End: The Child Wants To Be Born Now

The first pain burst through the reporter's pelvis. Lois Lane slid out of the chair, her knees slammed into the floor. One hand clutched at the edge of the table, and the other grabbed at her swollen stomach, which now jutted out in front of her.

That was when she felt it. A flutter, a movement. A tiny little palm that pressed against her own from within.

On her hands and knees, Lois Lane crawled away from the table, her swollen stomach almost dragging on the ground. Her mind raced. She needed to call someone...9-1-1, Superman, maybe Zatanna...then another pain wracked her body, and the reporter collapsed onto her side. She grimaced as pain unlike anything she had ever experienced blotted out all conscious thought—and it went on, for nearly a minute.

As it began to ebb. Lois found her sides heaving. She was drenched in cold sweat. Something warm and wet flowed over her quivering thighs. Except Lois didn't think she'd peed herself. Her waters had broken.

How? Lois wondered. Why?

Her violet eyes turned to the nubby head of the gravid idol, which seemed to regard her with mute intelligence. Knowing but silent. ****, Lois tried to drag herself along the floor on her side. If she could just get to the phone...

There was a creak as her front door opened. Lois Lane twisted her bloated body and saw four women come in, dressed in identical black hoodies...no, not hoodies. Robes. Dull eyes met hers. Lois Lane knew their faces, their names from social media. These were the four women that had gone missing at the club. The ones Lois had gone out tonight.

She opened her mouth to speak...but nothing came out. Another contraction hit her, a tension of every muscle in her pelvis that spread out to encompass her entire body. Without a word, the robed women caught up the reporter's arms and legs and carried her to the bed. Lois was too paralyzed with pain to resist. In that moment, Lois became the pain...and she saw in her mind's eye a red face with pure white eyes. A face she knew from her recent research. Angelica Blaze.

When she came back to herself, Lois was naked on the bed, her knees drawn up and thighs spread, back against a stack of pillows against the headboard. Ropes tied the reporter's legs into place, so that she couldn't move them even if she wished to. There was the whistle of a kettle from the kitchen where water was boiled, and two of the robed women sat on the bed on either side of Lois, mopping her naked body with wet towels. The idol had been moved to the reporter's dresser, so that the fecund figure seemed to glare at her. Dimly, Lois realized her swollen tits had sprung a leak, tiny trickles of golden-white milk oozing down from erect nipples.

"What...is going on?" Lois managed.

"The mistress is a creature of darkness and flame," the woman on her left said. "As a spirit, she can only exist in this world for a short while—unless she clothes herself in flesh. The idol allows her spirit to lodge in a willing womb—"

"Who...said...I was willing?" Lois huffed. She could feel something deep inside. It was like she needed to pass something big, but it wasn't a need to void, exactly. Something pressed on her cervix from the inside, a sensation that the reporter had never experienced. Had never hoped to experience.

"You took the idol. Cradled it to your flesh. It accepted your offering," the cultist said. She laid an adoring hand on the reporter's taut stomach, which seemed even bigger than before. The ball of the reporter's stomach was stretched so far that it pushed her upraised knees apart. "You are blessed among women."

Even as Lois Lane stared, the dome of her stomach rose. She didn't know where the mass came from, but she could feel the weight steadily increase. The skin became almost translucent, so she could see the veins within...and then a light began to glow through her overstretched womb. Like the red light of a coal in a dying fire. Lois gasped. The pregnancy was too big...unnaturally far along. As if she was pregnant with an elephant.

Or a full-grown woman.

Hot towels massaged her thighs and bared cunt. Cold towels mopped at the reporter's fevered brow. They held her hands as Lois Lane instinctively strained. It seemed impossible that she could actually give birth to something this big. Yet she could feel something slide down her birth canal. Something that crowned, pushed it way out of her pussy.

A pair of red hands grabbed the reporter's labia...and pushed them wider.

A wooden spoon from the kitchen was jammed between the reporter's teeth to bite down on. The reporter's tits were the side of her head now, and the weight of them and her ungodly swollen womb crushed her lungs and diaphragm, so that the scream came out as little more than a whisper. Dimly, through slitted eyes, Lois was aware of a red glow that was cast on the opposite wall...and knew that the light must be coming from her monstrously distended abdomen.

Perhaps she went mad, then. It had to be madness, as the reporter felt her once tight twat stretched beyond human endurance. For her whispers of pain to transform into pleasure as something stretched and slithered through her cunt. To feel warm lips suckle on her painfully swollen breasts to relieve her aching tits of their liquid load. The bitten-through spoon was taken from her mouth, to be replaced by hot lips and an invading tongue. The hands that massaged her gravid gut as it heaved and rippled. The smell of wet pussy that overwhelmed the scents of sweat and amniotic fluid.

Lois Lane wasn't sure when the first orgasm wracked her exhausted body. Her cunny felt stretched to the size of a manhole, the ropes dug into the flesh of her legs. Hips cracked and groaned, and the reporter barely noticed as ecstasy overwhelmed her in terrible waves. No sooner could Lois catch her breath than the next shuddering climax would rip through her. There had been times when Lois had enjoyed a particularly large lover when the sheer size had seemed to stimulate multiple points in her pussy at once, but as her terrible load slowly pulled itself from the reporter's grotesquely swollen body, it was as though every erotic nerve in Lois Lane was stimulated at once—and over and over, without respite.

It must have been dawn when slim red feet slunk out of the gaping tunnel of flesh that had once been the reporter's trim and taut twat. Lois Lane stared dizzily past her massive, leaking tits, at the deflated balloon of flesh that had been her stomach. As the cultists cut the bonds and stretched out her legs, massaging blood back into the limbs, Lois was dimly aware that her hips were too broad, nearly three feet across.

Yet the reporter's tired eyes were focused on the slim figure of a woman, drenched red with gore, that stood before her. One of the cultists handed her a robe, but that face...those eyes...fixed on the reporter and gave Lois a familiar half-smile, enigmatic and knowing.

"Keep the idol, little mother," Angelica Blaze said. "It will speed your healing. And who knows? Perhaps in the future we will meet again, when my spirit burns through this flesh. Until then...adieu."

They left her there. Sleep must have come to Lois at some point, the sleep of pure exhaustion. Yet before she descended the six hundred steps to the gates of deeper slumber, the reporter thought of the choices she had made this night. All the decisions she had made that had brought her to this state. Exhausted, hollowed out, body wracked and changed from the sudden demonic pregnancy and birth. She wondered what might have happened, if she had done things a little differently...but as her eyes closed, Lois Lane knew that she could not know. When she awoke, she would need to live with the decisions she had made on her night out.