End: A Suggestively-Shaped Vegetable

At first glance, it was a carrot. A tuber, certainly. Then the reporter's hand brushed the skin, and found it was slick like a zucchini or gourd. In shape, though...

Lois Lane had seen more than her share of suggestively-shaped vegetables. They were a staple of the smaller newspapers she had worked at as a cub reporter. The Daily Planet had an archive that went back over a century, some of them positively pornographic. Breasts, butts, vulvas, cocks...all the bizarre shapes that fruit and veggies could grow in, had been carefully photographed and mailed in, to titillate others. Most never saw the light of day, but Lois had sat engrossed one long lazy weekend at the profusion of carnal vegetables.

"So...your wife left you?" Lois said.

The great mossy head nodded slowly. "She said...sex...not enough."

Each breath came with an earthy odor. At first it smelled disgusting, yet now that Lois got used to it she could pick out little flavors. Floral scents, vanilla. Her hand traced the outlines of the cock-shaped root at his crotch. It was bigger than most men. Harder, too.

"Been a long time for you?" she asked.

He nodded gravely. One great arm came up and touched her bare buttock. The reporter felt her heart begin to race, but she did her best not to flinch. She could feel the shape of each finger, but it was like...like the brush of a leaf against her skin, while she walked in a forest. There was no warmth in that touch, just softness and strength...

The reporter was barely cognizant as she crawled into the Swamp Thing's lap. There was a rip as her pants split...and then she felt the bulbous tip of that tuber against her pussy, and...

This wasn't Lois Lane's first time riding a zucchini. She bit her lip and sank against the Swamp Thing's chest, so wet and squishy, as her cunny slowly swallowed his prick. The reporter's head swam, the room seemed to spin slowly around her, as if they were the axis of the universe. On Swamp Thing's shoulders, small yellow flowers began to open their blossoms to the moonlight. Their delicate, buttery fragrance seemed to go straight to Lois Lane's head as she sank deeper and deeper on his root.

Until it seemed to pierce straight to the core of her.

Great green fingers plucked a ripe fruit from his body and pressed it against the reporter's lips.

"Eat. Me." he insisted.

Lois Lane couldn't think of any reason why not. Her teeth crushed through the bitter skin, inside there was the pulpy, juicy fruit. Sweet, tangy liquid flowed down over her chin, down her throat...

Lois Lane fell through dappled sunlight filtered through the leaves of the forest. Through the crystal-clear waters of a lagoon into the waving forest of seaweed. Through the Green, all around her, bursting with life, with smells, yet utterly silent.

Nor was she alone. A figure fell with her. Masculine. His lips at her throat. His cock stretched her. They drifted together, now faster, now slower. Their lovemaking was as the passage of seasons. Again and again he welled up inside of her, and again and again Lois felt herself burst. She clung to him as sap flowed down her sticky thighs, as pulp went from sticky-sweet to rancid in her mouth, as something touched her deep inside...a seed...pollen...fertile soil for something new to sprout...

Lois Lane awoke, still mostly clothed, in a kiddy pool full of swampy water. Something dark and viscous oozed out of her gaping and sore cunt. Ivy and her customers were gone, and had left behind only a little of empty bottles and piles of potting soil. The reporter's head pounded as she stared up at the dawnlight that began to filter in from the skylight up above.

"Was that real?" she wondered as, sore and aching, she pulled herself out of the pool.

The club was empty, but there was a box of clothes—lost and found. Lois traded her tight red pants with the split crotch for a clean-looking pair of sweat pants. She grabbed a bottled water from behind the bar and stumbled out into the morning streets of Metropolis. Her stomach rumbled, demanded breakfast, and Lois let it guide her. She wasn't normally much of one for a heavy breakfast but today she was ravenous.

At the time, Lois Lane didn't see the flowers that grew in the cracks int he sidewalk turn to her as she passed. Didn't see the flower shop bloom as she wandered by, or the face that formed in the bark of the tree. Dark eyes that followed her as she sat and ordered, that watched and waited.

Unbeknownst to Lois Lane, her night out had borne unsuspected fruit. Yet how she would deal with that—and the Swamp Thing—well, that is a different story.