Epilogue: The Queen Is Royally Fucked

Morning sickness can come at any hour of the day or night. At eight weeks pregnant, it had arrived a bit early for Lois—but it came with a vengeance. The reporter had called in sick three days in a row. She had thought it was a stomach flu, simply for the **** and regularity of the need to void, but then she would get these cravings and begin to binge...hamburgers with pickles, sour cream and potato chips, fried chicken and lime juice...and then something would hit her an hour or two later, and it would all come up again.

It was two AM, three weeks to the day from when the pregnancy test had read ++. The reporter staggered into bed, clutching her stomach. She barely had a belly, but it was definitely there under her fingers. Not flab, but solid. Like a water balloon inside of her that gave slightly to the touch. Her eyes were puffy, her back ached from being bent over the toilet, and her mouth was dry and tasted of baking soda. The pregnant woman had taken to rinsing her mouth out regularly, afraid the vomiting would hurt her teeth...

...it wasn't the only thing she was afraid of.

Warm, slim arms pulled the sheets off the reporter. Lights came on, bright and fresh. Her spouse stood there, cock erect. Smiling that damnable smile.

"Since you're already up, my queen," Blaze said. "I've got something for you to take care of."

The reporter turned her head into her pillow.

"Blaze, baby, please..." she said. "I'm sick, I..."

"Now," Blaze said, and as she slid into bed Lois turned onto all fours, baring her pregnant pussy toward the demon that owned her...that married her...that loved her...

...and who is as horny as a teenaged boy, the reporter thought to herself as, without foreplay, Blaze slapped her hard cock against the reporter's cunny once, twice, three times, and then slid it in. The reporter grunted, aware that she was drier down there than she should be. Despite all attempts to stay hydrated, it was too much to ask for her to be in the mood all the time...and the demonic dickgirl wanted sex _all_ the time. Any hour of the day, in any position, and if Lois didn't move of her own accord, she knew that the demon could compel her...and that was worse, far worse, to feel her body move without her consciously wanting it too, like alien hands spreading her legs, grunting and squeezing her cunny as her spouse pronged away, determined to leave Lois's cunt wet and sloppy and dripping with her spunk.

So it was to be again.

Lois grunted as the familiar length of the cock slipped back into her slit. The demon's hands came down from the sides to grab and grasp at the reporter's small, free-swinging tits. Blaze's queen moved to meet her spouse's thrusts, each deep dicking eliciting a little grunt, the reporter's stomach flopping with every movement. The reporter bit back a belch...and then tasted bile in the back of her throat. The violet eyes teared up as she strove to hold it in, not wanting to throw up all over the sheets, but also not sure she could hold it in. Once Blaze got started, it could take the demon an hour to finish...and finish...and finish...

"Um...madame?" Lois looked up. Something like horror crossed the pregnant woman's haggard features as she saw the short, dark maid.

Chelsea, the reporter remembered. That's her name.

It wasn't the first time Lois had been caught fucking in front of Chelsea. The maid had seen more of Lois than most of her past boyfriends. It was never on purpose...at least, not as far as Lois was aware. It just seemed to be that Chelsea was there at the right place and the right time, her big black thighs trapped in the white hose that was part of the uniform, stepping lightly in her sensible tennis sneakers.

Chelsea was holding a bucket.

"Capital idea, Chelsea," Blaze said approvingly. "If you would be so kind, I think my wife is feeling morning sickness coming on again."

Obediently, the dark woman came forward. She held the bucket as near as she could under the reporter's chin, so that Lois could press her entire face into the black plastic bucket. The demonic dickgirl never slowed in her pace...indeed, it seemed to Lois that she began to move faster, one hand sliding down, over the reporter's nascent belly, to begin rubbing at the reporter's clit. Lois felt like a cow being bred...and then with a lurch, she opened her mouth and noisily vomited.

Puking while getting fucked was one of the most singular physical experiences of the reporter's lifetime. Her gastrointestinal system was in utter turmoil, her reproductive system under flagrant ****...and yet Blaze cooed in her ear, because each retching gag caused the reporter's whole body to shake and her pussy to tighten...and Lois heaved and heaved and heaved until there was nothing left except yellow bile, and then even that was gone and she heaved still, dry heaves, thick saliva running down from her mouth as Blaze panted faster and faster in her ear...and then Lois moaned, long and low and loud, as her traitorous body picked this moment for her toes to curl and her hips to shudder and her burning cunny to shake and shiver as though it was about to burst.

Lois collapsed forward on the bed, Blaze still humping the reporter's tired ass. Chelsea wiped the reporter's mouth and chin with a cloth as her spouse emptied her seed into the reporter again.

"My momma had morning sickness real bad," Chelsea said, her voice a soft whisper. "It was worse when she had multiples. When it was triplets, she was laid up for hours, and I had to hold a bucket for her too."

Lois raised her head. "You think...?"

"You showing already ma'am," Chelsea said, nodding her dark head.

"Hmmm," Blaze sighed, massaging her queen's ass. "That was a good one. I should be good at least for an hour or two. Thank you Chelsea, very much for your help."

Lois let her eyes close as Chelsea took the bucket away. Queens, she now remembered, were meant to be fucked.

So she was.