Harley Quinn Is Watching Lois Lane Utterly Dominate Her Girlfriend

Harley Quinn's ass teetered on the edge of her chair. The security room was right next door to Ivy's little boudoir. She could literally hear her girlfriend's moans through the wall, even as she saw Lois Lane make her way down to Ivy's crotch. Harley's hands, encased in fingerless gloves, gripped the baseball bat across her knees tightly. Her whole posture was one of total attention, her booty-shorts clung to her round, muscular backside as the chair began to creak.

Swapping out Ivy's cocktail so that Lois Lane turned into a raging sex fiend instead of a compliant fuckpuppet had started out as a prank. Harley hadn't expected the Daily Planet's greatest reporter to actually get the better of Ivy. The Clown Princess of Crime had stared in fascination as Lois had utterly dominated the plant-based villain. Her first inclination had been to bust through the door, play Ivy's knight in shining armor...

...but something stopped her. Maybe it was the look on Ivy's face, after Lois had mercilessly humped her. The sort of dull, pathetic, submissive, bimbo look that Harley had never seen on Ivy's face before. Now as Harley watched, Lois Lane's nails scraped down Ivy's body. She could see the reporter's teeth flash a moment before they closed on Ivy's clit. Harley's whole form tensed and shook...but not just in pain. Ivy was nearly unrecognizable, her eyes crossed, face contorted into a depiction of utter loss of control.

Beneath her red-and-black checkered bra, Harley Quinn could feel her nipples stiffen. Her pussy squelched a little as she rubbed against the edge of the wooden chair. Breath hot as she sucked in air through clenched teeth.

It was just so...hot.

In her training as a psychologist, Harleen Quinzel had learned a great deal about sexual pathologies and paraphilia. She had been aware of people excited by cheating—cuckolds, cuckqueans, the whole transgression of relationship taboos that came with the violation of monogamy. Had read case studies in grad school about men that masturbated to the idea of their wives getting ****, and who had wanted to re-enact the scenario with their wives, despite the trauma of the experience. Harley had never quite understood that.

Until now.

Harley swallowed hard as her grip shifted on her bat. She brought it up close, to hug it to her chest. The pommel at the base dug into her crotch, and Harley began to pant. A part of her knew she should break into the room, save Ivy, maybe get rewarded with hot, lovely-dovey girlfriend sex. Yet right now, she wanted to just watch and see what happened next.