End: For Ivy To Lick Her Clean

Spread-eagled as Lois Lane was, she had no way to resist as the villain lowered her face to the reporter's crotch. Shame and embarrassment burned inside the reporter as Poison Ivy's tongue slid over her piss-stained pussy. With infinite patience, the redheaded villain took her time and infinite care. Her small, hot tongue ran all over the reporter's crotch and thighs. The reporter shuddered as it cleaned her ass...and shuddered harder as the villain nibbles, ever so slightly, on her labia.

The villain gave a long lick, from the very base of the reporter's pussy to her clit. The reporter shuddered as her pussy began to itch...then burn. Ivy seemed utterly unconcerned by Lois Lane's whimpers and tears as the villain spread the labia to stare at the pink, wet inner anatomy.

"Oh my," Ivy said, in mocking tones. "Looks like I'll have to clean the insides too."

The reporter tensed as Ivy's tongue pressed against her inner hole. Slide up the inside of her labia. The tip of her tongue teased the reporter's urethra. And everywhere that Ivy's tongue went, the itch spread. It grew in intensity, a **** need to scratch that was worse than the reporter's embarrassment. She twisted and turned in the viney bondage, clenched her pussy, tried to rub her cunny against Ivy's face...and at that movement, Ivy pulled away.

"You know, it hasn't been easy since Harley went all heroine on me," Ivy said with a sigh, as her hands slid under the reporter to clutch the tightly-clenched buttocks. "Oh, I can attract a mate when I need a quick fuck, but it's so hard to not have someone there when I awake...to have to go out every time to find someone to meet my needs..."

The villain flicked Lois Lane's engorged clit painfully with her fingers.

"...of course, Harley is immune to the toxins I naturally exude. Can't manipulate her that way. Can't make her suffer like you do. You feel it don't you?"

"It burns!" Lois gasped, as she finally found her voice. "Please! Scratch it! Scratch my pussy!"

Ivy chuckled. She stood up...and for the first time, Lois saw the wooden prong that jutted out from her crotch, held in place with vines from the villain's hips. The reporter twisted in her bonds—not to escape, but to rub her burning pussy against that wooden phallus. The redheaded villain's lips twisted into a sneer...but she pressed her hips forward, to slowly impale the reporter on the wooden knob.

"You know, maybe you could solve my problems. You scratch my itch, and I'll scratch yours. What do you say, Lois? Want to be my personal fucktoy?" Ivy said.

The reporter's naked body flexed and twisted. She did her best to rub her cunt harder and faster on Ivy's wooden toy. It was all the reporter could think of. Ivy's eyes lit up as the reporter began to babble. Somewhere in Lois Lane's ravings, the villain heard the world "Yes."

"Good!" Ivy said.

The rest of Lois Lane's night out was an erotic nightmare. The sex only pushed Ivy's toxins deeper into her pussy, into places Ivy's toy could not reach. Nor did it stop there. Ivy wanted to touch every part of the reporter's body. To own every part of it. Make all of the reporter cry out to be touched. Trapped in those vines, Lois Lane thought she would go mad as the hot lips touched her nipples. As that itchy tongue tasted the reporter's shaven pits. As those hands cupped her breasts.

It was enough to drive a woman mad.

Daylight poked through the window in Poison Ivy's loft apartment. Lois stirred in a tumult of bedding. Naked, grimy from sleeping in her own sweat. Pussy sore, hair a mess. Red marks around wrist and ankle where the vines had held her. Bladder ready to burst. She rolled into a seated position and watched as the pale, naked angel stepped from plant to plant with the watering can, checking leaves, testing soil salinity or pH, or something.

At some point, Lois Lane found her voice.

"Can I leave?" she asked, oddly hoarse.

Ivy had her back to the reporter. Those long legs spread. The villain's honeypot exposed to her, the lips a little darker on the outside. The reporter felt an itch in her pussy...

"Oh don't know, lover," Ivy teased. "Can you? Without even watering your ivy?"

Lois Lane stood, and walked across the floor. With every step, she felt her bladder ready to burst...and the redhead, smiling, dropped down into a squat, that pale ass balanced on her heels, and opened her mouth wide, tongue extended like a Venus flytrap. The reporter shook as she placed her pussy against those lips. Stared down the length of her body into those green eyes.

Then the dam inside of her burst, and the hot, clear fluid trickled out, and Lois Lane could not repress a gasp, a shudder, of mixed horror and excitement and relief as Ivy drank and drank and drank.

Enough to sate the urge a little. For now. Yet even as she thought that, Lois felt that itch deep, deep down inside of her...and knew that she was trapped, as surely as a fly drawn to a pitcher plant.