Epilogue: Lotus Lane Sows Her Wild Oats

Spring in Metropolis. Though the city was steel and concrete and stone, the green grasses spread upwards through the cracks in the sidewalks, flowers bloomed on windowsills, trees leafed out as the days grew longer, and birds returning from winter haunts roosted once more in sheltered eaves...and at night...

A figure haunted the clubs of Metropolis. A scent seemed to linger in her wake, turning heads to catch it above the smell of tobacco, ****, and sweat. She moved through the streets with quiet purpose, hands in fingerless gloves, groping the women as she squeezed past in crowded train cars, busy dancefloors, or in the crush to get into a bathroom. Young and old, women found themselves following the woman with painted eyes and the self-assured smile...looking for her amid the throng, or thinking about her as hey drank and danced, unable to get her out of their thoughts as their bodies heated up.

The healthy ones. The fertile ones. She could smell when they were in their dangerous days, and sometimes all it took was a little push.

Not always. Some of the women shook it off, or let their friends and dates take them home. The others...

Lotus Lane slid into the bathroom where they had gone to cool off. Pushed them into the booth, or in the corner, grabbed their arms and pulled them into the alley. When they opened their mouths to scream, to protest, to pray, he lips were there...love-toxins in her lips, their cunnies melting, bodies relaxing against hers as she tasted them.

None of them said no. Not even when Lotus brought out her stamen. Panties tored, dropped, pulled aside, and if they weren't wet enough Lotus would bend down and press her lips against those pussies. Burning kisses, a hot tongue that was loaded with antiobiotics, targeted chemicals that told their bodies to adjust pH levels, to prepare for insemination.

Sometimes she took them standing up, against the wall. Or would have them bend over the toilet, holding on for dear life as she slid in. Sat down with her thick shaft pointed upward for them to impale themselves on. Whatever the situation demanded, whatever worked...

One was a young woman with braces, celebrating her 18th birthday; and before her next birthday she'd be celebrating the birth of her first child. Another was nearly sixty years old, almost at menopause, body heavy and sweaty, about to get a late-in-life surprise. A suburban wife out for a bit of fun, who didn't notice when the condom bubbled and tore, but felt it when the hot splooge filled her aching, slutty cunt, wondering how she would explain that to her husband.

At the end of the night, Lotus Lane would return home. A great greenhouse, the blossoms opening to face the sun, hot and humid...and in the middle, their bower, the bed nearly lost in flower petals, and in the middle the scarlet tresses of her lover. Lotus hated to leave her alone at night...but her need to spread her seed could not be denied. Lotus pulled off her clothes, loving the feel of the sunlight on her naked skin, which turned a brighter shade of green in response.

Ivy awoke as her lover slid onto the bed. Her pupils were wide. The air was pregnant with the resin of the marijuana plants. The whole greenhouse lived in a narcotic fog...

"Tell me," Ivy said as she reached for her morning joint. Lotus brought the lighter up, the **** probably weren't good for the baby, but it was all natural.

"Three, tonight," Lotus said. "There was this pink limousine that disgorged a gaggle of young women...the birthday girl had just turned eighteen..."

Ivy smoked. Lotus told her story, fingers exploring her lover's form. Maybe it was her imagination, but she thought her lover's stomach was a little softer now. Her scent and taste a little different. Lotus Lane's stamen was stiff as she took her place between Ivy's legs, the honeypot wet and leaking and ready for her...

It didn't hurt to make sure that the crop had been sown properly.