Epilogue: Side Effects

There were ways to handle these things. Lois Lane bit the bullet and scheduled an appointment with her doctor. She was sympathetic, once the pregnancy was confirmed. Wrote a prescription. RU-486 and misoprostol. 97% effectiveness within the first 63 days of pregnancy. Perfectly legal.

Lois swallowed the pills at a bar, with a shot of tequila. Stared at the empty glass and had another, then left. Two drinks, that was all.

There were supposed to be side effects. The reporter had read about them, considered them carefully. Tiredness, abdominal pain, vaginal bleeding. Like taking your standard morning-after pill, but worse. Which was to be expected, with any pharmaceutical abortion.

There was half a bottle of wine, at home. Well, it was a jeroboam. The equivalent of four standard bottles. Three liters of wine, when full, and Lois Lane's sister had bought it for her as a gag on a trip to France.

Lois grabbed a glass and turned on some mindless television. She hadn't been able to wear her dildo to her doctor's appointment, and her ass was lonely. Burgundy in one hand, the reporter reached down between her legs with the other. One finger pressed against her rosebud, which opened with barely a thought. Slouching down so that her whole ass hung off the end of the chair, Lois pressed forward, her ass opening with unnatural ease, slick honey from the demonic parasite she'd bonded with easily lubing the way as her entire hand slid into her gaping ass.

That was better. Television was doing a Star Trek marathon. The original series. Lois sat there, hand inside her ass, drinking wine. She was on the dregs of the bottle and her tummy was starting to rumble a bit—she hadn't had any digestive issues since Blaze had bonded her with that demon thing, but drinking most of a liter of **** on an empty stomach was apparently the limit.

Unless it's the abortion ****, the reporter thought, wincing.

"...born pregnant," McCoy said on screen. He was talking about the tribbles, which looked like if Shatner's hairpiece had come alive and cloned itself. Lois stared at the television, stone-cold sober, and suddenly her hand wasn't enough anymore. She needed something to distract her, something to fill her up, she needed...

The reporter looked at the almost-empty bottle.

Sat on the floor, it was long and wider than the two-liter bottles of soda she normally packed her ass with on the weekend; thicker than the dildos she normally wore to work, just to keep from playing with her ass all day. Lois bent her legs, positioning her ass until the picker just kissed the glass lip.

"You did the right thing, Lane," she told herself. "What kind of kid wants a mother that can't go twenty-four hours without sticking something monstrous up her asshole?"

She let herself slide down. The neck itself was narrow, and the shoulders flared out. A normal woman would have gotten the neck stuck in their colon, but there was no problem with that in Lois Lane's hungry demon ass. She could actually feel the tip of the bottle, deep inside of her, somewhere behind her womb and about equal with her belly button. It wasn't enough.

Lois planted her hands on her knees and sank down further, pushing it in, moaning like a worthless anal slut as her asshole was **** apart, far past the point where any normal human woman would have reached their limit...and the naked reporter was just getting started. Hips creaking she pressed down, feeling the thick walls of the base hole her ass apart, and that was working for Lois. Her vaginal canal was being crushed tight from the inside, and that bit of friction as she bobbed up and down, **** to gain a little more of the bottle inside of her had her drooling, moaning, waggling her ass, fingernails biting into her knees.

No one wants a complete fucking anal slut for a mommy! She thought to herself as the bottle slipped. Lois reached back with both hands to hold it inside of her, and crawled forward on her knees toward the bathroom. It wasn't anything inside she needed, just the doorframe something solid that she could press the base of the bottle again...and haveing done that, Lois Lane put her hands on the other side of the frame and pushed.

She swore she could feel the tip of the bottle at the bottom of her throat, the hard glass nestled inbetween her lungs, but at the base her ass was gaping, impossibly wide...and now Lois reached between her legs, rubbing furiosly at her clit, her pussy a little distorted flap of flesh, her ass cheeks distended wide. Lois could feel the urge inside of her now...she had experienced it before. The desire to just shove things up her elastic ass until nothing would fit in there anymore. She resisted it...she was already so full...but then again...

The phone rang.

Lois was grateful for the distraction. Staggered to her feet, ass still gaping around the bottle, which was trying to swallow it whole. She laid a hand on her stomach, not woozy from the **** at all, stomach gurgling happily. It felt so good to be so full...

Unknown number. Yet the text message was definitely for her.

SIDE EFFECT OF YOUR CONDITION: **** AND **** DON'T AFFECT YOU. NOT EVEN ABORTION ****. -B

The pregnant reporter shook in barely suppressed rage...and her ass muscles instinctively pulled the bottle in deeper, the sphincter closing over it as neatly as ripples flattening out on a pond.