Resist the pleasure

Velvet Vixen gasps as the brush sweeps higher, the glaze slick on her costume now—gathering in all the wrong (and right) places.

Her breath hitches.

Her head tilts back.

She stops trying to deny it.

“This is… this is so wrong,” she moans, “but it feels so right.”

Daisy lets out a low, satisfied giggle. Her eyes sparkle with mischief as she circles the rake again, the golden glaze catching in the dips of Vixen’s corset, glistening along her thighs, soaking into the seams of her gloves.

“Aww, sugar… that’s what I like to hear,” she croons, trailing the brush down and over the arch of Velvet Vixen’s ribcage. “I always say: if Venus is gonna take you out, the least I can do is make your last moments… fun.”

Velvet Vixen freezes.

“Wait. What do you mean by ‘take me out?’”

Daisy doesn’t answer.

She just hums to herself—sweetly, off-key—re-dipping the brush in the bucket as she kneels near the superheroine’s bound waist.

“Don’t worry about it, sweetheart,” she says airily. “That pretty little head of yours is too full of tension.”

She smirks.

“Let’s fix that.”

Velvet Vixen squirms again, but the glaze only makes her costume slicker, her grip in the restraints tighter. Every movement, every squirm, makes her body tingle. The sticky warmth hugs every inch of her like a second skin.

She’s glowing now. Glossy. Glistening. Gorgeous.

A gift-wrapped offering for whatever Venus Flytrap has planned.

And she knows it.

“Daisy…” she whispers. “What are you two going to do to me?”

“Mmm…” Daisy traces a finger along Vixen’s hip and smiles. “Wouldn’t want to spoil the surprise.”