Epilogue: Bad Habits

Like most mornings the last few weeks, Lois Lane woke up with her head pounding, mouth tasting like something died in it, stomach churning. It was nausea that eventually drove her out of bed, scratching at her pussy, thighs still sticky from last night's activities.

Reporters had a reputation for being hard-drinking. It wasn't hard to fall into bad habits. The last few weeks, Lois had been staying out late, keeping pace. Angelica wouldn't let her pay for a drop of it, and more often than not after hours would find them back at Blaze's flat, doing shots...and it was only a matter of time before the clothes would start to come off, and before long they would be in bed...and sometimes didn't even make it to bed.

Still, Lois told herself she knew what she was doing. She always showed up sober for work, always knocked out her columns on time. Her editor couldn't say a thing against her, and she knew enough to always keep some hand-sanitizer at her desk, to help explain away any **** smell...and sure, she'd been pouring herself a little vodka in the mornings lately, just to take the edge off, and lunch was usually a 40 ounce beer in a brown bag from the corner store, drunk in the park.

Lois fell to her knees before the bowl as her stomach lurched. She hadn't been going to the gym as regularly lately, and with the extra calories from the drinking, some of her pants were getting a little tight. The reporter burped...and she felt something come up into her mouth, tasted last night's hot wings, and then hung her head over the bowl to be messily, violently ill.

She didn't hear Angelica slide out of bed, but she felt the strong, sure fingers pull her hair back, holding it out of the bowl.

"How many days have you been waking up like this?"

The question hung in the air, but Lois wasn't in a position to answer it. More than once or twice, she knew, although it wasn't always in the mornings. The reporter had took to keeping mouthwash and a toothbrush at her desk, just in case it hit her at the office. Her stomach roiled and Lois heaved again, tasting yellow bile coating her tongue, hoping all the vomiting lately wasn't going to affect her teeth...

"M'alright," Lois said when she could manage to speak again. "Just...need a drink. Little sip of something."

Her hands were shaking as she gripped the bowl and **** herself up. Turning around, she sat on it. Guts were still unsettled, but it felt like the other end. There was the clink of glasses. When she looked up, the naked dickgirl was standing there with a clear glass full of brown liquid...and something else in her other hand.

A pregnancy test.

Lois frowned.

"Don't need that." She reached for the glass, but Angelica pulled it out of reach.

"When was your last period?"

The reporter blinked.

"I'm not always regular," she said, defensively.

"You've been gaining weight. Getting sick."

"Maybe I'm just drinking too much," Lois said, suddenly angry. She narrowed bloodshot eyes at Angelica's dick, which was still wet and dripping. Trying not to think about how many times she'd let the dickgirl cum deep inside her pussy...and she never used condoms. Nor had Lois ever gotten a new prescription for her birth control.

"Just...hand me the glass," Lois said.

"Take the test," Blaze said, holding the glass up out of reach, even if Lois levered herself off the toilet.

"Fine," the reporter said, irritated, as she ripped the test out of Blaze's hand. Tore open the plastic packaging and carefully angled it between her legs. The pee, when it came, was far too dark, and Lois cursed as it splashed her shaking fingers...yet she did finally managed to get the paper strip under the stream.

Then she set it on the side of the sink. Angelica Blaze set the glass down next to it.

That was a bit of calculated cruelness, and Lois Lane wasn't too hungover to know it. She stared at the glass, smelling the whiskey there...good whiskey, because Lois told herself it was okay as long as she didn't drink the cheap stuff, that it meant she wasn't a...

Lois swallowed, tasting bile, and screwed her eyes tight. She couldn't drink the whiskey until she saw what the test said.

From the kitchen came the sounds of coffee-making. Lois tried to remember how many times Angie had come over here, to her apartment. She glanced at the sink, where she saw a toothbrush that wasn't hers. They had panties drying side-by-side on the towel bar.

Click of the stove. Smell of frying bacon. Lois closed her eyes, not wanting to look at the test, wanting to let the whiskey chase the last taste of sick out of her mouth, her bowels belching as they emptied, horrible what drinking does to the digestion...

Blaze came in. She picked up the test...and then set it back down, picked up the glass, and poured the whiskey down the sink.

"I'm cutting you off, sweetmeat," Angelica said. "When you're ready, come get some breakfast. You need to keep your strength up. Eating for two now."

Squatting on the toilet, elbows on her knees, face in her hands, Lois looked up at Blaze.

"What am I going to do?" she whispered.

Angie dropped down onto her haunches, so that she could stare Lois levelly in the eyes.

"What every other alcoholic woman does, when they find out they're pregnant," the dickgirl said, her cock almost touching the floor from her squat. "You're either going to clean up your act, go to meetings, and stay sober—or you're going to fall off the wagon, and your baby is going to pay the price with you."

The dickgirl smiled, that damnable, inscrutable smile, and Lois couldn't tell if it was cruel or sad or happy. Blaze had to know that the baby was hers too.

"You just fell into bad habits is all, sweetmeat. Terribly easy to do," Angelica said as she stood up, smoothly and easily. "You just need some better ones."

With one hand, Angelica lifted her fat, soft cock and pulled back the foreskin, exposing the vivid pink head, still scummy and nasty from last night.

"It's all about training yourself off wanting a drink. So when you want a drop...maybe you should just suck my cock instead."

Lois found her mouth hanging open, not resisting as the soft cock was fed into her mouth. Her lips closed on it and she began to slurp.

"We do this every day," Blaze said, growing hard in her babymama's mouth, "and I'm sure you'll be sober in no time!"

The Daily Planet's greatest reporter had nothing to say that. Only the smack of lips on cock, the roiling in her guts slowly dying down, the smell of fried bacon and fresh coffee stirring her appetite.

Maybe Angie is right, the hungover reporter thought, as the dickgirl's hips began to move, the swinging balls smacking Lois Lane's chin. Maybe I do just need to get over my bad habits. After all, there's more than just me to think of...