Superboy Toy 6 (Patreon)

Ivy sipped the drink, unimpressed, then gave Kon an appraising look. She still didn’t look impressed, but it seemed more of a poker face than any kind of disappointment. Kon knew the figure he cut with his sharp haircut, leather jacket, tight costume, and chic-ass earring. If he were anymore What Women Wanted, he’d be Mel Gibson.

“Well, I suppose Harley had to have good taste in something,” she said coolly. “You’re that Superboy, aren’t you? What would your big caped daddy say about you palling around with the two of us?”

“He’s not my dad,” Kon retorted angrily.

Ivy laughed richly, the sound rolling out of her like thunder on the horizon. “Oh yes, yes, I forgot. Superboy. A teenager. All the necessary ingredients to be a man, but not yet done cooking.”

She scanned Kon, her green eyes lighting up as they caressed his physique. He was trim, but there was stiff muscle wherever she looked, almost all of it shown off by the tightness of his costume adhering to every ab and bicep.

“I suppose Harley’s gotten in a collecting mood after Power Girl—tell her you’re the last Kryptonian she’s getting. I got in enough trouble the last time I tried to keep a Superman around the house… I should’ve known better than to listen to the Riddler. Even if we hadn’t gotten caught, he probably would’ve sent a bunch of self-sabotaging ‘clues’ to the Golden Guardian the very next day.”

“Do you usually vent this much to Quinn?” Kon asked.

“Please. She’s what I need to vent about, half the time. I don’t know how I put up with her.” Green eyes focused on the bulge in his costume. “But then, I suppose she brings me such nice gifts. I’d say she’s outdone herself this time, but last time, she brought me Catwoman. That was all kinds of fun. Think you can do better?”

Kon leered at her. “If Power Girl didn’t have anything to complain about,” he bragged, “I don’t see why you wouldn’t be satisfied.”

“I don’t see why not either, rosy cheeks,” Ivy purred. “In fact, I can’t believe I’ve never worked you into my schedule before. I suppose I was waiting for you to get enough seasoning.”

“Screw seasoning,” Kon growled, reaching for her. “You’re getting frosting inside and out.”

It barely took anything for him to pull the leaves and creeping feelers away from her naked body. Even with them hardly covering her to begin with, the sight of her totally bared flesh was staggering. Pure, pendulous sensuality radiated from every inch of her like the appetizing heat in freshly baked bread. It made her crimson hair slightly frizzy, twitching and fluttering with every little movement.

Meanwhile, a stately, waiting, anticipatory energy coursed through her voluptuous body. It made her breasts heave, quickened her belly from soft curves to hardened abs, even quivered in her jellied thighs, like the toned muscles of her legs were itching to tighten on him.

With no word for his barely-trying innuendo, only a raised eyebrow, Ivy helped Kon out of his own clothes. She was used to being made love to and even if Kon wasn’t as experienced at being a lover, he was more than enthusiastic to catch up. There was no need to discuss what was going to happen—it was too busy happening.

Lustfully Kon sucked in breath and huffed it back out, just shy of bullishly snorting as he reached for Ivy’s plump breasts. He took big handfuls of her satiny flesh and molded them in his tight grip, his squeezing caresses working Ivy’s big green nipples into stiffened buds.

Ivy’s cool emerald eyes grew hot with excitement, squinting as she tried to hold in her approval of how Kon handled her sensitive breasts. She didn’t want to favor him with a moan too quickly. But she was still too aroused to hold still and let Kon keep working at her; Ivy reached down to Kon’s granite erection, curling her fingers around it with gleeful adoration.

“You really are hung,” she cooed. “It’s a shame the name Superman is taken. I have a feeling you’re about to earn it.”

“Says the chick named Poison Ivy,” Kon grinned. “What’s in a name? A rose by any other name…”

“Did you just quote Shakespeare?” Ivy asked, so shocked by the turnabout from her usual dirtytalk with Harley that it was actually enough to distract her from how the man was hung like a horse.

It wasn’t that Harley was more focused—it was just that she had a one-track mind and she was trying to imagine how a woman could survive taking a prick that big. She’d hardly believed it when Peej had taken it. And she was crazy; maybe she’d hallucinated riding it herself. It had been so good, it’d been like a trip on some of Red’s special mushrooms.

But Ivy didn’t seem worried. She worked Kon’s cock like it was an old friend. She wound her clenched fist about the broad purple head of Kon’s endowment like she was revving a motorcycle engine, smearing her fingers with her oozing precum, then tracing the sticky wetness up and down his length.

