Lois Accepts The Invitation

The reporter took a moment to find her feet and straighten her clothes. She grabbed Aimee underneath the right arm and half-dragged the young and drunk woman into an approximation of an upright posture. Lois Lane grinned at the scantily-clad waitress.

"We'd love to. Lead on, please."

Aimee clung to the reporter's arm, head on her shoulder as the two left the broken men behind them. The young woman's left hand crept up under Lois Lane's t-shirt to paw at the reporter's breast, and Lois allowed it.

In truth she felt...like she'd entered that stage of inebriation where she felt like she could do anything. The sexual heat in her body put a spring in her step, and she felt hyper-aware. They left the back room with its isolated make-out rooms and past more security, through another door...and Lois Lane's eyes went wide as she saw what was happening.

The room smelled like a damp swamp, the dark air heavy with pollen, humid and rank. Fountains of clear water flowed from each of the four walls, and the reporter nearly slipped as the floor was covered with a layer of black soil. Potted plants and trees dotted the edges of the room, but most of the action was focused on four raised platforms, beneath bright sun lamps, where a bizarre sex show was in full swing.

Naked and near-naked women gyrated around plants. Hard stamens slid in and out of pink pussies. Corn cobs were fellated, and Lois couldn't believe that the sweet cream that dripped from the slut's mouth was really butter. One poor woman was bent over on all fours, as a pineapple was slowly shover up her gaping asshole.

Except the customers were the plants themselves. Humanoid trees and bipedal shambling masses of seaweed, leaf-covered green humanoids that looked like they should be stalking behind the rows, flower people double-teaming a small Asian whore as if the honeybee wasn't pollinating fast enough for their purposes, a squatting woman with a distended venus flytrap of a pussy that a heavy-breasts Latina was licking for all she was worth.

"What the hell is going on here?" Lois gasped to herself.

Poison Ivy's hand, warm and soft as rose petals but stronger than the roots of an oak tree, slid onto the back of Lois Lane's neck. She whispered the answer into Lois Lane's ear.