End: Harley & Ivy Are Bound Together

Vines. Rope. Duct tape. Handcuffs. Two horny, subservient sluts. One lust-maddened reporter, free to indulge her creativity.

Long minutes were spent as they assumed the position Lois Lane had in her mind. Ivy shook as Harley helped her into a perfect split. They kissed as Lois began to tape their ankles together. Then their knees, their thighs. A belt cinched around two waists. Another around two necks. Lois pulled their faces apart just long enough to feed a double-ended dildo down between their throats. Then the lovers shifted their heads and pushed together, barely able to breathe, but able to press their lips together around the same shaft.

Velvet-lined handcuffs secured their arms behind their backs. The rope went into a makeshift harness around their bodies, under their crotches, beneath their arms. The reporter worked hard, and sweat glistened on her naked skin as she tied the nights so that they held securely, bit into the flesh a little without compromising circulation. Then the rope went over the center beam in the room and Lois tugged.

It was long, slow work as the two lesbian sluts, their mouths locked together, legs in a perfect split, pussies exposed, rose into the air. Like an obscene pinata, they hung from the central rafter, to stir gently in the breeze from the air conditioner.

Lois Lane tied the line. Her muscles ached. She'd worked up quite a sweat. Yet her work was not done...no, not even a little.

The madwoman held Harley's bat in her hand. The two sluts swung there, unable to escape as Lois circled them. Eyed their exposed pussies. The slim, trim labia of Poison Ivy. The darker, redder lips of Harley Quinn, slightly more protuberant. Little beef flaps. The two twitched and sought to rub against one another. The reporter's infectious madness heightened their libido beyond normal limits, but they didn't have the leverage to properly frot against one another.

Madness blazed in the reporter's eyes. The grin split her face, and she couldn't stop. Lust. ****. Pain, pleasure...

The swing of the bat smashed the hard wood against the exposed pussies. The women couldn't scream. Not really. The dildo gagged them. Yet they thrashed against their bonds. Which only made them swing faster. The reporter laughed, fascinated as a child that pins the wings of a fly. A part of her wanted to do it again...to smash those pussies into a bloody mass...but she had a better idea.

The rope was the roughest and heaviest available in the bar. Once, perhaps, it had been part of some old clipper ship. Now it tied a heavy, awkward knot around Harley Quinn's wrists. Ran down between the aching, bruised pussies. drawn tight and tied around Ivy's wirsts.

Which left just enough slack for the two sluts to push and pull the rope across their pussies. Their pussy juices soaked into the ancient, heavy rope. Lois didn't even have to tell them. The idea came into their minds, and they began to pull it back and forth. To saw the rough rope across their sensitive pussies. To squirm, in mingled pleasure and pain. Working together to get off.

Lois Lane found her jacket and pants, Ivy's panties, Harley's sneakers. She kept Harley's baseball bat too, as she left them there. Eventually, perhaps, the madness would wear off, or someone would find them. The reporter wondered how long they would saw at their pussies until that happened.

Out into the club. Her exposed breasts dappled with sweat. The reporter attracted looks...and more than that. Miscolored eyes met theirs, and strange ideas blossomed inside ****-dulled brains. Couples turned on each other, to tear off their clothes. Women screamed as they went into sudden handstands, bottles of beer shoved up pussy and ass. Jocks bent down to sniff each other's asses like dogs, homophobia momentarily forgotten as they whined and licked at each other's crotches. **** deals spun around, free samples thrown to an eager crowd as they sang Willy Wonka songs.

By the time the reporter reached the street, the club was a literal orgy. She raised her head to the moon and howled; white moonlight flashed off white skin. The madwoman's mania reached out. She spun around, and invisible waves of infectious madness spun out of her. People on the street staggered under strange new compulsions. Cars veered and swerved. It hung on Lois like a cloud and followed her as she let loose all her deepest, most depraved desires.

By morning, Superman would find a wave of spontaneous orgies that crippled the city...and at the center of it all, waiting for him...a smiling, naked figure.

Oh, what plans Lois the Lunatic had for the Man of Steel...but that is another story.