Then, just as Kon was getting into it, his head tilting back, a lazy grin covering his face, Ivy used his own cock like a leash. Dragging him down onto the daybed into a sit. Then she pushed his muscular thighs apart and knelt between them.

Her hot breath fanned his erection, soothing any discomfort with more arousal. It tremored stiffly, leaking more thick precum. Ivy fisted the thick shaft and pumped on it some more, taking full advantage of the precum on hand to lubricate its entire girthy length.

“You’re going to make me drool,” she purred. “It’s been a long time since I’ve had a toy like this to play with. No, that’s the wrong word. Harley’s the kind of toy you play with. This one you ride—you hang onto it—and hope you’re in one piece when it comes to a stop. Sort of like lighting a firecracker. Only this one you try to get as close as possible to when it explodes.”

“Well, it’s good to know this is as rare a treat as it feels like,” Kon laughed.

“Your average man doesn’t have much on my vines,” Ivy said as she pistoned his manhood, as though showing him how she’d like him to use it when he was on top of her. “But they can only do what I tell them to do. Sometimes it’s nice to have someone that doesn’t do what I say. In fact, that would be Harl’s redeeming quality.”

“Hey!” Harley cried. “You’re the one who needs layin’! And who arranged that for you, huh?”

Ivy shushed her. “The voyeurism game isn’t much fun with comments from the peanut gallery.” Then she laughed. “You’d think between her and my vines, I’d be a happy woman, but I still get so hungry for a big prick. Don’t get a big head, Superboy—my vines could give you a run for your money. But as nice as they are, there’s just this difference between a tofu burger and a juicy steak…”

Ivy’s hot pink tongue—seeming brighter even than her ravishing red lips—flashed out. Kon gasped at the contact it made with his sensitive, throbbing cockhead. His handsome face blushed with pleasure while Ivy licked all over his member in search of his trickling precum. She lapped up the clear droplets as fast as they emerged from his glanshole, then rolled them around savoringly in her tongue while waiting for more.

She greedily gulped the mixture of Kon’s taste with her own saliva, then kissed along his shaft to pick up his musk. It tremored against her tender lips, adding to the taste. Even her beloved vines didn’t move like this—so alive, so animalistic. To her, it was practically taboo. Ivy had grown used to Harley. This was still exotic. This was meat and she gurgled hungrily as she treated herself to it.

Kon slumped down into the cushions that still held the tanning Ivy’s warmth, barely able to keep his eyes open against his enjoyment, but he had to watch as Ivy lavished his manhood with her lewd attention.

“I can’t believe it!” he groaned. “I’m Poison Ivy’s personal gigolo…”

Harley couldn’t blame him. It was unbelievable to her too, a staggering work of lasciviousness that blew her mind like coming across a porno rag as a kid. It turned her on madly to watch them and see that Ivy was just as good at sexing a man as she was at going to town on Harley.

“If only all you mammals had such good-tasting cocks,” Ivy murmured. “Then I could understand why there have to be so many of you…”

“What can I say? I’m one in a million,” Kon replied cockily. “You gotta put up with a lot of weeds to get a flower… or something.”

Ivy appeared to consider lecturing him on how far from the mark he was—if there was one look Harley knew, it was that one—but she’d already lathered Kon’s prick so thoroughly with her saliva that the whole fat purple organ gleamed like a hunk of precious mineral. Ivy couldn’t help but take advantage of being offered something so hard and immense and delicious. She licked her way down the thick column, polishing every inch of it to a fine sheen, while Kon shuddered and panted.

Poor guy, Harley thought. She would’ve given in and come by now, but Kon only had so many bullets in the chamber. Harley guessed he didn’t want to waste one in Ivy’s hair, even though it was already artfully tousled.

Ivy reached the thick plug of a base and kept right on going, down to Kon’s visibly throbbing balls, hairy and engorged and pulsing so hard that they looked to Harley that they could’ve been the size of cue balls, though she would’ve loved to feel them to be sure.

Ivy lashed his wrinkled scrotum with her warm tongue. Kon’s nostrils flared as he tried to endure this fresh infusion of lust testing his stamina. Harley went cross-eyed picturing his upthrust cock shooting his stuff into the air, sending it raining down on Ivy’s kneeling body, showering her in it like snow on a jade statue.

Then she focused. She wanted to memorize everything Ivy did and try all those moves on Kon—it was so hot seeing him gasp and snort with arousal. As she watched Ivy wrap her plush lips around Kon’s balls, Harley found herself actually drooling.