Chapter 2: Queen of Thorns Arrives
The world was a blur of sensation and shame. Barbara’s body, still trembling from the first shocking release, was given no quarter. Harley’s finger curled inside her, a relentless, gentle piston, while her mouth returned to its work with renewed, devastating focus. The oversensitivity was agony, a sharp, electric protest that Harley mistook for encouragement, licking and sucking with a tenderness that was somehow worse than violence.
“See? Ya can take it,” Harley murmured against her, the words a hot vibration. “Yer tougher than ya look.”
Barbara’s head thrashed. Her protests were breathless, incoherent. “Too… too much… stop, please…”
But her body, traitorous and exhausted, was already responding. The coil, impossibly, began to wind tight again. A second wave gathered, faster than she thought possible, built on the raw, exposed nerves and the relentless rhythm. A low, continuous moan was pulled from her lungs. Her hips stuttered against Harley’s face, seeking friction she hated herself for needing.
It crested, sharp and less overwhelming than the first, but deeper, a shuddering convulsion that left her gasping and empty. Harley rode it out, gentling her touches until Barbara sagged against the vines, utterly spent, a sheen of sweat making her skin glow under the neon lights.
“Harley, darling. You’re being awfully firm with our guest.”
The voice was a smooth, velvet contralto that seemed to emanate from the glass walls themselves. It sliced through the humid air, calm and chiding.
Harley pulled back, wiping her mouth with the back of her glove. She pouted toward the shadows. “I was just bein’ friendly! She liked it, didn’tcha, Bats?”
Barbara couldn’t form words. She could only breathe in ragged, shuddering pulls.
From a curtain of shuddering black orchids, Poison Ivy emerged. She moved with a silent, predatory grace, the living greenery parting for her as if in reverence. Her emerald eyes took in the scene: the discarded straps on the floor, Batgirl’s completely exposed and sweat-slicked form, the helpless tremors that still occasionally wracked her frame. A slow, knowing smile touched Ivy’s lips.
“You’re using a hammer when a tendril is required,” Ivy said, her voice a whisper of leaves. She approached, her heels silent on the mossy floor. She ran a cool, possessive hand along Batgirl’s stomach, feeling the muscle flinch beneath her touch. “Look at her. All tense. You’ve overstimulated the poor thing. She needs to be… unwound. Gently.”
At Ivy’s unspoken command, the thick vines binding Barbara’s wrists and ankles loosened. They didn’t release her, but shifted, lowering her from the horizontal spread-eagle position. She was maneuvered with a strange, unsettling care until her knees touched the cool, damp soil of the glasshouse floor. The vines reconfigured, binding her wrists together above her head, pulling her arms up in a single, taut line. The position arched her back, thrusting her breasts forward and leaving her utterly vulnerable on her knees.
“There,” Ivy crooned, circling her. “A more humble posture. More receptive.”
Barbara tried to summon her anger, her defiance. It came out as a weak, shaking breath. “Isley… whatever you’re planning…”
“Shhh,” Ivy interrupted, placing a single, green-tipped finger against Barbara’s lips. The scent of night-blooming jasmine and something dangerously sweet filled her nostrils. “No more fighting. It’s wasted here. Just feel.”
Ivy knelt before her, so close their knees almost touched. She didn’t touch Barbara. Instead, she placed her palm flat on the soil between them. She closed her eyes, her expression one of deep concentration. The ground shuddered. A soft, wet sound of parting earth followed.
From the soil, directly between Barbara’s splayed knees, a slender, vine-like tendril emerged. It was the color of deep aubergine, glistening with a clear, slick secretion. Its tip was a perfect, pulsating sucker, delicate and pink.
Barbara’s eyes widened. “No.”
Ivy moved behind her. She sank to her own knees, her body pressed against Barbara’s back. One hand wound into the loose, damp red hair at the nape of Barbara’s neck. The other hand came around her waist, holding her steady. Ivy’s breath was cool against her ear.
