Epilogue: Third Trimester

"Time for your dick milk fix," the demon sand pleasantly, walking into the reporter's apartment like she owned the place, clothes vanishing in a puff of brimstone-flavored smoke.

Lois Lane sat at the table in the kitchen, her distended abdomen in her lap. She held a clear plastic cup to her left nipple, pumping gently away, little streams of milk **** out by the suction, drawn down into the bottle below. Her right breast was still leaky, the swollen, puffy areola dark and stiff. One thing the gravid reporter knew for certain, her baby wouldn't starve.

Almost without consciously thinking about it, the mother to be had dropped the pump and was crawling on her knees. Lips already open and waiting to receive her dose.

The demon smiled, running a hand through Lois Lane's hair—longer now, since she hadn't cut it since before the pregnancy—and playfully rubbed the tip of her cock against her breeder's face, making Lois snap at it, finally catching the tip of the crimson cock with her mouth. Then they settled into the familiar routine, the pregnant woman working her mouth on the scarlet shaft, cheeks hollowed out as she sucked at it in long, slow slurps, taking it a little deeper each time.

It had only been four weeks since the story broke. Lois had to fudge a few details, but the women had been very cooperative once her breast milk had cured their addictions. A sordid tale of college-age women addicted to **** and **** into prostitution, rescued by a courageous and six-months pregnant reporter in an undercover operation at an illegal night club. Cops were called, arrests were made, quite a few of them the johns. The women got their lives back. Lois got the scoop and maternity leave.

Showing up at work six months pregnant hadn't been the hard sell; plenty of women hid a pregnancy until they were sure it would stay. The lack of a father? Sperm donor, totally anonymous. Lois Lane was a proud independent career woman that didn't need a man in her life, not even to have a kid. That had been an easy sell too.

Much easier than telling them I'm still addicted to Blaze's cock, the reporter thought to herself. She could feel the itch, the need deep inside of her. When she went too long without the demon's cum, she'd start to scratch at herself. Blaze had told her that it was dangerous for her health and the baby's if she tried to go "cold turkey."

So every night, as the clock struck midnight, her red-skinned visitor would appear. Wherever Lois was, whether it was at home, or at work. The demon was a dealer, and Lois was a junkie for her cum. An arrangement that seemed to satisfy Blaze completely...for now. What worried Lois was the future.

"You look quite fetching pregnant, my dear. Due in just a few months, aren't you?" The red hand slid to the back of the reporter's head, guiding her down a little deeper. Weeks of daily practice had perfected Lois Lane's deepthroat technique, and the demon appreciated that too. She liked it when the reporter's lips were stretched out around the base of her cock, drool sliding down over her big red balls.

"I think when this one is out, we might do another straight away," the demon's hand held Lois there, the swollen scarlet shaft tense against her tonsils. A familiar stirring throb ran through the length of the demonic dick, and Lois felt the shaking stop as her daily dose of sperm slid down into her stomach.

"Maybe more than one. I would dearly love to see your belly drag along the ground as you crawled to me. Would you like that?"

Not for the first time, Lois thought about biting down. Just trying to sever that terrible tool with her teeth. End this whole embarrassing charade. But she knew those thoughts only came when the cum was fresh, the fire of her addiction fed for the moment. When it was gone, when she felt the aching need and emptiness in her throat, Lois knew she would do far worse things for Blaze's cum than get knocked up again.

The terrible thing was, Lois knew that Blaze knew that. The hand eased at the back of the reporter's head. The pregnant woman drew her mouth off of the softening cock, trying not to vomit. The last time she did that, the reporter had found herself face down into the regurgitated cum, licking it off the floor.

"I think," Blaze said. "That tomorrow you might do a little something for me. To earn your dose."

Lois Lane swallowed. Sat there on her knees, swollen tits leaking, belly resting on her upper thighs. She stared up into those pure white eyes, and knew there was only one thing she could say. This was what her life had devolved into.

"Yes, mistress."