Harley Quinn Is At Her Limit

Porn stars made it look so easy. Smiling as they stuffed big, thick cocks into their holes, hard and fast. Or who bounced up and down on ridiculously-sized dildos, let their girlfriends fist them deep. Of course, in those carefully-staged shoots, Lois Lane had never seen the accidents, the stoppages, the days and weeks stretching pussy and ass, the injuries, the ****...all the things that went into the moment when two fists went deep into a pussy and a woman's entire pelvis looked like it was about to be pulled inside-out, or her ass about to pass a cannonball.

Of course, Harley Quinn was an Olympic-level athlete, with incredible flexibility and strength, a high pain tolerance, and genuine masochistic impulses.

Which is why, as her girlfriend slowly and carefully pressed her lubed hands against Harley's asshole, the Clown Princess of Crime actually quivered. She shook with excitement, a manic grin plastered to her pale face. Lois Lane, her own hands trapped inside Harley's pussy, could feel the tension increase as Poison Ivy slowly **** more and more of her hands into the once-tight sphincter. Watched with morbid curiosity as the ass relaxed, stretched, tensed, then relaxed again.

A part of Lois wondered if this was even possible. If this weren't all some cartoonish fantasy. Certainly, she couldn't imagine Harley actually getting off from this. Every indication was that the pale, athletic body was taut and on edge, pushed to its limits. Harley even began to grunt softly as Ivy's knuckles pushed past the overstretched limits of her ass, and the plant-villain tucked her thumbs inside.

"Come on Harls," Ivy said, her voice a harsh whisper of excitement. "Women can push out a baby, you can take two hands in your ass."

That didn't follow, and Lois knew it. The reporter knew then that in her own way, Ivy was as insane as Harley—that the two women were keyed into the same wavelength of not-quite sanity—and maybe that was why they fit together.

"Aaauh!" Harley let out with a sigh, her face flushed beneath the greasepaint. Lois Lane stared down to where her and Ivy's wrists disappeared. The reporter blinked. Their wrists simply disappeared into the two orifices...Lois Lane's in Harley's pussy, Ivy's in Harley's ass. Quadruple fisting. They had done it. Even if it had pushed Harley Quinn to her limit.

Now what? The reporter wondered.

"You still good, babe?" Ivy said, and for the first time Lois noticed sweat drip from Ivy's forehead, and the hardness of Ivy's nipples...and her own, for that matter. There was a sexual tension in the air like the calm before a storm, or the eye of a hurricane. A zone of deadly pressure presaging some greater **** of nature.