“Watch,” Ivy whispered, the command soft and absolute. She tightened her grip in Barbara’s hair, forcing her head to look down, to witness the tendril’s slow, questing movement. “See how gentle it is. It doesn’t want to hurt you. It wants to give you pleasure. To make you bloom. Just let it. It will feel so good, Barbara. I promise.”
The use of her real name, spoken in that intimate whisper, was a violation that stole the air from her lungs. Before she could respond, the tendril moved. With a mind of its own, it rose, the sucker trembling slightly. It touched the very tip, a soft, cold, wet pressure.
A sharp, bitten-off moan escaped Barbara’s throat. The sensation was utterly alien, a concentrated, cool suction that connected directly to her overloaded core.
Ivy pulled back on her hair, just enough to arch Barbara’s neck. “Listen to that,” she murmured, her lips brushing the shell of Barbara’s ear. “So beautiful. You have no idea how beautiful you look when you moan like that. When you finally stop thinking and just feel.”
The sucker latched on more firmly. The suction was gentle at first, then rhythmic, a slow, insistent pull that seemed to draw the tension right out of her. It was not like Harley’s frantic, hungry mouth. This was a slow, deliberate milking of sensation.
“Harley,” Ivy called, her voice still a soft murmur. “Come here. She needs a softer touch. Help me.”
Harley, who had been watching with fascinated eyes, scrambled over eagerly. She knelt in front of Barbara, her earlier manic energy softened into something like rapt attention. She looked at Ivy for instruction.
“Kiss her,” Ivy said. “Be gentle. Make her feel worshipped.”
Harley leaned in, her blue eyes surprisingly solemn. She placed a soft, closed-mouth kiss on the side of Barbara’s neck, just below her jaw. Then another, trailing down the sensitive column of her throat. Ivy mirrored her on the other side, her lips cool and slow. They moved in a synchronized descent, a cascade of kisses down her shoulders, across her collarbones.
Barbara could only watch, her head held firm by Ivy’s grip. A deep, helpless blush spread across her chest and face. Every soft press of their lips was a counterpoint to the relentless, sucking pull between her legs. Moans, soft and continuous now, leaked from her with every exhale. She was a instrument being played by two masters, her body singing a song of shameful, gathering pleasure.
Harley reached her breasts first. She took one peaked nipple into her mouth with none of the previous frantic hunger, only a warm, suckling gentleness. Ivy attended to the other, her tongue tracing the areola with agonizing slowness before drawing the peak in. They fed from her, their mouths soft and persistent, while the plant tendril pulsed below.
“So perfect,” Harley mumbled against her skin, the words blurred.
“A living wonder,” Ivy breathed into her other breast. “So strong. So responsive.”
“Just let go, Bats,” Harley whispered. “We gotcha.”
“Bloom for us, Barbara,” Ivy murmured, her hand splaying across Barbara’s stomach, feeling the muscles quiver. “We’ll catch you.”
The praises, whispered between kisses and sucks, wove a net around her crumbling resistance. The dual stimulation was everywhere—her breasts, her neck, her core—a symphony of illicit pleasure that built with terrifying inevitability. Her moans became a mantra, a broken, repetitive sound that echoed her rising desperation.
She was panting, her body trembling not with strain but with the precursor to release. The coil was winding again, tighter and hotter than before, forged in this cauldron of gentle, possessive torment.
“That’s it,” Ivy coaxed, her voice honeyed. “So close. Let us see you.”
“C’mon, sweet stuff,” Harley cheered softly, lifting her head to watch Barbara’s face. “You got this.”
The peak hit not as a crashing wave, but as a deep, seismic rupture. It rolled through her in slow, devastating pulses, wringing a long, drawn-out cry from her soul. Her body convulsed, held upright only by the vines and Ivy’s embrace. The plant tendril maintained its gentle, rhythmic suction throughout, prolonging the shocks until she was sobbing with the intensity of it.
