Lois Lane Can Do Anything

Muscles in her back complained as Lois struggled to sit up. Her abdominal muscles, now stretched beyond anything she had every experienced, seemed ready to burst. The reporter stared past the popped navel on her hugely pregnant belly as perspiration dotted her forehead.

I can do this, Lois told herself as millimeter by millimeter her upper body heaved forward. Once she tipped past a certain point, gravity would actually help her. Getting to that point was a serious struggle for the newly pregnant reporter...and not helped by the wiggling masses inside her grossly distended womb.

After an eternity (or probably, a full minute) of struggle, Lois felt the bottom of her stomach press against the top of her thighs...and the naked reporter huffed and wiped sweat from her brow.

"Okay. Hard part over. Just got to get up—dressed—out the door..."

Lois found that she was resting her hand on her stomach. The twins had fortunately apparently decided on a truce, or at least had settled down. Rotating on her ass, the pregnant reporter managed to get her feet on the floor, and began the precarious process of getting off the bed.

Weirdly, it was a little easier now. Lois looked down at her stomach and frowned. Without a mirror it was hard to tell but...was it smaller than it had been? Or was her body just adjusting to the weight?

The reporter slid her hands under her bosom and hefted her breasts—still a novel sensation; Lois Lane's boobs had never been more than palmable before—and eyes them critically. They weren't sore anymore. She gave the nipples an experimental squeeze. No milk beaded at the little bumps.

Then again, I haven't given birth yet, the reporter thought. Maybe my milk hasn't come in yet?

On her feet, Lois could definitely still feel the weight of her belly, sitting low and trying to drag her forward; and the weight of her breasts, shoulder muscles registering the increased top mass. Almost instinctively, Lois found herself leaning back, the great stomach sitting in front of her like a beach ball, or the prow of a ship. She took a few tentative, experimental steps...and frowned as she realized the best she could manage in her current condition was a definite waddle.

"Clothes..." the naked reporter said aloud, hands resting naturally on her belly again. There was a weak flutter of kicks from within, tiny hands or feet beating, but Lois rubbed and cooed and the soft blows stopped. She was glad that the babies weren't fighting as frantically as before.

There was no way Lois could fit into her old pants. She found her jacket, with wallet and smartphone, on the floor near the door; Lois didn't remember putting them there, but a lot of what had happened tonight was weird enough that she would take what she could get. No sign of her shirt, pants, bra, or underwear...not that any of the above would fit her in her current state...but she found her shoes. Lois frowned at the two-inch heels...but it wouldn't do to walk around barefoot.

Getting the shoes on was a different challenge. The best that the reporter could do was lean against a wall, raise one leg until her heel touched her ass—which was more generously padded than Lois remembered—and struggle to get the shoe on one-handed. That took a couple minutes of fiddling...and then Lois had to repeat the trick standing on one leg in heel...a gymnastic feat that Lois was sure deserved a metal.

That done, Lois looked down at her stomach again. Ran a hand over the bulging dome, almost to reassure herself that it was still there. The skin warm and taut under her fingertips. The dome of it jutting past her expanded bosom. Except...

Lois couldn't be sure. But it almost looked like her stomach was smaller.