Worship My Feet

The words pounded into Lois Lane's brain. She felt dizzy, the room spinning. Camera lights flashed, bursts of colored lights on the topless dancers up above, the seething sea of bodies on the dance floor seemed to crowd in, the pulse of the music...and the reporter fell down to her knees, juices dripping down her naked thighs. She turned around...

...and her eyes focused on a slim ankle, a pale green in this light, encased in a three-inch red heel by straps across the bridge of the foot and around the ankle.

Lois looked at the foot as though it was the first time she had seen one—really seen one. The nails were pale, transparent, well-trimmed; the tiny toes each unique, elegant; the ankle slim and perfect as the tapering waist of a beautiful woman....and then that elegant foot was raised, as if in offering to her.

The reporter leaned forward and grasped the shoe in her hand. Her chest heaved, bared breasts rising and falling as her lips pressed against the big toe, feeling warm flesh, hard nail. Lois Lane's tongue slid out, tentative, furtive, to taste the pale green skin.

It was like licking a ripe tomato fresh from the garden. Woody, herbal notes hit the back of the reporter's throat, a gritty earthiness as her tongue slathered between those toes. The big toe rose, a gift, and Lois Lane's lips sealed around it, sucking, tongue twirling.

All around her, the gawping clubgoers watched in utter fascination as Lois Lane sucked Poison Ivy's toes...and a little color bloomed in the villain's pale cheeks. Perhaps it went to her head a little. She wondered what else she could do with this new power.