They held her through it, their mouths leaving her breasts to kiss her shoulders, her hair, whispering gentle encouragements until the last tremor subsided and she hung, boneless and utterly conquered, in their tangled, leafy grasp.
They held her through it, their mouths leaving her breasts to kiss her shoulders, her hair, whispering gentle encouragements until the last tremor subsided and she hung, boneless and utterly conquered, in their tangled, leafy grasp.
A profound silence followed, broken only by the drip of alien dew and Barbara’s ragged, slowing breaths. Her mind was a void, spongy and soft, all strategic thought dissolved by relentless sensation. She felt Ivy shift behind her, those cool hands moving from her waist to cradle her jaw.
“See?” Ivy’s lips were against her temple. “No more fighting. Just feeling. It’s better, isn’t it?”
Barbara couldn’t answer. A weak, shuddering sigh was her only reply.
Ivy turned her face gently, fingertips tracing the line of her jaw until they were almost eye-to-eye. Batgirl’s blue eyes were glazed, unfocused. Ivy smiled, a slow, verdant curve. “Let’s feel a little more.”
She closed the distance, her lips meeting Barbara’s.
The kiss was shockingly soft, a contrast to everything that had come before. It was a possessive, exploring press of mouth against mouth. Barbara stiffened, a last spark of defiance trying to flare. She kept her lips sealed, her body rigid in Ivy’s hold.
Ivy didn’t force it. She just continued, her lips moving with infinite patience. A warmth spread from the contact, a unique heat that was Ivy’s own. Then a taste, subtle at first—like rainwater on rose petals—bloomed on Barbara’s mouth.
It seeped through the seam of her lips, a flavor that was pure, undiluted spring. As it touched her tongue, a corresponding warmth ignited in her veins. It was a chemical invitation, a synthesized sigh that melted her resistance from the inside out. Her locked jaw softened. Her lips, against her own will, parted on a trembling breath.
Ivy hummed, a sound of deep satisfaction, and deepened the kiss.
Her tongue swept in, and with it, a stronger wave of the aphrodesiac. It flooded Barbara’s senses, a sweet, green fire that coiled in her stomach and loosened every remaining knot of tension. A soft, surrendering moan vibrated in Barbara’s throat, swallowed by Ivy’s mouth. Her body, which had been held taut, sagged fully into the other woman’s embrace, responding to the kiss with a slow, dawning hunger.
She was kissing her back. The realization was distant, fuzzy, but undeniable. Her mouth moved, her tongue tentatively meeting Ivy’s. The vines around her wrists slackened completely.
“There she is,” Ivy murmured against her lips, pulling back just enough to speak. Her emerald eyes were bright with triumph. “Now, let’s get you comfortable.”
The vines surged to life again, but not as restraints. They curled under Barbara’s body with surprising tenderness, lifting her from the damp soil. They carried her, floating, to a wide, sturdy bed of intertwined creepers that formed a suspended platform. They laid her on her back, the living mesh conforming to her shape, supporting her like a hammock. Her arms rested at her sides, free but weak.
“Ooh, a better view!” Harley chirped, scrambling over.
She knelt beside the suspended platform, right by Batgirl’s head. Gently, she slipped her hands beneath Barbara’s neck and shoulders, lifting her upper body just enough to prop her head forward. “There, easy. Now you got a front-row seat, Bats.”
Ivy stood before them, backlit by the grotesque, beautiful flora. She held their gazes, her smile turning predatory. Her hands went to the clasp at her shoulder, releasing the first leaf-like garment. It whispered to the floor.
“You see, Batgirl,” Ivy said, her voice a low purr as she shimmied her shoulders, letting the light play over her own full, pale breasts. They were magnificent, heavy and tipped with deep rose. “You are a specimen. Strong. Resilient. But still… human.”
