End: Sperm Isn't Flammable

It was obvious in hindsight. Cum was mostly water. The lit match hit the white surface, and the thing shuddered and spasmed as if in pain...and then the match went out, and sank beneath the white surface, a single black dot marking the point of the burn.

The ball of sperm continued unimpeded. It smacked straight between her legs...and began to crawl and slide up into the reporter's unprotected pussy.

"Fuck," Lois Lane muttered under her breath, not even able to think up a clever oath.

Her fingers tore at her cunny, trying to dislodge the goo. Grimaced as her nails scraped at her sensitive walls and labia...but it was no good. The jizz had a mind of its own, and it retreated, deeper and deeper inside of her, toward its goal.

In desperation, the reporter ripped open a nearby drawer and grabbed a thin, long-handled spatula. Legs akimbo, Lois plunged the tool inside of her, her grimace deepening as she fumbled around like a teenager learning how to masturbate. Drew it out...

...and the tool was clean, except for her own juices.

"Fuck fuck fuck," Lois muttered as she tossed the damned thing away. She could feel the sperm inside of her, an uncomfortable mass of ball snot right at the mouth of her womb, pressing itself against her cervix. It wasn't painful, but it was there, a constant reminder of its presence...and Lois had a good idea of what it was doing.

Normal sperm could live for days...long enough for her to ovulate...magic sperm? Fucking thing would probably wait inside of her until her birth control ran out. There had to be a way, there had to...

Lois Lane sighed. She looked around a kitchen that resembled a crime scene. Her eyes went to her smartphone. Pressed her thumb against the Zatanna Zatara's icon in her contact list.

The phone rang. The reporter rubbed her lower abdomen, wondering if the feeling of uncomfortable bloatedness was psychosomatic or real.

"Hello?" Zatanna's voice came through tinny, Vegas sounds in the background.

"Zee, it's Lois Lane," the reporter said. "Don't laugh, but I need your strongest spermicide spell, and I need it now. Tonight."

After the laughter had stopped, Lois Lane explained...and the problem was dealt with. Lois knew the magic worked when the pressure on her cervix stopped, and a thin white gruel began to ooze out from between her legs.

The reporter was in a short black silk robe, on her hands and knees, scrubbing jizz out of the kitchen floor when Zatanna teleported in from Vegas. The back of the robe didn't quite conceal the reporter's ass, and left her pussy bare. Zatanna smiled beneath her top hat.

"Nice view," she said. Lois glowered, but under the circumstances, mumbled a thanks.

The magician walked over to the sink, to see the shards of the bottle. She made a particular gesture, fingers cramping together in an uncomfortable position as if out of long practice, and muttered: ".cigam ezylanA"

The fragments glowed...and Zatanna's friendly demeanor vanished. She turned to Lois and repeated the weird phrase. The reporter saw a strange, eerie phosphorescence briefly limn her whole body.

"You say you took it from an altar?" Zatanna said, still frowning.

"Yes..." Lois said. "Why?"

"You're cursed. Very cursed. Something old, something powerful, and something I can't remove right away. It seems to be tied to the lunar cycle...and there's a summoning aspect," Zatanna gnawed her lip. "I think you might be in for a sending of sperm every full moon, at least until I can figure out how to remove the curse."

Which was how Lois Lane's night out ended...stunned with the news of her new status, the horror settling in that she would have to face this same threat next month...and the next...for how long, she had no idea. Somewhere far away, the demon Blaze laughed. She had set the altar in Lois Lane's path...and curiosity had done the rest. Blaze knew full well the power of the goddess whose altar Lois Lane's unknowing theft had defiled. She doubted Zatanna was up to the task of removing the curse of Shub-Niggurath.