Sixty-Six

Going through puberty, Lois Lane had a bottomless stomach. She could eat almost anything, and did. Her father had been appalled at how much she could put away. Once, during a growth spurt, he had taken her to an all-you-can-eat buffet...and Lois Lane had stuffed herself until her stomach actually distended. Until she had felt too full to actually move. For years afterward, Lois remembered the sensation of the sheer mass of food lodged inside of her, the weight and heat of it, how she had started to sweat just sitting at the table, the unpleasant rumble as her guts slowly processed the massive meal.

Now, she remembered that sensation.

Egg after egg **** its way inside of Lois. Far beyond, she was sure, the capacity of a normal human woman to accommodate. She could feel an itch across the skin of her abdomen as it stretched. Her abdominal muscles slowly grew taut as they were pushed apart from within. There was pain...just a little at first, but a little more sharp each time another egg was squeezed into a uterus which, rendered elastic by some power of the demonic dickgirl's stretched to accommodate...and after each one entered, Lois had the discomforting sense of fullness, of space displaced within her, occupied by something else.

It wasn't the mass. Each individual egg was less than 100 grams...a couple ounces. It was just the sheer number. Lois stared down at her stomach in dull fascination as her abdomen slowly distended. She kept count, silently, marking with surprise how small a bump a dozen eggs made...it felt like she'd hardly gained a pound or two. Except Blaze didn't stop at a dozen. The cock or ovipositor or whatever it was pumping the eggs into the reporter's bloated womb kept swelling and shrinking as egg after egg traveled through her birth canal. The strange stimulation caused the reporter to shudder...and there were other effects too, as her doming belly slowly grew.

A sense of pressure on her bladder, the reporter suddenly **** to pee. The taste of bile in her mouth, as the growing womb impinged on her diaphragm and stomach. An ache in the lower back as muscles shifted to accommodate the growing strain, the slight change of balance.

At three dozen eggs, Lois Lane had to admit she looked pregnant. Her abdomen protruded out there in an unmistakable belly...but it wasn't a smoothly swollen stomach. It was dimpled, uneven. Her womb was packed to the gills, but it wasn't filled with amniotic fluid, not pressurized. A part of Lois wanted to reach down and touch it, but the ache in her overworked abdominal muscles was already a constant distraction. She could see a livid red line leading up to her navel, which was already being stretched out of shape.

At five dozen, Lois threw up a little. Just opened her mouth and let a yellow ooze flow out of her throat and splatter on the floor. For the first time in what felt like an hour, Blaze spoke.

"Hold on, sweetmeat. Almost done."

Dully, Lois stared down at her abdomen. She could see the ugly red veins beneath the taut, unnaturally distended belly. The individual eggs weren't visible, but the pain was constant now. The reporter knew she had grown too far, too fast, and her stomach should be a mass of stretch marks...and there was only one, that livid red line that reached up to a belly button which was on the verge of popping from an innie to an outie. Her cunny almost felt numb, her pussy ached as each egg **** its way up to join its mates.

"Sixty-four...sixty-five...sixty-six," Blaze said.

Lois groaned. She felt over-full. Ready to collapse. Her whole body felt stretched out of place by the ordeal, all those hours at the gym ruined by a single sexual act.

"Just one more thing," Blaze said. "Then you can rest."