Epilogue: A New Cycle

Dawn filtered through the blinds in Lois' bedroom window, falling across her face. She stirred gently, aching in odd places, trying to hold on to the cobwebs of a dream...and then it crystallized in her mind, and the reporter sat bolt upright on the bed, panting in a sudden cold sweat.

She looked down at herself, naked on top of the sheets. Her hands pressed against the flat, toned stomach; gently hefted her small, surprisingly tender breasts. Carefully, Lois reached down between her legs expecting...she didn't know what.

Wetness met her fingers, and a pleasant ache like the reporter sometimes felt after a good, long fuck. Lois shuddered a he ran her fingers over her supersensitive slit, rubbing her thighs together, trapping her fingers for a moment, feeling the heat down there...and then she looked at the time.

"Shit," she muttered, swinging her legs off the bed. "I'll be late."

The mundane life of the office was a balm to Lois' nerves. Clark Kent shot her a few odd looks, but otherwise the office patter and work kept her grounded. She could almost forget the dream, rationalize what had happened...

"I've been on a dry spell," she told herself in the bathroom mirror. "Sex and booze. Came home, had a bath, fell asleep on the bed and dreamed it—giant sperm, giant belly and all. Just a sex dream."

That night, Lois did not go out to the club again, nor did she have anything to drink. She slept without dreaming.

So it went, working days and dreamless nights... The missing women never turned up, but no more went missing. Some folks just get lost and never become found. Lois moved on to other assignments, life as normal as it could be in Metropolis with its supervillains and caped crusaders. The dream still lingered in the background of her mind, but Lois tried not to think about it.

On her calendar, she ticked down the days. Her period was due soon, and her breasts had swollen a little, forcing her to go up a bra size. Women's bodies did that, the reporter knew, always shifting and changing with their internal seasons.

That night, she fell asleep with a hand laying on her flat stomach.

She could feel her chest rise as she breathed, a sudden heat upon her. There was a terrible sensation of...emptiness inside of her, cunt aching to be filled, and a kind of expectancy. Instinctively, she knew there was someone in the room with her, could feel their weight on the bed, the sound of their breathing, and it set Lois' heart to thumping...but she couldn't move. Like when you wake from a dream, but your arms and legs don't want to work, still caught in the nighttime paralysis. So she lay on the bed, pinned by her own body, not even wanting to open her eyes.

Familiar hands slid onto her legs. Soft and warm, strong and sure, they started near the top of her legs and pressed down, fingers digging in, massaging the muscles. Lois could feel the thumbs press into her inner thighs, spreading her legs a little wider, moving up and down, up and down... and Lois opened her legs at the familiar sensation, she felt something soft and warm rubbing at her pussy lips, spreading her lips, positioning itself at the opening to her vagina... and Lois gasped as it slid inside of her with a smooth, practiced rush a though coming home.

The reporter lost herself in the thrust and counterthrust of the cock that slowly pounded itself into her. There was little foreplay, but Lois found she was wet and randy, eager into it as she pushed back, urging the unseen dick into her harder, deeper, faster, clamping her thighs against her lover, moaning in abandon as a month-long itch was scratched...and rare for Lois, the pounding thrusts went on until she could feel her climax, and continued straight through it, the reporter shuddering , stars blazing behind her eyes a she came on the cock that seemed to know every inch of her so well.

A warm hand splayed on Lois belly, middle finger just dipping into Lois' navel. A liquid warmth filled her inside.

"From now on," the voice whispered above Lois—and she was surprised to find that it was a woman's, despite the hard shaft still plugging her up. "These eggs are mine."

"My...babies..." Lois found her voice, lips and throat suddenly dry. A tender kiss burnt against her lips, hot and muscular, soft and feminine...

"Ours."

And then the cock was moving in Lois again, pushing through the warm seed already spilled into her, dripping from her well-fucked cunt down her ass...

Dawn again. Lois stirred gently, familiar aches in her pussy and thighs...but not a drop on the bedspread.

She looked down at herself, naked on top of the sheets. Her hands pressed against the soft stomach; gently hefted her slightly swollen, surprisingly tender breasts. The reporter stretched, muscles in legs, hips, and back sore. Eyed the clock, and got ready for work.

Lois Lane's period never came that month.

The swelling of her breasts didn't go down as it normally did. Skirts seemed tight across her hips these days. Her complexion was good though, skin practically glowing. And she wondered, as dreamless nights came and went, what she would dream about when her time came...