Epilogue: Lois Lane, The Daily Planet's Fat Slut

Clark Kent did notice.

Lois couldn't fit into her old clothes anymore...not that she could even find her old clothes. One by one the business suits and skinny pants and jackets had gone away, and what were left were tracksuits, jogging pants with elastic waistbands, yoga pants that clung to her heavier thighs like a second skin. The only bras she had left were sports bras, and even those were a size or two too small, her tits muffing out of the tight elastic.

The reporter rubbed her gut. She was twelve weeks pregnant, by the doctor's estimate, and 158 lbs. And gaining. As much as she wanted to heed the doctor's concerns about pregnancy-induced diabetes, of the stress of gaining too much weight too fast, there just...always something. She would open her drawer at work, and find a bag of skittles. Close it, open again, and there was another bag of skittles. By the end of the day, if Lois wasn't careful, her cubicle floor would be covered with candy wrappers. When she asked for water at a fast-food restaurant, she got a sweet syrupy soda. Free desserts would appear.

It would have taken a blind man not to see the formerly trim, in-shape Lois Lane gain pound after pound, week after week. To see her clothes grow tighter, so that she couldn't hide the swell of what was clearly not a beer belly.

She could feel him grow distant. Feel his eyes on her, whenever she passed. Lois had long ago felt lost and adrift, but the things she imagined in his gaze—the disapproval, disgust, and disdain—ate at her soul like acid. The worse she felt, the more she ate, and the more she ate, the less she seemed to care about things. Fingers sticky. Food crumbs in the keyboard. Stains on her lips. She hardly bothered with makeup anymore, because she hated to stare into the mirror, afraid to see the skin on her chin soften, wondering when it would fill out.

It got to the point where she couldn't take Clark's gaze anymore. She began to skip meetings when he would be there. Come in late, just so she wouldn't see him next to the coffee pot, where there was always a fresh box of donuts. Took the back way out of the building, through an alley which had increasingly been plastered with these posters advertising maternity wear, plus-sized clothing, pornographic films starring big beautiful women, the latest fast food joints...

Lois felt trapped. Trapped in her body, trapped in what her life had become. Pregnant, fat and getting fatter, disgusting, unable to escape from the cycle of sex, despair, food...and her stomach rebelled from all the sweets and junk food, she felt tired all the time, listless, sweaty, heavy, hard to concentrate.

Which is probably why she hardly knew how to react when Clark Kent stepped into the elevator right behind her, as she got in at the lobby.

The pudgy pregnant reporter froze, not sure what to do, what to say. He gave her a little smile as the doors closed. They were alone...all alone...and Lois realized how she must look, what he must think of her, and right then and there she could have died.

Except he didn't hit their floor. He hit the button for the roof.

"I notice you've been filling out, Lois," he said. Almost absently. She raised her head and noticed he was staring at her. This big man, a head taller than her, with those broad shoulders. When he stood up, he loomed, all those muscles pressing up from beneath his shirt. He stepped towards her, and Lois instinctively backed into the corner...but he came on. Came and then his strong, warm hands grabbed at the soft roll that had begun to develop on her belly.

"You know in Kansas, where I grew up," he said, leaning in close. "We have a lot of...big women. When you're coming of age around women like that, it can shift your preferences. For what excites you. Once you get a taste for that sort of thing, all those thin, supermodel types people drool over seem so...flat. I've always found you attractive, Lois..."

Her heart leaped in her chest, big violet eyes opening wide at this confession.

"...but now, I have to say...I can barely contain myself when I'm around you. That sexy belly...the way you can't quite squeeze your butt into those pants...how your breasts poke out...it makes it very hard for me, during the day. You understand that, don't you?"

She did. Lois could feel something hard stick into her soft belly. The pregnant reporter swallowed.

"I...I can help you with that, if you want," she said, trying to find some of her old confidence. "I mean, I should take responsibility for giving you a hard time, shouldn't I, Smallville?"

Lois flashed him a grin...and he grinned back.

Which is how, not ten minutes later, Lois Lane found herself bent over the stairwell leading down from the roof. Her lycra pants had been pulled down to her thickening thighs, and Clark was porking her from behind, his impossibly stiff prick stabbing deep inside her cock, making the soft fat ripple as he gripped her belly. She held on for dear life, her whole body jiggling as he pumped himself inside her with **** need...and Lois lane knew that if anyone came into the stairwell right now she would look like a total pregnant slag, bending over and letting him spray his seed into her cunt without protection, which was probably how she got knocked up in the first place...

...and for the first time in months, Lois Lane didn't really mind. There was something different about when Clark was fucking her. And when he spent, after only five minutes, they were both panting and red-faced, and Lois felt the seed drip down over her thighs and somehow it wasn't nasty to her, or at least not in a bad way. After all, Lois had been getting used to having cum rolling down from her slit for weeks and weeks. It just felt good that it was his cum.

"Lois," Clark said, as he continued to rub her belly. "I'd like to take you out for dinner tonight. Five o'clock."

"S-sure," Lois said, her heart leaping for joy. "That would be great."