She cupped her own breasts, weighing them in her hands, her thumbs brushing her nipples. “You have such lovely ones. Truly. But mine are the pinnacle. Fertilized by the earth itself. Perfected.”
Barbara, held in Harley’s loose embrace, could only watch, her mouth still tingling from the kiss, her body humming from the toxins. Her mind screamed at the passivity, but her limbs were liquid, her will softened into putty.
Ivy’s hands then moved to her waist, to the sleek, plant-derived shorts she wore. She hooked her thumbs in the hem. With a slow, deliberate roll of her hips, she pushed them down over the curve of her behind, letting them fall.
Batgirl’s breath hitched. Her widening blue eyes were not on the thatch of red curls, but lower.
Where a thick, flushed, and perfectly formed phallus lay against Ivy’s lower abdomen, a seamless extension of her pale skin. It was indeed easily eight inches, already half-hard and gleaming with a natural, slick moisture.
A strangled, wanting sound escaped Barbara’s throat before she could stop it. It was a moan, raw and undeniable, fueled by shock and the aphrodesiac coursing through her.
“I thought you might appreciate it,” Ivy said, stepping forward, her cock now fully erect and bobbing slightly with her movement. “A blend of all nature’s best qualities.”
The vines adjusted beneath Barbara, spreading her legs wider and tilting her hips up in a silent, shameless invitation. Ivy climbed onto the platform, kneeling between the cradle of Batgirl’s thighs. Her hands, cool and firm, gripped Barbara’s hips, her thumbs pressing into the defined valleys of her pelvis.
“Watch,” Ivy commanded, her eyes locking with Batgirl’s.
She guided herself forward, the broad, slick head pressing against Batgirl’s thoroughly soaked entrance. With one smooth, relentless thrust, she sheathed herself to the hilt.
Barbara cried out, her back arching off the vegetative bed. The fullness was staggering, different from the tendril, from Harley’s fingers. This was a claiming, deep and absolute.
Ivy began to move, establishing a slow, devastating rhythm. Each withdrawal was almost complete, each forward plunge a deep, punctuating conquest. With every powerful thrust, Batgirl’s body jolted. The firm, generous weight of her 34DD breasts shook and swayed, a mesmerizing bounce that Ivy’s gaze drank in.
“So responsive,” Ivy breathed, her own composure a stark contrast to Barbara’s shattered state. She released one of Barbara’s hips, her hand splaying up her torso. She cupped one heaving breast, squeezing the soft flesh, her thumb grinding over the peaked nipple.
“You have no idea how beautiful you are like this,” Ivy continued, her voice husky as she maintained eye contact. Barbara was moaning with every stroke, a continuous, wanton soundtrack, her face a masterpiece of blush and helpless pleasure. “All that fight, that iron will… melted into this. Into feeling. This is what you were meant for.”
Ivy leaned forward, her own breasts now hanging above Batgirl’s face. They were, as she’d boasted, magnificent—fuller, heavier, the pale skin faintly traced with delicate green veins. The scent of her, wild and floral, filled the air.
“Taste,” Ivy suggested, her voice dropping to a whisper as she continued to move inside her, her thrusts becoming deeper, more possessive. “See what perfection feels like. Go on.”
She lowered herself slowly, bringing the swollen curve of her right breast to Barbara’s parted, panting lips. Harley, still cradling Batgirl’s head, giggled softly. “Do it, Batsy. It’s only fair.”
Overwhelmed, commanded, and chemically seduced, Barbara’s tongue flicked out. She touched the soft skin, then, with a weak, open-mouthed moan, she took the nipple in. She suckled gently, then with more hunger, as if drawing nectar from a flower. Ivy gasped above her, her rhythm faltering for a moment before she drove into Batgirl even harder, her own moans joining the symphony.
“Yes,” Ivy hissed, her fingers tangling in Barbara’s red hair, holding her mouth firmly to her breast. “That’s it. Take it. Everything you need is right here.”
