Harley and Ivy's guide to decorating your home

The vines slunk nearer, and there was nowhere for Barbara to go with the sturdy glass all in the way. Even if she wanted to press up against that all she'd end up doing would be to push herself closer to the watching mobsters.

A green tendril snaked around her arm. Barbara was pulled up, no longer trying to crouch out of view on the floor, one arm lifted up over her head. She flailed with the other before it was grabbed too, winding vines holding them out of the way.

She sobbed, every inch of her body in all its finely trained glory bared for the thugs of Gotham city. She could feel the air against her skin, her nipples hardening from the many fantasies she'd had about being caught just like this, even despite her humiliation, her tits jiggling as she struggled vainly against the firm grip of the plant.

The last of the vines curled around her ankles; she tried as hard as she could to resist, but her legs were parted and her last, shameful secret was revealed to the gathered men. The thin strip of red hair, and her undeniably soaked pussy.

Even with everything it had been hard to think of more than what she'd imagined happening in Harley and Ivy's 'care,' even when the reality was so much worse. Add onto that the fact she absolutely refused to touch herself while in the glass cage and it didn't take much for her libido to start burning again.

Barbara wriggled, then squealed as the vines slowly started to rotate, turning her like she was some display piece. Thin vines encircled her legs, for a moment making her imagine she'd get some relief, only to instead stop short, making sure she was still.

Her toned ass was revealed as she was turned around, only for her to continue turning and instead start once more looking at the leering mobsters, aware they'd seen every private inch of her.

"That the real Batgirl?" a gruff voice said. "I don't want to be talking shop in front of one of his."

"We're not talking about anything secret," Ivy said. "We need a place to square a few deals, that's all. I owe a couple of you, a couple of you owe me, I'm sure we can sort it all out."

"And her?" the same gruff man said.

"I doubt even one of the Bat's girls would choose this," a new, sunglasses-wearing figure said. "She's not spying."

"Matches has a point," said someone else, leering openly as Barbara was displayed. "I want to take in the view. Let's keep the meeting here."

Barbara whimpered and could do nothing to stop her mounting humiliation, vines tight around her and curling up her limbs.

"I think she likes it really," Harley stage-whispered.

The men laughed. Barbara's cheeks burned as she blushed. Of all the people who could see her like this... And on top of it all Matches, Matches... that name was familiar, that voice was familiar.