You Want To Get Knocked Up

The bright truth of the words hit the reporter's brain, like a hammer hitting the glowing ingot on the anvil. It made sense...Lois knew what she was like when she was drunk, yet she had come down here anyway, started to drink, and now here she was, bent over and getting her cunt stuffed and she hadn't been on birth control in weeks.

The missing women were a dim, fuzzy memory. An excuse that the reporter had made up for herself to come here. Hadn't she always wanted to come down to a place like this? Hadn't she been feeling lonely in her life, feeling the biological clock tick-tick-ticking away? Tired of waiting for Superman, for Mr. Right, willing to settle for Mr. Right Fucking Here And Now, and the cock that was inside of her was filling the reporter's drunken hole like an application, just as thick and rough as she'd always wanted a cock to be, plunging away, those big balls slapping against her cunt as they prepared to shoot deep inside of her.

It's Your Fetish

Lois Lane's eyes rolled up in her head. Although she knew that it was impossible, it almost felt like that tongue was licking along the inner crest of her skull, squirming through the grey matter, down to the bis and pieces that separated humans from the higher primates. Centers of language...dreams...sexual kinks...

Maybe she didn't just "forget" her birth control. Lois was honest enough to admit that much to herself. Ever since she had first learned that sex made babies, she'd felt that terrible urge to get knocked up. The drinking and loss of inhibitions was just the excuse to follow her kink, to chase her fetish. To ride a hard cock, completely unprotected, and play the sperm lottery, thinking that this time, maybe this time, she would "take"—that her next period wouldn't come, that she'd start throwing up and gaining wait, and then her tits would swell and her clothes wouldn't fit right... Lois Lane would frig her cunt raw at night just thinking about the possibility of getting knocked up, of going through pregnancy, of seeing her baby belly bulge and swell and...

Beg For Your Baby

The words burned deep into her brain and Lois felt her mouth start to move, incomprehensible jabber coming out as she squeezed her cunt around the fat, hard dick that was going to knock her up.

"Please. Fuck a baby into me. I want to feel a fucking gusher in my cunt. I need a baby. I need your baby. Fuck me fuck me fuck me fucking pregnant! Knock me up! Mark me with your seed!"

It wasn't just the booze talking. It was some deep-seated need finally being expressed, and Lois Lane didn't care who heard her. In fact, she was glad there were witnesses, glad that she could finally be honest with herself, to put into words what she really wanted. With a weird slither, Lois felt the tongue slide out of her ear, which was oddly sore. The hands shifted their grip onto her waist, holding her down firmly as the stiff prick plunged in faster and harder, in short strokes that kept the head buried deep inside.

"As you wish," Angelica whispered, panting a little. "But I have to warn you: twins run in the family."