Everything you need is right here.”
The rhythm was everything, a deep, percussive motion that erased thought. Barbara’s mouth worked instinctively, her tongue swirling over the offered nipple as the fullness inside her built a familiar, terrifying pressure. Her hips rolled to meet each of Ivy’s thrusts, a shameless, hungry syncopation that had her moaning around the flesh in her mouth. Her hands, which had lain limp at her sides, now rose to grasp blindly at Ivy’s waist, her fingers digging into the smooth skin.
She was getting close. The tightening in her gut was a coil of live wires, sparked by the aphrodisiac still humming in her blood and the relentless, stretching friction. Her breaths became sharp, broken gasps against Ivy’s breast.
Ivy felt it. She always did.
With a sudden, cruel motion, she pulled her breast from Barbara’s mouth, breaking the warm, wet seal. In the same instant, her hand shot up from Barbara’s hip and closed around her throat. The grip wasn’t crushing, but it was unyielding, a collar of cool, firm flesh that controlled her air and snapped her focus into razor-sharp clarity.
Ivy’s thrusts didn’t stop. They became harder, more precise, aiming for the spot that made Barbara’s vision blur.
“Look at me,” Ivy commanded, her voice low and thick.
Barbara’s blue eyes, glazed with need, fluttered open. She met Ivy’s emerald gaze, which burned with an intellectual, predatory fire.
“You’re going to cum, aren’t you?” Ivy asked, each word a punctuated thrust. Her thumb pressed against Barbara’s trachea, not to hurt, but to remind her who held every part of her in that moment. “I can feel you clenching. Trying to hold on. You can’t, can you?”
Barbara tried to shake her head, but the hand held her fast. A desperate, denied whimper escaped her lips.
“Beg for it,” Ivy whispered, leaning down so their faces were inches apart. Her movements slowed to a torturous, shallow grind, keeping the peak just out of reach. “You want it so badly. Your body is screaming for it. So use your words. Beg me to let you.”
Tears of frustration and unbearable need welled in Barbara’s eyes. The humiliation was scalding, but the physical demand was worse. It overrode every last shred of pride.
“Please,” she choked out, the word scraping her constricted throat.
“Please, what?”
“Please… let me cum.” Shame flooded her cheeks with heat.
“Who am I to you, in this moment?” Ivy insisted, her hand tightening a fraction. “Address me properly.”
Barbara’s chest hitched. The vines beneath her seemed to tighten in anticipation. She closed her eyes, surrendering to the truth of her degradation. “Please… Mistress Ivy. Let me cum.”
Ivy smiled, a slow bloom of absolute victory. “Good girl.”
She released Barbara’s throat and slammed back into her, deep and final. The permission, spoken aloud, shattered the last dam.
The climax tore through Barbara with a silent, breathless intensity before transforming into a raw, open-mouthed cry. Her body bowed, trembling violently, every muscle locked in a spasm of intense release. Wave after wave of sensation ripped through her, each one wringing a guttural moan from her core, leaving her writhing and weak on the bed of vines.
Ivy rode it out, then stilled inside her, letting the final aftershocks subside. She pulled out slowly, watching Batgirl’s spent form twitch at the sensitivity.
Barbara lay gasping, utterly hollowed. She felt a new, cool wetness between her thighs.
Ivy knelt over her face, bringing her glistening cock to Barbara’s lips. It was slick with Barbara’s own release, the combined scent musky and intimate. “Clean it,” Ivy ordered, her voice devoid of negotation. “Taste what your begging earned you.”
Barbara stared up, her mind a numb static. She couldn’t believe she was about to do this. Her tongue, seeming to move on its own, peeked out. It touched the head, tasting a sharp, salty tang that was unmistakably her own.
A shudder wracked her. Then, driven by a dim, chemical-compelled curiosity, she opened her mouth wider and took the head in.
“That’s it,” Ivy coaxed, a hand returning to stroke Barbara’s tangled hair.
