End: Yes—Although Not How Lois Thought It Would

The thin blade slid between pussy and the inert mass stuck inside of it. In the dark, alone, half-naked, drenched in sweat, seated with her legs apart and knees up—Lois Lane wondered how many women had done something like this, in the dark days before well-lighted hospitals and proper obstetrics. Her lips peeled back her in a rictus of agony as she angled the blade-handle just beneath her clit and pulled upwards.

It moved inside of her. Just a little, but Lois could feel it. Her thighs quivered under the stress as, following some ancient instinct, the reporter bore down.

A lesser woman would have succumbed to fear or terror. Would have retreated into herself, sobbing and clutching her abdomen as the thing continued to crawl deeper inside of her. Yet Lois Lane was not that kind of woman. She didn't need an epidural, a clean operating room, a doula and a worthless, no-good fucking sperm provider to hold her hand—although all of those things would be nice right about now.

Lois Lane was the kind of fierce, independent woman that could do it all herself...and as she pulled harder on the dull blade, and squeezed her internal muscles, she could feel the thing slowly slide back down the passage, back down the way it had come. The reporter could almost feel it fighting her, wanting to go deeper inside of her, but Lois kept the pressure up, refusing to allow it to slide back inside of her.

Time lost meaning. The reporter's forearms ached as millimeter by millimeter, the mass was **** down and down, toward her pussy. The reporter's whole lower body was a mass of dull pain. Her pussy, she was sure, would never be the same again...but she knew that women after childbirth healed, and if not, there were surgeries for that. For now, Lois Lane's whole world was focused on getting this thing out of here.

Not the missing women. Not the cult. Even Superman was utterly absent from her thoughts. There was nothing left in her mind except the single-minded dedication to get this thing out of her...and with a terrible gasp of triumph, she felt it stretch and bulge her pussy from within. It was like passing the largest kidney stone in the world. Her buttocks quivered, tired muscles screamed at her with one massive effort that saw the end of the thing poke out of her pussy, out into the darkness and open air.

It screamed.

Lois Lane's heart nearly stopped at the wail echoed throughout the tight space. She dropped the handle of the blade and reached down and felt...

...warm flesh, beneath her fingers, emerging from her pussy.

Instinctively, her abdomen lurched, she bore down, and the screaming, wet, thing slid a little further out of the gaping cunny. The reporter grabbed the shoulders and pulled them free.

Alone in the dark, Lois Lane held the thing that squirmed and screamed...and the one thing she was sure of was that it wasn't a baby. The little hands that grasped her were fully-formed, with tiny sharp talons. The high-pitched voice was that of a grown woman. There were tiny tits, the side of her thumbs, against her palms as she held the wet squirming thing. Yet there was no umbilical cord, no navel on that smooth flat stomach, no afterbirth. With an effort, Lois pinned it to the ground with one hand, grabbed her phone.

In the bright light of the phone, Lois saw a small, fully-formed nude woman. Her skin the red of fresh blood, tiny pink horns on her head. She was only about a foot tall...and her violet eyes, without pupil or iris but the same color as Lois Lane's own, glared up hatefully at the woman who had dragged her kicking and screaming out of her womb before she was fully formed.

Lois Lane stared at the screaming thing for a minute. She saw the flash of fangs in the light of the phone. Breastfeeding was definitely not an option.

In the end, the reporter wrapped the squalling bundle of rage in her jacket, tying up the ends to make a bag that the small creature, for all of its spitting fury, could not escape from.

Then Lois squeezed back into her pants and began the long trudge through the darkness, the tiny demon under one arm, the book and the dagger under the other. There had to be an exit, and she would find it.

Dawn broke over the city as Lois emerged from the great storm drain entrance that poured into Metropolis Habor. The demon had quieted down, sulking and petulant. The weary, exhausted reporter guessed dimly at what must have happened...how the demon had been trying to be born through her and Lois, in her ignorance, had interrupted the ritual somehow, leaving it trapped in this form. Once outside, she had enough signal on her phone to call the Justice League...and she did so. Leaning back against the embankment, staring at the sun rising over the waters.

A tiny red face poked out of the jacket and hissed. Now that Lois could see it clearly in the light, it bore a distinct resemblance to the statue the stone phallus had broken off from.

"Next time," Lois told the diminutive demon. "I'll remember to wear a condom."