With Vines Tickling Her Clit

Lois Lane couldn't help but squeeze her pussy around Ivy's hand. It didn't hurt, really. Just so...full. Every little movement pushed against her inner walls. The reporter had felt that sensation before, the first time she had tried something bigger than her finger—and every time since then when she took something a little bigger, that spread her a little more. Her pussy always closed up tight afterward, but that marvelous tension was almost addictive.

Yet the reporter could not see the soft green vines, young new growths that crept across the floor and up Ivy's forearms. The redheaded villain opened and closed her hands slowly, and the soft gasps from the women was music to her ears. The soft little vines, thin as wires, crawled forward. Aimed towards the pink lips that hung on Ivy's wrists like bracelets.

Lois' spine stiffened as the first whisper of a touch against her clit. The green vine was so fine now that it could slip inside the reporter's clitoral hood. To swiftly circle that sensitive nub. To squeeze, gentle enough, yet to Lois it felt as if a tiny octopus' arm had gripped her little clitty and tried to crush it.

Beside her, Harley gave a moan and a wiggle that made her buttocks brush against her neighbor's.

"Oh, Pammy...do it...stir me up, baby...and stir her up too...Pammy I wanna hear her cum..."

"So do I," Ivy said, and vines threaded through the redhead's hair, little flowers budded and began to bloom. Her lids were half-closed as her arms began to move, back and forth, just fractions of an inch each time, as the soft tips of the vines tickled the clits...and this time, Lois and Harley gasped in unison.