As Barbara began to suck, a fresh, more potent wave of that floral aphrodisiac seeped from Ivy’s skin, flooding her mouth. It burned down her throat, igniting a fresh, desperate heat in her belly. Her movements, tentative at first, became more enthusiastic, her head lifting off the vines to take more of Ivy’s length into her mouth, hollowing her cheeks.
“Make some room for me, Pammy!” Harley’s voice was a delighted chirp.
Barbara felt Harley shuffle eagerly down the vegetative bed, hands pushing her thighs further apart. Then Harley’s mouth was on her again, licking through the wetness, lapping at her oversensitive flesh with a feverish joy that made Barbara jolt.
The dual sensation was overwhelming. Moans vibrated around the shaft in her mouth. One of Barbara’s hands, moving with a will of its own, reached down and tangled in Harley’s pigtails, holding her head in place. Her other hand wrapped around the base of Ivy’s cock, her fingers awkward at first, then more certain, beginning to stroke what her mouth couldn’t reach.
Ivy sighed, a sound of deep botanical pleasure. “Look at you. Multitasking.”
Harley hummed against her, the vibration drawing another sharp gasp from Barbara, who sucked harder in response. The room filled with the wet, obscene sounds of their efforts, of Barbara’s muffled, frantic moans.
It was too much, again. The pressure rebuilt with terrifying speed, a third climax clawing its way up from the base of her spine. Her hand faltered on Ivy’s cock. Her jaw went tense.
She pulled her mouth off with a wet pop, a strangled cry ripping from her. “I’m— I’m gonna—”
Harley, sensing it, looked up, her blue eyes wide and eager. She didn’t pull away.
Barbara’s release crashed over her, a shorter, sharper burst than before. Her back arched, a hoarse scream tore from her throat, and a fresh rush of fluid surged against Harley’s waiting face.
“Ooh, yes!” Harley laughed, letting it coat her cheeks and chin, licking her lips with glee. “Hit the jackpot!”
Batgirl collapsed, her chest heaving, gasping for air like a drowned woman. She was utterly spent, blank.
“Not done,” Harley sing-songed, her voice cheerful. She gripped Barbara’s jaw with sticky fingers, forcing her head back toward Ivy. “Miss Ivy didn’t finish. Back to work, champ.”
Harley guided Barbara’s mouth back onto the hard, waiting flesh, pushing until her nose pressed into Ivy’s skin. “There ya go. Just like that. You’re doin’ so good. Takin’ it all like a pro.”
Barbara gagged slightly, tears leaking from her eyes, but she complied. Her mouth moved mechanically, her tongue working, her hand resuming its stroke.
“She’s ready, Pam,” Harley said, her own breath coming faster. She kept one hand on the back of Batgirl’s head, holding her in place. Her other hand reached down, closing around Barbara’s and guiding the rhythm, making it faster, tighter.
Ivy’s breaths became sharp, hissed commands. “Yes. There.”
With a final, sharp cry that sounded like cracking timber, Ivy reached her peak. Harley pulled Barbara’s face roughly off the cock at the last possible second.
“Open,” Harley commanded.
Barbara, dazed and obedient, closed her eyes and stuck out her tongue, a perfect, pink offering.
Harley’s hand worked Ivy with a brisk, final stroke. The release wasn’t a liquid, but a warm, viscous spray that painted across Barbara’s face. It landed on her eyelids, her cheeks, the bridge of her nose, and across her outstretched tongue. Thick drops spattered onto her heaving chest, sliding down between her trembling breasts.
The sensation was shocking, warm and oddly sweet. A weak, shuddering moan escaped Barbara. Her hands, moving almost unconsciously, came up to cup her own breasts. She squeezed them together, shaking them gently, watching as the pale, hot liquid dripped down the soft slopes and into her cleavage.
“Well, would you look at that,” Harley breathed, awestruck.