Lois Breaks 200 Pounds

It was an orgy of eating. Lois Lane had shuffled back and forth from table to buffet, her thicker thighs rubbed against one another, the elastic of her pants strained against her immense gravid belly. Other customers stopped and stared at this woman, almost indecently dressed, as she loaded up her tray again and again. The reporter's gravid gut stuck out two feet in front of her, full term with more than one. Her exercise top sagged with the weight of her breasts; her ass threatened to burst out of her pants, wand jiggled with every step.

The slim Asian waitress scowled at the reporter as she cleared the plates away...but Lois waved her credit card at her, and the food kept coming.

Until, at last, Lois Lane had enough.

The enchantment was on hold. The magical super-digestion which had transformed all the food into fat and babies so swiftly no longer worked. The reporter's immense meal simply sat in her stomach, to round out the massive taut gut, to digest at its normal pace...and when, at last, Lois felt the final hunger-pang die away, she found herself heavy...sleepy...and when she opened her mouth a loud, BRAAAAP burst forth, loud enough for the whole restaurant to hear her burp.

Zatanna's friend arrived...in what Lois Lane could only describe as the magical version of a hazmat suit; a medieval plague-doctor's outfit with body-length robe and crow-like mask and slouch hat, all marked by pentagrams and laden with charms...who used a long pole with a claw at the end to grab the bag with the idol and carefully remove it from the restaurant.

Lois Lane's stomach ached. Her guts churned. With an effort, she lurched to her feet and stumbled toward the bathroom. A part of her thought about barfing...but she was afraid if she regurgitated anything, she'd make another run at the buffet.

Instead, the reporter used the restroom, amazed at how wide her ass had gotten...the cheeks just overflowed the toilet seat...and then half-waddled to the sink. She stared at the mirror as she washed the sauce from her face. It wasn't as fat as she had feared; a little softer at cheek and jowl, but it didn't look like much of a double chin, unless she pressed it against her chest.

Then, Lois saw it. The ancient scale. A very old-fashioned appliance, but not inappropriate for a buffet...she walked over to it, her every movement felt heavy. She had to hold her great pregnant belly as she stepped carefully onto it...began to adjust the weights...the balance arm waved as she slid them along...click...click...click...

205.

The reporter stared at the number in something like horror. She knew a lot of that weight would be the babies, but still...she had nearly doubled her weight in the last few hours. The reporter shook her head, not sure what to even do with that information. It seemed surreal.

Then the post-meal drowsiness caught Lois, and she left the bathroom...the restaurant...and staggered back toward her apartment. Her whole body ached from the increased weight, and she began to sweat; the sweat ran into unfamiliar folds and grew cold and oily. Lois found herself huffing and puffing like a woman terribly out of shape before she had gone a block. Desperately, she tried to find some silver lining to this situation...