Epilogue: Lois Lane, Pregnant Model

"Gee, Miss Lane," Jimmy Olsen said. "Have you ever thought about being a model?"

"Oh, Jimmy," Lois Lane laughed. Her hand came to rest on the eighteen-week pregnant belly. With twins, she already looked and felt pregnant...really pregnant. Her navel was already about level with her nipples, and Lois Lane had been wearing some daring outfits to work, just to show off her figure.

"No, I'm serious," the Daily Planet's photographer said earnestly. "I have a friend doing some shoots, and he needs a pregnant model to show off some new maternity swimwear...you should show up!"

He fumbled in his plaid suit coat and came up with a card...and Lois, just to humor him, took it.

Which is how, three days later, Lois Lane found herself in the tiniest bikini she had ever seen.

"I can't go out in this!" Lois hissed. The small yellow triangles barely covered her nipples, leaving her softly darkening areolas exposed. The yellow crotch-piece was so small that Lois Lane's carefully-trimmed pubic hair was tufting out of the top.

"Don't be ridiculous," the makeup artist said as she rubbed a bit of oil into the reporter's already gleaming dome of a belly. "You look fantastic. The camera's going to love you."

"I look obscene!" Lois insisted, staring at herself in the mirror. "My nipples are hard! I can see the cleft of my pussy!"

"Boys like that kind of thing," the woman doing her hair mused. "Girls too, some of us."

She offered Lois a smile that might have been a leer.

"I don't know about this ring, though..." The makeup artist said, one hand moving toward the reporter's wedding ring...and the talisman that his her true appearance. Lois quickly snatched her hand away.

"The ring stays on," the reporter said, firmly.

There wasn't vast money in modeling, unless you were a supermodel. Lois felt her stomach twisting itself into knots as she strode out, freshly oiled and coiffed, in a bikini skimpier than anything she wore when she wasn't pregnant, with a flat stomach and no added swell to her hips and thighs.

The set was closed, thankfully. Just Lois and the photographer Guido. The reporter would have given a lot if Blaze could have been there in the background, but Lois was confident she could take care of herself. The set was dressed like a beach...bright lights, a beach ball, a fake palm tree, real white sand, even a wind machine...

"Excellent, excellent," Guido said. "Magnifique. Please, to come a little closer, yes, there stop, wonderful, now to raise the arms, puff out your chest..."

He was so wonderfully Italian, Lois wondered which suburb of New Jersey he's really come from. Wiry, dressed in distressed jeans and a white shirt, but he was sweating despite the airconditioning, and there were dark circles under his eyes. His camera snapped, and then he would issue more instructions, and Lois would follow them to the best of her ability.

After a little while, she started to relax. It was like a game.

"On the knees now, yes," he said. Dropping down on his own knees, facing her, camera up in front of his face. "Now, pull the bottom..."

"Like this?" Lois asked, tugging at the flimsy bikini-bottom with both hands.

"Really pull," Guido said. "Pull it up. We want to see the fabric strain between the pregnant pussy lips."

Instantly, Lois glowered. "What the fuck, I'm not..."

"Please," he said, and there was nothing soft in his voice now. A hard edge, and Lois was staring at the camera and...she felt her hand pull hard, until the thong bit into her pussy, as though she was flossing her cunny...and the reporter blinked as the camera flashed, wondering why she had done such a thing.

"Now," Guido said. "Lose the clothes."

Anger and resentment flared in Lois. Her hands curled into fists and her legs coiled as she prepared to pounce on Guido and kick his teeth in, eighteen weeks pregnant or not...

"Please," he said, still looking through the camera...and the next thing Lois knew, she felt herself pulling her top and bottom off, and she was naked on her knees in the sand, and the camera flashed...and flashed...

"Excellent, beautiful. Stupid preggo bitch," Guido said, almost absently. "Turn around, please. Spread that ass, please. I want to see it, your pregnant cunt, your pregnant asshole..."

Every time he said the word, Lois Lane's body reacted. She couldn't actually think, as she turned around, bent over, reached back to spread her buttcheeks wide with her hands so that he could photograph her asshole...but one thing the reporter did see, as she turned around, was Guido fiddling with his pants, trying to get his cock out.

"Action shots, now," Guido said. "Stay right where you are, please. I want to get a good shot as I pop my dick in your asshole. Maybe if you had done this all those months ago, you wouldn't be here, knocked up, and..."

He paused. Lois quivered, unable to move. "The ring. It is ruining the shot. All the light it reflects...take it off."

Lois didn't move. Sweat was pouring off of her now, teeth bared in a feral grin, heart pounding.

"Please," he said.

The pregnant model let her buttcheeks go. Hands behind her, she reached to grab at the ring...the talisman...her magical concealer...and she could feel he was close, hear the fap-fap-fap as he brought himself to hardness.

The ring came off. It never felt like anything, when she did it, yet Lois knew it had an effect. She heard the camera drop. Crack against the floor...and Lois could move.

Mules can kick harder...but not by much. Guido's scream rose into a high-pitched gurgle.

Lois never did remember much of what happened next. She remembered kicking and kicking, and crying and shouting, and finally stomping until both heels hurt and the edge of the spreading pool of blood reached the white sands.

"...the Toyman," Superman said later, as what was left of "Guido" was hauled away. "The camera held some sort of hypnotic device, posthypnotic suggestions activated by a key phrase. He could have used it to create Manchurian candidates, and instead he was using it to...well, we don't think you're the first victim. Don't blame Jimmy...we have no idea how widespread his influence was before you...caught him."

Lois was back in her civilian clothes. The ring was back in place. Angie's arm wrapped around her shoulder.

"What about the film?" Lois asked. "The photos he was taking?"

The Man of Steel frowned. "There was no film. His camera was uploading them wirelessly to a secure server. I've asked Batgirl to try and track it down and, uh, recover the evidence."

"But they're out there," Lois said. She shook...then her eyes narrowed. "Was he selling the photos?"

Superman grimaced. "We don't know. Maybe."

"I want them," Lois said, the pregnant reporter's voice fierce. "I want everyone involved with this, their names and faces on the front page of the Daily Planet, and I want them to go to jail."

"If that's what you want, sweetmeat," Blaze gripped her pregnant wife's hand hard. "Then that's what we'll do. Right, Superman?"

"Right," he said...and Lois Lane's mind was already working. This was now a very personal story.