Offering Accepted

The orgasm died down into a warm afterglow, pussy pleasantly aching. With her clean fingers, Lois turned off the porn on the laptop, and stared down at her lap to survey amount of cleanup she had to do.

There was, surprisingly, no blood on the chair. Lois frowned at that. Granted, she hadn't been penetrating herself, and she'd had the tampon in for most of the time, but her past experience with masturbating during a period had involved disposable towels and wet-wipes...

The tampon.

Lois' head shifted to stare at where it had hit the idol—and stuck there, still sticking to the gravid stone belly—but her brow beetled when she saw that it was pure white, as though it had come straight out of the packaging. The reporter could have sworn it was at least a little bit stained by her menses when he had inadvertently whipped it out...

Reaching over, Lois found that the tampon was stuck in one of the grooves... bone dry and stiff, as though she had gotten the absorbent cotton wet and left it out too long. With a little work, she managed to extract the sanitary item, and took it over to trash can to dispose of it. The whole time, the brief series of steps maneuvering through the kitchen, tossing away the tampon, Lois could feel that sensation of being watched again...and something else.

A sudden weakness hit her limbs, as though her blood sugar had crashed. A churning hunger that gnawed at her. And that too-full feeling from earlier in this evening, as though she had pigged out and the meal was sitting heavy on her stomach. Lois looked down at her belly, and wasn't surprised to find it appeared bloated again...indeed, it looked bigger than before. Not anything that would be very noticeable with normal clothes...just a filling out of the lower abdomen.

The reporter dragged herself to the fridge, hands shaking. Sometimes when she got researching, she missed her body's signs...and her eternal dieting always left her **** to sudden crashes, especially after physical activity. The hunger was probably just that. Her stomach... Lois began to rummage in the fridge. Cold chicken, steamed broccoli, and her emergency chocolate bar all disappeared in less time than it took to tell; soon stranger cravings were driving her toward the depths of the fridge...a jar of artisanal pickles...the emergency ice cream from the freezer...sour cream and peanut butter... Years of dietary caution and her normal taste buds were abandoned for a brief and very strange feast, driven by some inner biological urge for protein...sweets...sour... and the whole time she could feel the idol's presence, there on the table, as though looking at her.

Lois felt overfull but strangely satisfied when she had finished cleaning out the fridge, and reached for a bottle of wine to wash the meal down... only her hand hesitated before reaching the bottle. The reporter paused, conflicted, hand almost clasped around the neck. A nice Zinfandel, nothing a glass or two wouldn't hurt...but she could feel the idol's presence, like the disapproving gaze of a mother, an itchy spot between the shoulder blades... and he turned instead to polish off the gallon of low-fat milk she normally used for her morning coffee.