Epilogue: Fixation & Frustration

A cold shower did little to soothe the ache in Lois Lane's loins.

She walked to work. Something seethed inside of her, an agitation that she kept carefully tramped down inside, but the reporter could feel herself on edge, patience short, mind wandering as she tramped the sun-stained streets of Metropolis...

...and along with the new mood came a kind of hyperawareness. The maternity model in the window, wearing a high-waisted blue dress that showed off the swell of her belly. The pregnant woman at the bus stop, the t-shirt not covering her belly button, which was pierced, a cheap plastic jewel hanging from the protruding navel. Lois found herself wondering what cock she had fucked, and whether she even remembered which dick had knocked her up.

Once in the Daily Planet, the reporter tried to calm down. Find her professional space. She still had to find those missing women, try to put together her column...assuming her editor didn't have anything else for her.

He did.

"Lane!" Perry White growled, chomping on an unlit cigar. He had stopped smoking years ago, but still had the oral fixation. "I need you to cover the opening of this new fertility clinic S.T.A.R. Labs is spinning off. Supposed to be some real high-tech stuff. Take Jimmy, do the full tour, get us some good pictures. 'The Next Generation of Metropolis!'"

Sweat beaded at the reporter's temples. "I...why not send Clark on it?"

Perry winced. "He's covering the Clayface variant in Gotham's sewers. Thought I'd spare you the turd-monster."

"Right. Right," Lois swallowed. "Will do, chief."

"...we're really pushing the envelope of reproductive technology here," Dr. Kitty Faulkner said, at ProtoS.T.A.R., S.T.A.R. Lab's fertility lab. The mousy brunette had met Lois and Jimmy in the lobby, and was giving them the dime tour. "Take a look at this: it's an automated auto-inseminator, for women that want to handle the whole process themselves. At one point, there were serious plans to have one of these in every shopping mall."

"You don't say," Lois said, distractedly. "How does it work?"

The auto-inseminator looked like an arcade booth, the kind where you simulated driving cars very fast, complete with a console and steering wheel. Except instead of a stick between the legs, there was a long black tube.

"The subject sits in the chair," Faulkner slid into the seat. "And starts the program. There's a bunch of medical wavers, and then an initial injection that causes the cervix to relax, but the fun part is selecting the semen source. Each one of these could keep up to twenty-four separate samples in cool storage at any given time. When selected, the the frozen samples begin the defrost process, and the woman begins to insert the tube."

The doctor demonstrated by turning the steering wheel, which caused the tube to move left and right...up and down...and finally forward and back.

"There's a camera at the end of the tube, so you can aim it carefully, and it's prelubcricated for easy entry. The program lets you know when you're at proper insertion depth...and once it locks in place, you just press here," Dr. Faulkner indicated something that looked like a pistol grip coming out of the dashboard, with a bright red trigger. "And it will inseminate you. A temporary cervical cap is applied to hold the semen in place, and then the tube retracts. The whole procedure takes less than half an hour. Imagine impregnating yourself on your lunch break!"

Lois smiled. Sweat dripped down her ribs, and something that wasn't sweat was dripping down her legs. The reporter was glad she had decided to wear pants today.

"So...I take it this was never rolled out?" The reporter asked. Jimmy snapped a couple pictures.

"No, there were some issues with the initial roll-out...apparently they had 18-year-old girls in high school that would dare each other to use it. And the initial rollout was in Iowa, but the majority of the sperm samples were sourced from the inner-city clinics..." Faulkner shrugged. "So, yeah. Lot of little white girls had big brown babies. Terrible religious panic. Couple of lawsuits. This is probably the last working model, and we don't keep it stocked."

The doctor gave the device a consolatory pat. "It's too bad. This bad boy never got to really fulfill its purpose. But we're hoping to adapt the design for use in the clinic...women that want to handle things themselves, you know?"

"Of course," Lois said. Her palms were so sweaty she could barely hold her pen. "I can definitely see the attraction in that kind of thing."

It was a long, thorough tour. Lois saw women in every stage of pregnancy. Kitty Faulkner walked lois through every stage of prenatal care. Unveiled her eyes to how primitive most fertility assistance really was, and how many modern women needed help just getting pregnant and carrying a baby to term.

"I wish I could show you a birth," Faulkner said. "We have full facilities, though Metropolis General Hospital handles most of the actual cases, or will. But I can show you an actual conception in process!"

Lois Lane swallowed dryly. Her heart thumped in her chest like a butterfly, pulse pounding in her ears. The trickly from her pussy had reached her socks. Lois could feel the warm, wet fabric swell and creep slowly down into her shoes.

Faulkner led them into an observation bay in a lab. A doctor in white labcoat, masked and gloved, was doing something with petri dishes underneath a device that looked like a microscope. Lois could clearly see the screen the doctor was staring at. A large thick-walled bubble seemed to float in a sea of grey-white.

"Is that..." Lois asked.

"A human egg," Faulkner said. "Freshly harvested. Now, the doctor is going to introduce semen from her sperm donor..."

Tiny, wiggling shapes flooded the scene. There were so many, Lois couldn't begin to count them all. Thousands. Tens of thousands. She shuddered, though it wasn't particularly cold where they were now. Her clit, erect inside her panties, began to throb.

"There!" Faulkner said. She stabbed out a finger. "You see it?"

There was something...a gap, a depression, on the right side of the egg. Barely visible. Something like a shadow seemed to cross the surface of the egg...and then the bubble thickened.

"Insemination complete," Faulkner said, a bit of awe in her voice. "We now have a fertilized embryo. The thickening of the cell wall prevents any further sperm from getting in. We're going to implant this fertilized ovum into the donor's chosen surrogate...and in forty weeks, if everything goes well, we'll have a new life."

"Fascinating," Lois said. Her voice was strained. "Excuse me, but where's the nearest bathroom?"

The family restroom had a lock on the door. Lois carefully turned it, then pulled down her pants and panties. The underwear was soaked, strands of gummy fluid stretching out in gooey ropes from her cunt. Without further preparation, the reporter reached down and slid three fingers of her hand into her overheated muff.

It was like trying to scratch an itch inside her own brain. The reporter panted until she whined, fingers scrabbling about inside of her, legs shaking with unrestrained need. She grabbed onto the sink to steady herself, and raised her eyes to look at herself in the mirror as she tried to stuff her entire hand inside her cunt...and almost succeeded, the knuckles stretching her pink pussy to the limit. The face that stared back at Lois was almost unrecognizable, twisted in ****, fiendish need...

...which wouldn't be sated. Lois felt hot tears come to her eyes as she rubbed and squirmed, trying to stuff more and more into her needy twat, but it wasn't enough. She couldn't get off, and all the effort of trying to do so was simply keying her body up, her frustrations heightened past the point of distraction.

Ten minutes of that, and Lois was on her knees, pussy raw and throbbing worse than before. With a terrible effort of will, she managed to stand, pull up her pants, and wash her hands.

"Face it Lane," Lois told her reflection in the mirror. "You need to get laid."

Yet while she said "laid," Lois knew she meant more than sex. She was thinking of those millions of squiggly sperm **** an egg.

Her egg.

Lois put on a brave face as she went back out into the clinic, her face still a little flushed from her exertions. She still had a job to do.