Epilogue: Unfaithful

Tears burned in Lois Lane's eyes as she stomped out of the studio. Behind her, she heard Angelica Blaze pull her cock out of the whore in the stocks with a wet schlick.

"Lois, wait!" the dickgirl called after her, but the reporter was already out the door, into the alley, dialing a cab...

It was the fourth time the reporter had caught her lover sampling "the product" in as many weeks. Oh, Blaze had promised not to breed anyone else, but keeping her cock out of every eager young asshole, that was another story.

Rain poured down, the last wet summer rain to wash Metropolis clean before the fall. It fit Lois' mood as she waited for the cab. Trying not to think about the little plastic stick in her purse, her little surprise for her lover.

Now the mood had gone sour, the whole terrible relationship a mistake from start to finish as far as Lois was concerned. She clambered into the cab and sped away from the club, from Blaze, from six weeks of hot sex and screaming matches and...

"Where to lady?"

"The Daily Planet."

The office was her home-away-from-home, her Fortress of Solitude. This late at night, there would be no one else working, and unlike Lois' apartment, Blaze had never been there. She could stream a movie and eat chocolate and cry and in the morning she'd figure out what to do with her life.

Her hand fell to her stomach, suddenly queasy. There was another thing to think about.

Lois paid the cabbie and walked into the building, soaking wet, thunder crashing in the background like angels bowling. Her stomach was churning, bile at the back of her throat, but she held it together. The best, cleanest restroom was on the same floor as her office, if she could just make it up there...

It had been one thing when Lois thought they were going to be together. That Angelica Blaze was the one to sweep her off her feet, to grow old with...but four times. She had been stupid to forgive the shemale succubus even once. Should have seen through all the sweet-talk, the begging, the gifts, the excuses...

The elevator opened and she ran straight into Clark Kent's stupid broad chest.

"Lois? Good grief, you're soaked!" The bespectacled reporter stared down at her in genuine concern.

Just hearing his Kansas accent brought a smile to Lois Lane's face. He was built like a linebacker and had the heart of a priest. For a moment, Lois wanted to tell him everything. If there was anyone she could confess to, it would be Kent.

"Smallville," she started, "I..."

The sickness came on her suddenly. The vomit spewing forth from her mouth before she could even register it was happening. Just a projectile spew of pale yellow straight onto her shirt and down his pants.

To his credit, Kent didn't flinch. His hands immediately went to her shoulder and her hair, keeping the long locks out of the direct line of fire as Lois Lane clung on for dear life and emptied her guts onto his pants and shoes.

"Oh Clark," she managed when it finally finished. "I'm so sorry."

"It'll clean up," he said with a tight-lipped smile, helping her step over the puddle of sick and guiding her toward the restroom.

"I don't know what came over me, I just felt...suddenly ill..."

"Well, they call it 'morning sickness', but from what I've read it can actually strike at any time of the day or night," he said. "It normally starts at about six weeks, so it isn't surprising that..."

Lois halted in her tracks. She stared at Clark with something like alarm and horror.

"How," she asked, voice suddenly hollow. "I haven't told anyone yet. I didn't know myself until..."

Lois Lane, the Daily Planet's greatest reporter stared at Clark Kent, as if seeing him for the first time. The broad strokes of the S-shield were visible through his vomit-stained shirt.

Her jaw dropped, and he gently led her on, into the unisex bathroom, locking the door behind him.

"I can smell it," his voice was apologetic as he wiped her face with a wet towel. "When women are menstruating, or have a yeast infection or...well, other things. I wasn't trying to pry. It's like blocking out someone else having a cell phone conversation in your ear."

Unselfconsciously, as though from long practice, he stripped out of his civilian clothes—Lois couldn't help but think of them like that—and revealed the uniform underneath.

Right in front of me, all this time.

That wasn't the only thing right in front of her. Lois Lane saw the unmistakable bulge in his red shorts as he soaked his shirt in the sink.

"Clark...Superman...what do I call you?" she asked.

"Whatever you want, Lois."

She took a deep breath.

"Come here, please."

He wandered over, eyes wide, a total innocent.

Lois Lane reached over and laid a hand on the bulge in his crotch, feeling the warmth there, the growing hardness.

"I just had...a bad breakup," she swallowed. "The father is...out of the picture. And there is one thing I really want to do."

Her fingers fumbled with his belt, the Last Son of Krypton standing stock still as she freed his cock.

"You don't have to," he said, barely breathing. The root of his penis was visible now as she slowly drew the red shorts down.

"But I want to." Lois said in earnest. "I've wanted to for a long time."

And there were no more words for a while. Just the wet schluck-schluck of her mouth sucking on his penis—an unnaturally smooth, thick organ that looked like what a human penis might evolve into in a million years, hairless and streamlined as a dolphin—and Lois told herself that she was not, in her own way, being unfaithful. Was not paying back Blaze for cheating on her by sucking Superman's cock.

Yet miles away, in her club, Blaze sat and drank, angry and emotional...and her horns began to grow...