Epilogue: Omens

There was a scale at work. Two months to the day after her visit to the club, Lois was on it. 140. Fifteen pounds in eight weeks. She felt like a pig. The hunger gnawed at her. She hadn't been able to fasten the top button of her pants this morning, and had pulled her shirt down to cover the fact.

She came to her, in the quiet moments. Out of the shadows. Nor could Lois Lane ever deny her.

In the bathroom, when the nausea twisted her guts, warm hands would pull down her pants. Lois would be on her knees, bile pouring from her mouth when the panties were pulled back, digging painfully into her belly and pussy until the frail fabric snapped...and then the cock would be at the entrance to her tunnel, and Lois hated herself for how wet she was, how easily she gave in, gripping the toilet seat with her hands, feeling her breasts push against the seat as the cock sawed in and out of her pregnant pussy, careless of how she felt...and then after a few moments of pitiless, relentless pounding it would throb and swell and Lois would feel the hot, sticky load fill her tunnel...and then it would pull out, leaving the reporter gasping, drooling, hot and flustered and unsatisfied.

There was always a fresh bottle of Fertile Valley water by the toilet, to wash her mouth out and calm her stomach.

At the office, Lois would take handfuls of wadded up toilet tissue and try to wipe her filthy pussy clean, but increasingly at home when it happened she just left it. Her cunt became a sticky, dripping mess, lines of dried spunk on her legs, reeking of sex. Nor was that the worst of it.

Her hunger was increasing, the pounds piling on, thighs widening, bras digging into her skin. Lois was already wearing her "fat" clothes, and dreading the changes to come. She could still hide the growing stomach for right now with baggy shirts and the right choice of outfit...and hadn't decided what to do when that was no longer an option.

There were other things she couldn't hide. Not even from herself. Things that kept happening, omens of what was to come...

The women at work were already smirking when they saw her take an extra jam donut back to her desk. They weren't there when she bit into it, and tasted, not the sweet confection she had hoped for, but a salty, bitter load. One that she swallowed, every bite of it, because it was the only thing that paused the gnawing hunger from deep within.

Groceries showed up in her refrigerator that she didn't remember buying. Steaks with marbled fat, bottles of cola she'd normally never drink, eggplants and zucchinis, blocks of fragrant cheese, bars of chocolate. When she was at home, watching a show, it would turn to porn. A bowl of popcorn would appear that she didn't make, and Lois would sit there for hours, rubbing greasy, salty hands into her snatch, watching women being fucked in all manner of ways...and increasingly they were pregnant women. Pregnant women with dark hair, that looked a little like Lois...

Magazines and DVDs came into the mail. Baby catalogs, pregnant yoga. MILFS-To-Be 3: Cum Guzzling Mothers. Nothing she'd bought or ordered. Lois put them in the piles, unsure how to best get rid of them. Knowing more would show up if she did. Within a few weeks, that was all she could watch. Every ebook and audiobook in her library was replaced by hardcore porn, every book in her apartment replaced by works on parenting and big-bellied mommas taking fat cocks in ever hole.

Not even her dreams were safe. More than once at night, Lois would wake up in a cold sweat, unable to move, barely able to breathe. It was like something was sitting on her chest...and in the darkness she could smell the masculine musk, hear the fap-fap-fap as the knuckles shuffled over the shaft. The cock would always be dripping on her neck, right before the dick descended, **** down, the figure sitting on her chest grunting as the first ropey strands erupted onto the reporter's face.

"Why are you doing this?" Lois would ask, those times she could actually see Angelica Blaze.

The exhausted reporter would find herself sitting at the kitchen table, not sure how she got there, as the naked, sweating dickgirl fried her steak and eggs, or a quiche, or a casserole. Lois would feel the fresh cum dribbling out of her pussy and ass, sometimes dripping down her chin into her eggs as her stomach rumbled.

"Ah, pet," Angelica said, as she moved behind Lois to rub her tired shoulders. "I'm just giving you what you want. What you always wanted, but would never admit to yourself. All those carefully-repressed desires. You want the full pregnancy experience."

The reporter shoveled eggs into her mouth. She felt like she was starving. Washing the salty eggs down with gulps of bottled water. Then Blaze dropped the bombshell, the words that made Lois Lane's heart feel like it had dropped into her stomach.

"Do you think Clark has noticed yet?"