Later...Much Later

"Uggh!" Lois Lane sat up, head fuzzy, eyes still closed. Every part of her was sore, as if she had just run a marathon. Even her clit ached and throbbed like a sonofabitch. She eased her eyes open and stared down at her crotch. The angry nub of her clitoris was bigger than she'd ever seen it, and a livid red.

"Need to put some ice on you," the reporter mumbled as she became aware of her surroundings.

She was naked, and in a kind of hammock of woven vines or plant fibers, that swung lazily between two trees. The air was blood-warm, humid, and full of tropical smells. There were plants in every direction, and grow-lights up above. The ceiling was glass in a metal frame, and through it Lois could see the moon.

"Greenhouse," Lois muttered, her brow furrowed. The last thing she remembered was being in the club...and dressed. Her memories of the last few hours, however, were like a raw wound. Lois flinched as a sudden headache hit her.

Biological needs **** her to swing out of the hammock. Somewhere in here there had to be a bathroom...or someone that would explain what's going on.

"Just pick a tree. I guarantee they don't mind a little watering."

Lois froze and turned to find the speaker. The voice came out of the jungle...but then Lois blinked and saw a face emerge from the shrubbery. Pale, with green veins. Red hair wild and free. Slim, fit, and utterly naked. Some kind of dark sap ran down her legs, and Lois blushed and looked away.

"Poison Ivy," Lois said, and her heart beat a little faster.

"Oh, Lois," Ivy grinned. "After tonight, you can call me Pam."