They're Literal Cunts

"That's a rude thing to say," Lois Lane chided her lover.

Blaze buried her face in her hands. "No, you don't understand. I mean I literally turned them into cunts. Pussies. Vaginas. Female genitalia."

Lois blinked, slowly.

"Oh...kay. And these are attached to...?"

"The dancers in the club," the demon said, voice full of regret. "It keeps them from getting pregnant."

The reporter took a deep breath. Magic, demons, aliens she could handle. This was a little different, but she was a professional.

"Why don't you call them in." Her mouth set a hard line. "I'm going to have to see this for myself."

Half an hour later, four dancers were lined up in Blaze's office. They were topless, sweaty, bodies covered in glitter, the hard perky fake tits bare, panties low-cut to barely keep them from being completely naked. Lois didn't recognize any of them from the missing person posters, but figured they were your typical types: single mothers, "models" who did other things at the side, college students, actresses on hard times...

"Ladies, please remove your panties," Blaze said, cool and professional, playing the boss. "Sort of a...health inspection."

The women blinked, but said nothing. Presumably they'd all had bosses that insisted on "health inspections" before. It came with the territory. None of them said a word of protest as they bent over and slipped their panties down their legs. Lois felt like the federal pussy inspector in a bad low-budget porno film as they leaned against the desk and spread their legs.

The reporter moved in front of the first of the women and leaned in close. She hadn't stared at a pussy this intently since tracing out the gynecology section in her high school anatomy class. From a distance, it looked perfectly normal: a slightly puffy mound, dark lips protruding a bit in typical "roast beef" fashion, giving a kind of hamburger appearance. The pussy was puffy enough that the clit looked buried in there. It was mostly cleaned shaved, except for a little tuft of blonde hair.

Blonde...

Loist looked up at the woman's face, past the underboob with its parallel breast implant scars. Her eyebrows were solid black, hair dark.

"What's your natural hair color?" she asked.

"Brunette," the dancer said, looking weird uncomfortably. "I dye it."

"And your pubic hair?"

The woman shrugged. Lois turned her gaze back down to the pussy. Blonde. The more she looked at it, the more the pussy seemed...out of place. A little paler than the surrounding skin, a little more fit and toned, fresher...no scars or tattoos. Like the pussy of someone else altogether.

"It's Jenny Dunlap, isn't it?" Lois said out loud. From across the room, Blaze replied: "Yes."

"Can she hear us?" The reporter turned and raised an eyebrow.

"Yes," Blaze asked.

"Can she...talk?"

The demon shrugged. "She doesn't have a mouth."

"What if we gave her a pen?"

"Um...do I get a say in this?" The dancer butted in. "I don't mind whatever kinky casting couch shit you have going on here, but if I'm gonna stick a pen in my cooch I want to see some green..."

Lois sighed. "How do we get them out? Back to normal, I mean."

Blaze squirmed under the reporter's gaze. "There's a problem with that."