Epilogue: Cuntsequences

Morning came. Soft sunlight burned through the window and struck the reporter full in the face. Bleary eyes opened to stare up at the ceiling. Her head pounded as with a hangover, and there was a sour taste in Lois Lane's mouth. She levered herself into a sitting position and stared at the book that lay on the bed next to her like a lover. Her cheeks tried to twist into a smile, but they were still sore from last night's cunt-licking extravaganza. Lois reached up to rub the muscles...

...and then she ran to the bathroom as fast as she could.

Lois Lane's trembled as she stared into the mirror. Her fingers moved up to her face, to trace the smooth cheeks, down to the small, triangular jaw...and there, below her nose, where a set of lips should have been was a very familiar-looking a vertical crease. She swallowed...she could swallow...but she could not open her jaw. There was no tongue to move around, and as she probed along the jawline, no teeth. With trepidation, Lois used her fingers to gently peel open the crease...

A healthy pink pussy. Set where her mouth should have been. Lois could see the shallow clitoral hood that grew out of her philtrum, the dimple of a urethra, and below that the small, dark hole of the vagina proper.

The reporter grabbed at a toothbrush. She raised the blue plastic to edge of that hole and gently inserted it. Lois blinked, surprised that she could actually feel the bristles...and grimly pushed it in a little deeper. It was disconcerting to watch herself in the mirror as the blue rod disappeared, and to feel it inside her head. A bit of fluid dribbled down over her chin as her the stimulation caught up to her...and then, some ways back, Lois felt a familiar sensation, as the tip of the brush hit what felt like the back of her throat...yet there was no gagging sensation at all.

Lois pulled the brush out and rinsed it off. Thoughts came almost too quick to process as she set the brush aside to dry, and wiped her chin...and even that little action felt like rubbing her pussy.

The reporter blinked and looked down between her legs...and felt a sigh of relief as she saw that the ship was, metaphorically, still in the hangar. Between her legs was still the same pussy she had been born with. Except now she couldn't talk, and didn't want to think about eating...

She stomped back into the bedroom and threw a robe on. The reporter glared at the book as the obvious source of, and potential solution to all of her problems...but she didn't trust it. No, Lois Lane knew what she had to do.

It took four and a half minutes to compose and send the text to Zatanna. Automatically, Lois went to the kitchen to make coffee. Not that she expected to drink it, but for her guest. The reporter couldn't help but wonder what she would do if Zatanna couldn't fix it. Liquid food diet, maybe. Yogurt and vegetable broth, milk and jello. Nothing too surgary, probably, because the last thing she wanted was for her mouth-cunt to get a yeast infection...and that made Lois wonder about periods. The reporter could just imagine having to carry a tampon inside her mouth for 3-5 days of the month, wiping blood off her chin, the smell...

The coffee was ready when a circle of light twirled into sparkly existence, and a woman stepped through in tophat and tails, fishnets and boots, a white corset that displayed an amazing amount of cleavage and white gloves. Lois Lane poured a cup and set it for her on the table as the portal disappeared behind her.

To her credit, Zatanna didn't laugh, or make some clever quip. The reporter had half-expected her to give a wry grin and say "My, Lois, what have you been up to?" but instead she stepped to the table, and picked up her coffee to inhale the aroma. Took a sip and frowned.

"Milk?"

Lois fetched it out of the fridge, and Zatanna added it herself.

"You woke up like this?"

Lois nodded.

"Where's the culprit?"

The reporter went to the bedroom and fetched the book from the bed.

Zatanna eyed it warily. Even though she wore gloves, she didn't touch it directly...just moved her fingers over it, as her lips moved almost silently, and the pages flipped themselves...to land at the stark red image of the Devil's Vulva.

The sorceress frowned and sipped her coffee some more as she read the words on the page, and the facing page.

She looked up at Lois Lane. Their eyes met. Very carefully, Zatanna tried a spell.

".tnemtnahcne lepsiD"

Lois waited tensely...but nothing happened. Zatanna's brow furrowed and she tried another.

".tnahcnesiD"

She didn't give up. Not when the coffee went cold, or her voice started to crack. Sweat ran down Zatanna's face, and dripped into her cleavage. Her nostrils flared with carefully controlled anger, which resonated in her voice as she carefully enunciated each syllable...and the sun was at its zenith when she finally said:

".htoum a otni tnuc reppu s'enaL sioL nruT"

There was a moment of burning agony. Lois gripped the edge of the table, and for a second she felt things shift and slide inside the lower half of her face...and then she coughed, a black bile spewed from her mouth-pussy...and she was left sucking air through her nose and cunny and stared at the mess she had made on the table.

"I'm afraid," Zatanna said, her voice reduced to a rasp. "That was my best shot. The magic is powerful, and the demon behind it is fighting me. We're going to have to call in some help...and you're going to be stuck like this a couple of days."

Lois Lane's head dipped between her shoulders. Stuck like this...idly, she grabbed a kitchen towel and wiped her chin, and then the table. Ruefully, the reporter chided herself that all actions have consequences...but some have cuntsequences.