End: Harley Quinn And Poison Ivy Ignore Lois Lane's Needs

It was a long night. Harley and Ivy had quite the imagination. Lois lane licked pussy until her jaw was sore and tongue was numb. Fisted pussies until her fingers were pruned. Thrust and kissed, licked and sucked, held wands and dildos of every shape. Sat patiently on her knees with her mouth open as Harley squirted into her face. Oiled both women's naked bodies up so that they could squirm together inside a sleeping bag.

Orgasm after orgasm, climax after shuddering climax, until the screams and moans of pleasure echoed maddeningly in her ears.

Yet not once did the two greedy cunts give a thought to Lois Lane's pleasure. To the terrible heat that built within her. The urgent sexual need of long months without sex, now **** to participate in this sapphic debauchery, and unable to actually get off. Lois Lane, still under Ivy's pheromonal control, could only smile and nod and fulfil their needs. To touch and taste that exquisite woman-flesh, and eat her heart out with jealousy as her fingers brought the pale Clown Princess of Crime to another shrieking, enthusiastic explosion of pussy-juice with her mouth.

Until, an hour before dawn, the two women lay languid and sweaty together. Lois Lane poured the champagne and lit the marijuana cigarettes. Juices dripped down the reporter's thighs, her nipples hard as pencil erasers. She looked at the two with terrible envy, and knew that if she could be free of this control for even a moment, she would ride Poison Ivy's face while Harley Quinn buried her fists in the reporter's pussy and ass. Macabre sexual scenarios played through the reporter's mind, and her original mission was quite forgotten.

"Go home, Lois," Poison Ivy said, dismissively. "The control should wear off soon. By tomorrow, we'll be somewhere else. Thank you for making Harley's night special. Now get your shit and fuck off."

Lois Lane left them there. The wording of the order was enough for Lois to grab her clothing on the way out, rather than to walk naked through the streets of Metorpolis. Under the compulsion of Ivy's control, Lois Lane fumed. She wanted to fuck so badly that she would have blown a homeless man on the street. For a brief spell of a few blocks, she fantasized about men grabbing her and pulling her into the alley for an impromptu gangbang. Or seducing the young woman who had the owl shift in the lobby of her apartment building.

Except when she stepped into the building, the young woman was not there—probably changing shifts—and Lois Lane rode up to the elevator alone, a hot ball of sheer sexual frustration. At least at her home there were dildos, pornography, even lube and her own hands. Lois had never fisted herself before, but right now she was willing to try anything for relief...

...and then she saw, standing in front of her apartment, Clark Kent. The broad shoulders strained his suitjacket, and his face broke into a look of sheer relief as Lois stalked down the corridor toward her apartment.

"Lois!" He said. "I've been trying to contact you all night! There was a break in that missing women case—some human traffickers were caught in Gotham. That club you talked about was where they were picking the girls up. I thought you'd want to know—"

Lois Lane hardly heard his words. The Daily Planet's greatest reporter slammed her tits into his broadly muscled chest. One hand grabbed at his tie and pulled his face down so she could stick her tongue in his mouth. The other grabbed his crotch...and like a good boy, he immediately began to get hard for her as she rubbed his bulge.

Blindly, Lois ceased her groping for a moment to fit key into the lock. Never letting go of the tie, she dragged him into the apartment.

The door slammed shut—and for Clark Kent, Lois Lane's night out had a very happy ending indeed.