It Is Over

Lois Lane waited several minutes, her fingers playing over the grossly distended, full-term pregnant-with-twins abdomen—but nothing happened. She didn't grow bigger, she didn't grow smaller. Birth, no matter that it looked like she was ready to drop at a moment's notice, was apparently not intimate. The reporter felt a growing pressure on her bladder, but no cramps or other signs of going into labor.

The reporter bit her lower lip, wondering what to do. She was naked, on a bed in a small room in a strange club. Enormously pregnant. And she had to pee.

Looking around the bedroom, Lois caught sight of a previously unnoticed door labeled "WC." She could at least handle one of those immediate issues.

The belly pinned her to the bed. The pregnant reporter twisted herself around on her ass, unable to see past the great pale dome of flesh that was, all hers. She pushed against the mattress, until her legs came off the edge of the bed...and carefully, tentatively inched herself until her feet were flat on the floor, her ass on the edge of the mattress, the vast bulk of her stomach jutting out in front of her like the prow of a ship. Her expanded bosom hung off to either side, so heavy that they pulled at the skin, forming a kind of flap over the top of her belly.

The soles of Lois Lane's feet itched in trepidation. She wasn't sure she could manage to stand. Her body was so heavy no, ungainly and unfamiliar...and while she had gained the weight of a full pregnancy in her belly and breasts, her limbs were still thin and toned. Lois knew she could do a pull-up at her normal weight, but to stand up when she was this much heavier... The reporter swallwed hard and used her hands to push off the edge of the bed.

Her legs almost gave way immediately. Lois caught herself at the edge of the bed, muscles bulging as her knees went akimbo, and she was stuck for a moment in a kind of awkward squat. Puffing her cheeks, Lois got her balance back and eased herself into a standing position. She had to lean backwards, gravid belly hanging out before her, milk-swollen breasts shaking and hitting her biceps.

One awkward step, and then another. Her hips were wider, and Lois found her gate awkward, steps small, unable to make her familiar stride.

Waddle, she thought. I'm waddling. Perfectly normal for pregnant women to waddle.

It was only about six feet to the door marked W.C., and Lois covered it in a dozen careful steps. By the time her hand rested on the brass handle, her bladder was ready to burst, but the naked, pregnant reporter thought she was getting the hand of moving like that. With a sigh of relief, Lois turned the handle.