Ivy Orders Lois Not To Cum

"...not until I allow you to," Poison Ivy said.

"Nnnnnnggggrrrh..." Lois Lane moaned between clenched teeth, her fingers rubbing furiously at her clit in full view of everyone on the dance floor. The reporter couldn't help herself—couldn't stop her furious jilling. Yet her climax never came. Her pussy burned with need, but stubbornly refused to send her over the edge.

People noticed. All eyes were on her now. Pointing. Laughing. The reporter's cheeks burned with shame as Ivy's hands grasped her breasts from behind.

"Slide your panties down to your ankles," the villain ordered. "We're going to shuffle to the bathroom. Slowly."

There was no conscious decision on Lois Lane's part. One hand rubbed her muff while the other tugged her black thong panties down. The drenched fabric fell down to her knees, which shook until they slipped down her calves to lie limp about her ankles.

Then they began to move.

Lois Lane shuffled forward. People had their phones out, recording the sight. The woman masturbating in public while getting felt up, her panties tangles about her ankles as she shuffled slowly toward the bathroom. Lust and embarrassment burned within Lois, knowing all of that was going on the internet, that as soon as someone recognized her that her reputation would be in ruins...

Except Lois was wrong. She didn't have to wait for it to hit the internet. Someone else in the club right now recognized her, and the predicament she was in.