Turn Them Into Stepford Wives

The words were barely a whisper above the background noise of the crowd.

"There's dudes out there...they got these notions about how things used to be. How they should be. Where women know their place. None of this women's liberation stuff. They want Mrs. Homemaker. One that'll spend all day keepin' house, have a steak in the oven ready to eat when they come home, that crawls under the table to suck 'em off during breakfast. The kinda bitch that is utterly subservient, and happy about it. Begging for kids, begging for cock, always keeps herself nice and pretty, no ambitions beyond draining his balls and popping out his kid and getting hm another beer."

Tyrell sucked in his breath. Lois leaned in, the better to hear him. She could feel the heat of his body as she pressed against him. It matched the warmth of her own flesh, the sheen of perspiration. The reporter felt light-headed, thirsty, and sipped her drink.

"The thing is...boss has a way to do it. A whole process. ****, hypnosis, surgery...I don't know how it works. This dude, he said they actually selectively damage parts of the brain. But I've seen one of the women that came out of it, out in the alley behind the club. She was smiling. Every hair on her head perfect. Big tits, big ass, wasp waist; your genuine hourglass figure. Moved like a ballerina, absolute grace, jiggling in all the right places...and then I saw those eyes. There was nothin' behind those eyes. Less emotion than a dog. Total blank stare, the smile a perfect mask. Then she stepped into the car, and was gone."

Lois Lane hung on every word...and Tyrell could see that. Her pupils were dilated. Face flushed. Almost quivering with excitement. It was a big story, if true...and it was true, Tyrell hadn't lied to her yet. He just hadn't told her the whole truth.

"What does he do with them?" Lois asked.

"Sells them off. Like a mail-order bride thing. Except you can order how big you want their tits, what kinks you want them to have, how tight their pussy should be. Imagine buying your perfect, custom freak in the bed, and she still makes nice with your momma."

The reporter licked her lips. Her thoughts were buzzing so fast right now it almost felt like the room was spinning. She noticed, oddly, that her glass was empty...and she couldn't remember emptying it...but then she focused her attention.

"We have to...have to call the cops..." Lois said. "Or maybe the Justice League...got...to...ah!"

Lois shuddered involuntarily at a sudden spasm between her legs. Tyrell grinned.

"Don't worry. Loss of muscle control is normal with the dose you've had," the Black man said. He placed one big brown thumb on her lower lip. "I wonder what kinda wife you're gonna make?"