Ivy Has A Bit of Private Fun With Lois Lane

Dimly, Lois Lane was aware of hands that grabbed her limbs and carried her off the dance floor. Her head lolled as she passed through a door into some kind of back room, what had once been some kind of office when this had been a working warehouse. Then Ivy grabbed one of the light fixtures set into the wall, and a whole section of the wall opened...and Lois was carried into a very different kind of bar.

Old-fashioned. Maybe twenty feet long and ten wide from wall to wall, with a long couch set into one wall and a narrow bar on the other. Above the bar, painted nude women frolicked in an idyllic garden. The goons set Lois down on the couch and left. As she watched them go, Lois Lane's eyes widened.

She had found the missing women.

"Minions," Ivy said as she splashed tequila into a glass at the bar. "They call themselves an eco-feminist collective, and they say they dig my vibe, but in truth they're a bunch of sluts who like **** and money, and I provide both."

The villain leaned with her back against the bar as she sipped her drink. Eyes half-lidded, but in this light Lois thought she could detect a bloom beneath the pale green skin of her cheeks. The red hair was ragged and wild. As Lois looked at her, the reporter noted that Poison Ivy looked back. Her eyes focused on the reporter's uncovered breasts.

"The hypnotic will wear off by morning. Your short-term memory will also be affected, so you won't remember. But while I have you here..." Ivy tossed back the rest of the drink and set the glass on the bar with a clink.

The villainess stretched...and as she did she pulled off her clothing. Lois blinked, so out of it that she hadn't even registered exactly what Poison Ivy had been wearing. Now, in the nude, she saw the pale green skin, her breasts a little bigger than Lois Lane's with pale green nipples; her waist was trimmer too, but with the wide hips that gave the plant-vllain an hourglass shape. The reporter's eyes settled on the fiery thatch of red hair between her legs...and that made the reporter hesitate.

Did she have pubic hair before, on the dance floor? Lois blinked, unable to bring herself to move a muscle as the naked villain walked forward. Did I touch her pussy? I don't...I know she touched me...my breasts...she did something to my breasts...

"I love Harley, you know," Ivy said as she knelt down. There was a smell to her that reminded Lois of gardening with her mother. Sweet floral scents, but underneath that musty earthiness. "But she's doing the heroine thing for a while. And we have sort of an open relationship when our paths go different ways."

"Open?" Lois heard the word, and it was a moment before she realized that she had said it. Ivy's **** lent a kind of surreality to the reporter's experience.

"Yes," Ivy breathed as she leaned over Lois, and her breath was sweet as roses and carrion. "I open my legs to whomever I want, and she opens hers..."

The mouth pressed against hers. The tongue slunk in like the taproot of a plant that sought water, tasted Lois as Lois tasted her. Tequila and spit, sweet and cloying. A sensual heat filled Lois Lane's face as she found herself kissing back. Her head swam...and Ivy's right hand tip-toed down the plain of the reporter's stomach, down to her pants...and a sudden bitterness flooded the reporter's mouth...and the world came into focus.

"A little stimulant," Ivy whispered, as her fingers slipped into the reporter's pants, beneath the black lace panties, and combed through the carefully trimmed black pubic hair. "I want you to be alert as I do this..."