Epilogue: The Morning After

Grey dawn filtered through the slats in the window blinds. Somewhere just out of reach, the alarm blared. Lois Lane, the Daily Planet's greatest reporter, peeled one bleary eye open.

She didn't want to move. Fully clothed, spread-eagled on the bed, Lois couldn't remember much about last night. There was the familiar soreness that spoke of heavy exertion, and some less-familiar soreness that spoke of...other activities. A dull pounding filled her head.

Mentally, the reporter tried to reconstruct the events of last night, as the alarm blared on and on...there was drinking at the club. Vague recollections of doing a handstand. A young woman that Lois could picture naked with surprising ease...the reporter smiled at the thought. A lesbian fling wasn't like her at all, but she was comfortable enough in her sexuality that she wasn't upset about it.

While wool-gathering, Lois became aware of her body's more pressing, urgent needs.

"I have to pee," she croaked, mouth and throat terribly dry and gummy.

With a heave and a lurch, the reporter sat up. It wasn't her best move. Her temples throbbed, her stomach churned, her legs felt weak and shaky, but her bladder was insistent.

"One foot in front of the other, Lane," Lois muttered to herself as she staggered to her feet. She took the few strides to the toilet with eyes half-open, shedding clothes along the way. It wasn't until she peeled off her panties and stood before the toilet that she realized there was one further hurdle.

There was a bandage over her pussy. Lois stared at the flesh-colored slab of sanitary plastic with concern. Did I hurt myself tonight? Was I drunk and on my period and that was the only thing at hand? The questions ran through her head, but answers weren't forthcoming. All she knew for certain is that she absolutely had to pee—and the bandage was covering her urethra.

Lois squatted over the toilet, knees spread, and worked one thumb under the foremost edge of the adhesive bandage. She took a deep breath. Logically, Lois knew she should probably peel this off slowly, carefully, over the course of a minute or so. But she really had to pee.

RRRIIIPPP!

"Motherfuck!" Lois yelled hoarsely, not caring if the neighbors heard her as she ripped off the bandage all in one go. If her pussy was sore before, now the outside labia burned as though the reporter had just given herself an impromptu wax job. She sat heavily down on the toilet seat, feeling something drip out of her... a lot of something...

Lois stared at the bandage. There was no blood on it, but the middle part was damp, and the smell was...familiar...kind of like ammonia... Hesitantly, the reporter brought it closer to her face and gave it a test sniff.

Cum. She realized. Then stared down at her pussy, and the grey, gooey stuff that was dripping out of her in congealed globs. Lots of cum.

The reporter shook her head, folded the bandage in two, and tossed it into the bathroom wastebasket. Without getting up from the toilet, she reached into the drawer where she kept her emergency pregnancy test.

"Already have to pee," she muttered. "Might as well get this over with."

Somewhere, an alarm blared. The reporter's phone with its store of photos from last night waited to be discovered. Beneath the club, a technician reported the loss of all sperm samples from the project stored on-site—which would have to be reported to LexCorp. At the Daily Planet, her editor was preparing for a staff meeting, reminding himself to ask Lane how her investigation was going. Superman was saving a cat from a tree.

Lois Lane let the pregnancy test, still freshly wet, fall from suddenly nerveless fingers.