Green Gotham

Ethics, control, calculations—all evaporated in the searing air of the room under the pressure of Harley's lips and the pulsing void within her. When she tore away from Alex's mouth, her eyes burned not with a question but a command. Fierce. Immediate.

Her hands, strong and swift, shoved his chest. Caught off guard, Alex lost balance and crashed onto the cold concrete floor. In an instant, Harley was on him, straddling his hips with raw power, like a wild mare breaking a stallion. No preludes, no games. Only primal, ferocious need to fill the void.

She ripped at her clothes—red-and-black bodysuit, bra—seams bursting under her fury, revealing pale skin glistening with sweat and fervor. Her movements were sharp, efficient, devoid of coquetry. When Alex tried to rise, she pinned his wrists above his head with an iron grip. Her gaze slid to his pants. Hesitate? No. Her fingers tore into the fabric, shredding it from waist to ankles, exposing him.

The room's silence broke with her ragged, heated exhale and the rustle of torn cloth. No words, no kisses. Only lust, unleashed after long captivity. She slid lower, her eyes locked on his aroused cock. Without pause, with near-animalistic rage, she leaned down and took him in her mouth. Not a caress—an act of possession, swift and demanding. Her lips and tongue worked with such force and speed that Alex's head snapped back, stifling a groan. She claimed her due, wringing the first wave of pleasure from him with ruthless efficiency, his body tensing in a silent scream as he gave in.

But for Harley, this was merely a prelude. She rose, her dark, wild eyes blazing with unquenched hunger. Wasting no time, she spread her knees wide over his hips, one hand guiding his still-hard cock to her wet, burning slit, and sank onto him with a deep, hoarse exhale, taking him to the hilt. Vaginal sex began at a frenzied pace. She rode him like an unbroken mustang, hips moving with inhuman speed and strength, head thrown back, blonde hair wild, lips bared in a snarl of pure, uncontrolled ecstasy. Alex could only grip her hips, struggling to match her manic tempo, his body shuddering under her relentless thrusts. Wave after wave crashed over him until he came inside her again, fingers digging into her flesh, body going limp beneath her.

Harley stilled for a moment, feeling his pulse within her. But the fire in her eyes didn't fade. She breathed heavily, sweat dripping down her neck. Her gaze slid lower.

"Now… there," she rasped, voice rough with exertion. "I want it."

Alex, barely recovered, looked at her with a mix of astonishment, skepticism, and exhaustion.

Harley smirked, short and bold.

"Don't worry, smartass. My ass ain't just pretty. Thanks to Rosey," she nodded toward the glass, "it processes everything. No residue. It's…" she deliberately ran a hand between her cheeks, "…always clean. Ready for action."

Before he could protest, she lifted off, freeing his cock, slick with their mingled fluids. Unceremoniously, she scooped the moisture with her hand, roughly smearing it over his tense shaft and her anal entrance. It wasn't much lubrication, but it sufficed. With the same fierce drive, she spread her cheeks, aligned him, and slammed down, taking him into her tight rear passage. Alex gasped at the sudden pain-pleasure, his body arching. The tightness, heat, and intense pressure—Harley moaned low and deep, moving again. Anal sex was even more intense, demanding. She controlled every inch, every thrust, her inner muscles gripping him with incredible force. Alex, already drained, tried to respond, but his movements weakened. A third climax hit him abruptly, powerfully, draining his last strength. His body went slack, eyes rolling back, consciousness fading under her relentless lust.

Harley froze, still astride him, feeling his final pulses inside her. Her chest heaved, a wild, sated smile on her face. Energy still surged within her. She was ready for more. But her "steed" was broken.

Her gaze, languid and mocking, rose to the one-way mirror where she knew Pamela watched. Harley stretched like a cat, calling out loudly, deliberately:

"Close your peepers, Rosey, show's over… for now."

Then, before anything could happen, Harley rallied. All her unspent rage, energy, and strength—amplified by Pamela's modifications—focused into her right fist. She leaped off Alex's unconscious form, strode to the glass, and smashed it with a full-force punch.

The mirror didn't just crack—it exploded inward in a million shards. Behind it, caught mid-breath, stood Pamela Isley. Her hand was stuffed down her sweatpants, fingers clearly working her clit. Her usually cold, controlled face was frozen in deep, almost ecstatic arousal, mixed with shock at the shattered glass. She'd been reveling in the spectacle to the last second.

Harley stepped over the frame, ignoring the glass crunching under her bare feet. She approached the stunned Pamela, hand still in her pants. Harley glanced at her, then at Alex's limp form on the operating room floor, and grinned predatorily.

"See, Rose?" Her voice was hoarse but smug. "Smartass… he's good. Real good. But he only filled half my soul." She leaned in, grabbed Pamela's wrist, yanking her hand free, and squeezed her fingers tightly. Her other hand seized Pamela's waist. "The other half… that's on you. Let's go."

She pulled Pamela with commanding force, striding from the wrecked observation room toward her quarters. Pamela followed almost on autopilot, her mind racing through the surgery, the liberation, the frenzied sex, that punch… and now herself, led like a trophy.

