Epilogue: Regrets & Recriminations

Lois Lane went to sleep oddly sated. For once the gnawing emptiness inside of her was gone. Her worries about the missed period absent. She slept soundly, dreaming of being on her knees, a voice in her stomach whispering encouragement as she sucked cock after cock...

Morning came with the blare of the alarm. The Daily Planet's star reporter stumbled into the bathroom, stomach churning, to sit on the toilet. She focused on her breathing as nausea ate at her guts, trying to keep last night's dinner where it should be. Just closed her eyes and focused, trying to will herself to let it pass...and it did, slowly but surely, though her mouth tasted acrid and nasty, lips gummy and dry. Finally, after ten or fifteen minutes, she opened her eyes.

Her gaze fell on the loose tile on the floor—and the hole in the wall.

Mentally, Lois cursed herself. She bent over and picked up the tile, fitting it back over the hole.

A moment of weakness, Lois told herself. Just like that time in the club. Stupid, dangerous sexual activity that a grown woman like me should know better than to engage in. I just...need to put the past behind me. Focus on the future.

The naked woman winced. "The future" involved the unopened box of pregnancy tests sitting on the edge of the sink. She got up from the toilet, wiped herself and left it there too. Right now, she decided, she need to focus on coffee.

One cup in the morning was Lois Lane's rule. She had a French press, and a separate filter. Made it strong and black, and let the bitter warmth fill her belly, the caffeine making the first hour of her commute every day a jittery bag of nerves—but it set the tone, gave her the energy to move on during the day.

Upset as she was over the lingering events of yesterday, however, and as nauseous as she had been this morning, Lois decided to engage in one of her bad habits: stress eating.

Lois got out the eggs, butter, and bread. Something simple and filling: a scrambled egg sandwich. Easy enough to take with her on the go.

Once, when she had visited a therapist more regularly, the headshrinker had told her that stress-eating in moderation was a good thing.

"Your body craves things it needs," the woman had told her. "Nutritional deficiencies. You need to listen to what it is telling you. Fad diets are all about putting your body in an unnatural state—but your body knows what it needs to maintain itself. Just learn to follow your instincts."

It was instincts that had Lois make too many eggs—and take one for lunch after wolfing the other. More calories than she normally consumed in a morning, but nothing another hour of cardio wouldn't cure.

She took a cab rather than walk the two miles to the Daily Planet offices. Listening to her body, Lois ate the other sandwich along the way, surprised at her own appetite. The unfamiliar morning meal settled heavily on her stomach, a too-full feeling as if her dress was too tight...but she put it aside. There was work to be done...and, she noted the moment she arrived, someone had brought donuts in the break room...

At work at least, Lois could forget what had happened last night. Or try to. She stayed an hour late, muttering a goodnight to Clark Kent as he left for home, trying to put off going back to her own apartment. When she finally left the building, it was too late to get to the gym for her usual workout.

It was just a one-off thing, Lois told herself as she walked home. A moment of weakness. I'm stronger than that. I'm not going to be afraid of going into my own apartment, or my own bathroom.

But it was more than that. The reporter wondered what she would say if she saw her neighbor in the hall—would they smile at a shared secret? Would she even know it had been Lois on the other side? Lois sighed heavily as she took the elevator up to her apartment.

Dinner was fresh celery and peanut butter. Lois had already blown through her calorie count, and dreaded what the scale would say at the gym next week. The bathroom door stood open, the light off as she puttered around the kitchenette and the bedroom.

Finally, nature intervened. Lois Lane could put it off no longer.

She turned to the bathroom and flicked on the light. Her eyes rested on the unopened box on the sink, then to the toilet. The piece of tile on the wall was still in place where she had left it. Everything was normal.

With a sigh, Lois sat down for her second constitutional of the day... And heard a distant click from her left.

Throat suddenly dry, Lois saw that the tile was still in place...but there was light spilling around it. Sounds of movement from the bathroom adjoining her own.

Need to call the superintendent. The reporter found her heart beating faster, body suddenly hot. Get that fixed.

There was a moan—low and feminine. And a familiar fap-fap-fap of moving flesh. Lois tried to hold her breath, feeling like a voyeur, even though she couldn't see anything. The tile was right there, almost at eye level. The moans grew louder, and there were words, indistinct but certainly words in a husky, **** tone...

Lois heard something drip into the toilet and knew it was her own pussy, achingly wet, the heat building inside her chest. Hating herself, Lois reached up, almost touching the piece of loose tile...

This is how it started last night, she told herself. But it can't hurt to look, can it?

The lightest tap. The piece of tile fell to the ground. Lois heard it shatter.

Then the cock was right there, thrust through the hole, purple helmet grotesquely swollen, twitching...

The first gob of cum splattered across Lois Lane's chin, and by instinct her lips fastened on the head, sucking hard, feeling three or four warm ropes of salty jizz offload onto her tongue...and when the dick withdrew, the shemale's body coming into view for just a moment before that hand reached out and clicked off the light, Lois realized she was all alone.

She swallowed heavily, wiping the gob of cum off her chin with a thumb and sucking it into her mouth. Her belly rumbled, once, and then was quiet.

All alone with her regrets and recriminations.