lois Lane sat still, sure she knew what to expect this time, as the small, lubricated medical probe pushed past her labia.

Except then the entire room began to move. There was a shudder, a groan, and then like an elevator the whole white room descended. Lois Lane grunted as she felt something touch deep inside her. She winced in pain as the probe pushed against her cervix.

When the room touched down, the probe withdrew. Lois Lane stood up and saw, to her horror, a white scum on the tip. A computerized voice stated.

INSEMINATION COMPLETE. ACCOUNT CREDITED.

"Insemination!?" Lois Lane said breathlessly.

The door opened. Lois blinked as she recognized the face of the naked woman. Diana Reynolds. She was the oldest of the missing women that Lois had gone seeking.

"Hey. Welcome to the hen house," Diana reached out a hand. "Come one, you must be sore. They don't let us have any ****, but there's weed..."

"What's going on?" Lois Lane asked, as she took the naked woman's hand and let herself by led out of the room.

She heard the door lock behind her, and the elevator to lift.

"Her name is Blaze," Diana said as she led Lois Lane along the hot corridor to a kind of kitchen. The reporter found herself uncomfortable in her uniform as Diana pulled out a glass tube with green buds, and loaded up a hookah bolted to a table. "She's a villain, I guess? But a far-thinking one. She wants to make a superpowered army. Recruiting villains is tricky; so she got the idea of a club like the one upstairs. A free-use space. Villains actually pay her to fuck the staff. The staff gets paid to get fucked, the sperm gets collected and their accounts get credited. When a woman wants to earn real money, she can become a surrogate—just walk down and get inseminated. I don't know how Blaze manages it, but every woman that takes that one-way trip ends up knocked up."

Diana laid a hand on her own abdomen. There was a slight bulge there. Lois might not have commented on it, except she was looking for it.

"Six weeks. I've got another thirty-four or so to go. No need to worry about rent or food, we've got cable and satellite TV, games, sex toys, any **** that aren't bad for the fetuses. When we deliver, we can cash out—I'm going to have enough money to cover my master's degree."

Lois Lane blinked. The hookah bubbled. Diana reached out and took one of the pipes on its hose and sucked at it.

"It's not bad, really. We always like new faces. Would you like me to eat your pussy?"

"Uh?" Lois said dully. She knew intellectually she must still be in a state of shock. If even half of what Diana had told her was true, then Lois Lane was knocked up—and trapped here—for the duration of her pregnancy. The reporter took an experimental puff of the pipe. "Maybe in a minute. Is there no way to escape?"

"Who wants to escape?" Diana said with a curious smile. "I mean, think about it. All our needs are taken care of. You want an orgasm? We're all cool here. Some of us even prefer women."

Diana licked her lips.

"But—I've got a life. A job. An apartment. I...I need to get out..."

Maybe it was whatever was in the hookah-smoke that dulled the reporter's mind. Or maybe it was the women who had padded into the room behind her, silently, on bare feet. Who lifted the unresisting reporter up and pulled off her clothes. Bore her to a communal room dominated by a large, circular bed.

Naked women with hungry eyes, all in the beginning stages of pregnancy.

"We really like to welcome new women," Diana Reynolds said, as her hand pressed lightly against the reporter's stomach. "By the time we're done with you, you won't want to leave. Just like us."

The reporter moaned as hot breath blew against her freshly-inseminated pussy. Warm hands rubbed against her naked skin. A part of her wandered back along the events of the night, the decisions that had brought her to this point, the strange choices she had made, some so out of character. She felt the hand of some unseen foe had guided her, manipulated her, played on her curiosity until Lois Lane had walked willingly into her trap.

Blaze, Lois thought as she stared at the glass ceiling. A figure stood there, leaning over the catwalk, watching Lois as the centerpiece for this pregnant lesbian orgy.

Then an ass eclipsed the image. Soft, hot lips settled on the reporter's mouth, and her nostrils filled with the smell of pussy.

That was how Lois Lane's night out ended...and how her forty weeks in the Hen House began.