Gotham City Nymphs

Ivy woke up naked and spread-eagled on her bed. That was disconcerting enough, but what really bothered her was that she recognized the feelings of her bindings. They were the same species of vines that she regularly used as whips and lariats against her enemies.

Her pets could be unruly sometimes and she thought, for a moment, that she might have bred too much ‘friendliness’ into her last batch of seeds. She shut her eyes, sending out a mental compulsion to her plants to release her… nothing happened. Now she struggled, but her ankles and wrists were secured as inescapably as when she bound her own hostages in the vines. Ivy went still, knowing she would only hurt herself if she kept trying to get loose.

Then a thought struck her: “Harl! Harl, where are you? I need your help! Harl! Get in here!”

For once, Harley wasn’t making any noise, and Ivy could only conclude that she’d taken off on one of her misadventures, leaving the greenhouse to Ivy alone. The redhead gritted her teeth. When Ivy didn’t have time for her, the clown was all over her, but now that she needed her, where was Harley?

She pulled hard at the vines again, hoping that her anger would help her get free, but all that happened was that her ample breasts bounced wildly with her movements. Ivy stopped pulling; the thought occurred to her that someone could be watching. If they were, the last thing she wanted was to reward them with material for their sick paraphilia. She looked around for a camera, a peephole, anything that would allow them to spy on her… but Ivy couldn’t spot anything.

That scared her more. If whoever her captor was didn’t intend to look at her in this fetishistic pose… why was she stripped bare and strapped down?

The heat of her anger died down, replaced by a chilling fear. It started at the small of her back and cooled her spine vertebra by vertebra. Should she be afraid of being hurt by whoever had done this, or something else?

“There is no reason… to fear…”

Something spoke. Man or woman, Ivy almost couldn’t tell—though she associated the deep gutturalness of the voice with masculinity… it was just so utterly inhuman that it was hard to ascribe sex or even personality to it. It spoke with the slowness and grandeur with which an iceberg would move or a mountain would shift.

Then it stepped from the shadows. Ivy was faced with a monster and he was magnificent. Seven feet tall and bulky as a bear, with broad shoulders, a thick neck, arms and legs like girders. If it were human, its proportions would’ve been absurd—those of an obsessive bodybuilder drowning in steroids. But it wasn’t human.

Despite its bipedal frame, its body was built out of wood and plant matter, shaped into a crude statue of a man, except at the head, where beetle-browed red eyes and an all-too-human mouth worked together with an almost amphibian… part in the space above its slitted nostrils—certainly not a nose—to form something recognizably a face, carrying a recognizable sense of serenity and calm. A gravity to the elephantine juggernaut she was presented with that dulled, somewhat, the sheer sense of threat in something so looming and powerful.

“Beings such as us are… often beyond the use of names… they are a petty way to… order our existence… but pettiness seems… the order of the day… when it comes to you, Isley…” Its voice emerged unhurriedly, but shockingly clear and cultured.

“Who the fuck are you calling petty, you—I’m the one tied to a bed, fucking naked—“

It (he?) continued speaking as though Ivy hadn’t said anything. With her shrill voice placed next to his rolling boulder intonations, it almost seemed like she hadn’t. “There are those who refer to me… as Alec… it’s a convenient artifice… but inaccurate… I am also called Swamp Thing… lacking in dignity, perhaps… but I feel I have sufficient self-esteem… not to insist on titles… you may refer to me… as you prefer… I take it… Isley is a suitable way to refer to you?”

Icy shivers of fear spiked through the redhead’s naked body. Swamp Thing. The Swamp Thing. Even though they’d never met, she’d heard stories. Through both the Green—what little she could make out of it—and the human world.

She’d always considered the man a sort of competitor… someone to avoid in the interest of keeping her own control of the Green absolute. The same reason Woodrue steered clear of her. She could handle Woodrue… she worried what a god like Swamp Thing was capable of, when even a pest like the Batman could thwart her all too often…

Ivy channeled her apprehension into aggression. “How dare you do this to me! Stripping me naked? Tying me down? Who the hell do you think you are!?”

“Your costume was… an imposition of the Green… when I overrode your control… the leaves ceased to cover you… this was natural… I’m sorry this causes you embarrassment…”

Ivy couldn’t get over how gentle, how genteel, his voice was. “You’re sorry? You could’ve at least thrown a blanket over me! Or not tied me down in a first place, you son of a bitch! Cocksucker! Piece of shit motherfucker…!”

