Nothing Interrupts The Process; Poison Ivy Oversees It Personally

It took hours.

Lois Lane had hoped, at first, that Poison Ivy would leave, that some opportunity would allow the reporter to work her way free. Yet Ivy did not leave. The redheaded villain hovered around the reporter, her hands touched the naked, bound reporter all over, to explore every inch of her body...and Lois could only lay there, utterly helpless as the liquid corruption dripped into her veins and spread throughout her tissues.

Bound as she was, Lois Lane couldn't see all of the changes happening to her body. As the healthy pink flesh grew paler, with an undertone of green. How the blue veins grew darker. The small breasts swelled a little fuller. The pink line of her labia darkened into a vivid green. Lois shuddered as Ivy's fingers explored that further, pulled the labia apart with her fingers to see the pale green insides, the pink flesh utterly changed.

Yet she could feel it. Like a creeping itch, deep within her body, just beneath her skin. There were times Lois could not repress a shudder, as her very bones seemed to burn like a rash. Her skin was more sensitive too...the tiny hairs, nearly invisible, that everyone have stood up and seemed to shudder with every breeze from the air conditioner. Her grossly swollen nipples were painfully stiff, the green teats puffier than they had ever been.

What Lois could see was Ivy in her "sere and yellow leaf"—and as the hours went on, Lois could see what Ivy meant. The pale skin seemed thinner than before, like crepe paper, almost transparent at times, wrinkled and loose at every joint. There were dark shadows under Ivy's eyes, and a wracking cough that brought up specks of green-tinted blood. Strands of red hair fell out and hovered in the air before they fell about her.

Even as Lois Lane ripened, Poison Ivy seemed to wither...and the reporter, so focused on her physical changes, didn't consider the implications of that.

Not until it was too late.

Cold fingers caressed the reporter's flat stomach. Poison Ivy's own body had seemed to shrink on itself, the shoulders and knuckles bonier, the spare flesh all swept away. The modest breasts that had been plump and full now hung sunken and shrunken, the sternum visible where once there had been cleavage.

"Can you feel it?" Poison Ivy's voice was a rasp. "You're like me now. Physically. Fertile soil...little seedling...all you need is to open your mind...to the Green...and let me in..."

Poison Ivy's withered claws seized on the reporter's jaw and pinched her nostrils shut. The last scent that Lois had was of the decay that wafted from Ivy's dying body. Thin, dry lips peeled back from rotten teeth, brown as a meth addict's as Ivy lowered her mouth down to Lois Lane's for an obscene kiss.

The reporter held her breath for as long as she could. Fought the burn in her lungs. Strained against the bonds. Yet it was hopeless. After minutes of struggle, Lois Lane had to open her mouth to breath, to suck in air...and something pushed out of Ivy's mouth into bound and transformed reporter's. Like a hairy root, slick with slime. Something that pushed past the reporter's tongue and toward the top of her mouth.

Lois couldn't even scream at the pain as it burst through the thin skein of meat and bone to touch her brain.

Violet eyes in green sclera rolled back into the reporter's head. Something pulsed and pushed along that connective tendril. All that was left of the dying Poison Ivy surged through into Lois Lane's brain.