In that moment, watching Harley's commanding back, Pamela grasped a stark truth. Her lips twitched, her eyes flickering with a mix of horror, admiration, and bitter realization. She muttered under her breath, staring at her friend's nape:

"So this is who we freed from the Clown… A horny gremlin. God help us, what have we done?"

But she didn't resist. Harley's void yawned too wide, and Pamela, with dread, felt herself drawn into its vortex.

The door to Pamela's quarters slammed shut. The air was thick, humid, intoxicating with exotic flowers and damp earth. The floor was a lush, springy layer of living moss, cool under bare feet. Harley wasted no time taking in the scene. With one sharp, powerful shove, she sent Pamela sprawling onto the green bed.

"First, the appetizer, Rose!" Harley declared with a predatory grin, her eyes blazing in the dim room, lit only by bioluminescent mushrooms.

She didn't wait for consent. With acrobatic grace, Harley spun and lowered herself face-to-face with Pamela in a classic 69 position. Her hands braced on the moss beside Pamela's hips, her wet, still-aroused pussy hovering over Pamela's face. Simultaneously, Harley buried her face in Pamela's core.

The contrast was stark. Pamela, beneath Harley's slick flesh, met a heady, tangy, human cocktail of Harley's juices mixed with Alex's seed—salty, sharp, primal. She dove in with fierce enthusiasm, her tongue working fast and demanding, seeking the sensitive nub, probing inside, making Harley shudder and moan low in response.

Harley, face buried in Pamela's core, tasted the familiar, longed-for flavor she'd missed unconsciously for months. Cool, clean sweetness, like diluted high-grade sap, with faint notes of damp earth and exotic blooms. Less viscous than her own, more watery, it heightened the pleasure. God, I missed this! flashed through her mind as she lapped greedily, her tongue delving into Pamela's tight, responsive passage, which remembered her and reacted to every touch like a living, sensitive plant. She attacked with doubled fervor, growling with delight.

They moved in sync, each consumed by the other's taste and sensations, driving each other to the edge. Moans, ragged breaths, and wet sounds filled the humid air. Orgasm hit them almost simultaneously—Harley cried out, her hips jerking, flooding Pamela's face with a fresh wave, while Pamela arched, her juices flowing in a warm stream into Harley's eager mouth, who swallowed with a low, satisfied rumble.

Harley pulled back, panting. She sat on her haunches beside Pamela, giving her a sultry, teasing look. Drops of their mingled fluids glistened on Pamela's chin and cheek.

"Mmm, tasty…" Harley rasped. "But where're my favorite toys, Rosey? Time for the main course."

Pamela, still reeling from climax, struggled to focus. Her cheeks burned.

"Toys? We… we just moved in, Harley. Alex and I… we don't need those…" she mumbled, but realization dawned in her eyes. She knew what this unleashed storm craved. Pamela ran a hand over the moss. Green tendrils responded instantly, weaving, hardening. In seconds, her hand held a hefty, flexible, double-ended dildo of polished, wood-like plant material, warm and faintly pulsing with life.

Harley squealed with delight, snatching it from Pamela's hand.

"I got this!" she announced, shoving Pamela back onto the moss. She positioned herself atop, impaling herself on one end while guiding the other into Pamela's entrance. And it began. Harley rode with ferocious energy, hips pistoning, driving the dildo in both directions. She controlled rhythm, depth, speed, pushing them both to new peaks of pleasure that spiraled into ecstasy. A second orgasm crashed through them, then a third… The line between pleasure and raw madness blurred. Their bodies glistened with sweat and juices, breaths ragged, minds adrift.

In that moment, between waves of fiery bliss, a sober thought crept into Pamela's mind. Her passion-hazed eyes widened with sudden clarity.

"Harley… Alex…" she gasped. "He's… out cold on the lab floor… on cold concrete… in torn clothes…"

Harley slowed her frenzied pace, looking down with a sly, shameless grin. Her energy—fueled by liberation from the Joker and Pamela's modifications—seemed boundless.

"Oh, poor baby…" she drawled, without regret. "Don't worry, Rose. Our toy soldier won't waste away. Five more minutes…"

Exactly five minutes later (Harley's sense of time was uncanny), she leaped off Pamela and the dildo. Throwing on a scrap of torn clothing—more symbolic than covering—she bolted from the quarters. She returned just as fast, Alex's limp body slung over her shoulder like a sack of potatoes, legs dangling, head lolling. She dumped him onto the soft moss beside Pamela, who gaped in a mix of horror and awe.

Harley flopped between them on her back, arms spread, staring at the dark ceiling dotted with glowing mushrooms. Her chest heaved, but her face glowed with the widest, most genuine, mad smile.

"Y'know, Rosey?" she breathed happily. "This is my best day. The best. Day."

Pamela looked at this chaotic, destructive, irresistibly sexy, and finally hers friend. Harley's wild joy, despite the madness, softened even the venomous Mistress of Plants. Wordlessly, Pamela slid closer, wrapping an arm around Harley's waist and pressing her cheek to her shoulder, radiating a deep, complex bond that held them together, no matter what.