A vine crept over her mouth before she could get much more invective out, tightening between her jaws to form an effective gag. Swamp Thing’s red eyes seemed to carry a note of apology in their regarding of her.

“I would allow you… to vent… if I thought it would bring you… catharsis… the Parliament has allowed you much room… to express your misgivings… it was expected that… in time… you would settle down… but you have only grown more and more… active… asked for more and more of the Green… caused more disharmony… more conflict… disrupted the roots… inhibited the growth…”

The gag didn’t let her make much in the way of conversation, but Ivy could still scream and she did. Pushing as much sound past the vine as she could get out. Swamp Thing simply looked at her: calmly, patiently, with an air of disappointment.

“This would have been a good time… for you to listen… to better understand your circumstances… but even now… you can only think of the stress that you are under… not the Green… not your place in the world… there is no need to worry… you will not be harmed… merely… pruned…”

Now Ivy couldn’t deny that she was afraid. The fact that her limbs were trapped and her mouth gagged wasn’t a good sign. And she didn’t like the way Swamp Thing looked at her. Too compassionate. If he were just some sicko, she could at least seduce him, manipulate him. But something in the way he saw her reminded Ivy of a doctor about to operate.

All Ivy could do was try to stall for time until Harley got back from wherever she’d disappeared to. Then maybe she could take a weed whacker to this freak.

She made a show of settling down, breathing deeply, not making any noise. With a tilt of his head, Swamp Thing made the gag slide away from her mouth. That settled it then—he seemed to have effortlessly overridden all her control over even the plants Ivy herself had created.

“Please!” she whimpered pitifully as the giant creature stepped between her legs. She had no compunctions over begging for her life. It’d make it all the more satisfying when she paid Swamp Thing back with all the sadism she could manage. “Please don’t hurt me! Please! I’ll do anything! You can touch me if you want… play with me… even fuck me. Wouldn’t you rather do that than kill me? You can’t have much fun with me if I’m dead—“

“You will not be harmed,” Swamp Thing growled softly. “I have removed all that will be removed from you…”

“My… my babies? You—“

“They are… too much of a responsibility… for one so immature… they will be transported… to a more welcoming environment… as will you… all these towers of metal and glass… they are no good for you… if you were less willful… you would have realized this yourself.”

Ivy worked hard to control her anger. So this fucker thought he could lobotomize her? Take away all her power? Just because, what, he’d been on the Justice League a million years ago? Fuck him—so had Vibe!

“Then why am I still tied up? If you’ve taken away my power—I can’t bother the Green anymore, can I? You might as well let me go…”

“Be quiet now, Isley… your deception is as obvious as it is pointless… the Green does not see the seed… the Green sees the forest to come… in time, you would only regain what you have lost… causing more distress… you have lacked proper… enrichment… you must be… stimulated… then… when you are calm… you will once more be a nourishing part of the Green.”

“Enrichment? Stimulation? What are you talking about?” Ivy was too curious to even try to dissemble.

Swamp Thing reached out, his massive arm easily reaching all the way from the foot of the bed to the nightstand. He picked up a framed photo of Ivy and Harley. “Your leman… your… pet… always so domineering… withholding… no true intimacy…because there is no true… vulnerability… such submission… cannot truly nourish you… like a wilted flower… you must be watered… until you are in full bloom…”

Dropping the picture, his hands closed instead on her bountiful breasts, squeezing them until her creamy flesh bulged all around his powerful fingers. Ivy whined in pain, realizing only now how sensitive she was. How… tender… Through her fright and anger, her reaction to Swamp Thing had become one of arousal. Her body, like her vines, now refused to follow the emotions Ivy was sure she was feeling.

Swamp Thing continued mauling the resilient flesh, his caresses drawing her breasts up and down, moving them from side to side. Ivy’s body moved too, slipping around on her satin sheets… pulled along by her groped breasts. She felt something hot land on her belly… a thick cylinder with the heft of a log… and, looking down, she cried out in shock.

“Your vines were most forthcoming… as to your likes… and very few dislikes… this will be the only appendage I make for you… but I trust it will suffice.”