Keep Watching

Lois ran a hand over her belly. She felt—and looked!—so bloated. Her heart beat faster and she felt wired, keyed up. The reporter knew that she needed to cum, just so she could think straight, but she needed something...anything...to push her over the edge. So she kept watching, waiting for the porn site to give her something to finish masturbating to.

The image opened on an altar. The woman was there—the same flapper woman, some weeks longer in her pregnancy. She was dressed in thin, veil-like clothing that did nothing to hide her curves, the swell of her breasts, her more protuberant belly. She was kneeling before the altar, which had a familiar idol on top of it...squat and grotesque, exactly like the one in the bag at Lois Lane's feet.

The reporter's interest shifted, quickly. How was that possible? What were the odds that the random porn site would have a video featuring the exact same idol? Still, maybe that was a good thing. It was a lead. If Lois could identify the actress, maybe catch the title of the film...

A silent crash on screen. Men came in, dressed in 1930s garb of Roman soldiers, like extras from some Cecil B. DeMille epic. They grabbed her from behind, rough hands tearing the thin cloth from their body. Lois Lane's right hand stroked her pussy, trying to drink in every detail, looking for any clue that might help her...

Four men held her arms as the woman struggled. There was something Theda Bara-like in her dark-kohl'd eyes, the flapper bob. Yet she was really struggling, Lois could see the men's hard fingers dig into her pale, soft limbs.

A fifth "Roman"—this one black, arms and shoulders muscled like a bricklayer's—knelt between her legs as the other men held her down. The idol seemed to stare down at her servant as the thick black shaft pierced her pregnant cunt. Lois found herself holding her breath, fingers working like mad in her own pussy. She could almost feel how transgressive this must have been back in the 1920s...interracial pregnant **** porn...not like today, when you could google that kind of thing and expect to receive at least a dozen hits, if not hundreds.

The pregnant woman's face screwed up in pain, her eyes lifted to the idol of the goddess on the altar, her lips moved.

A black screen flashed, white words emblazoned starkly on it. Lois blinked, mouth moving as she worked out the words...this was how movies communicated dialogue before sound came in...