Night fell. The visitors trickled out of the museum. Soon only the guide was left. After one last glance around the hall, he flicked off the lights and locked the doors. Then he, too, left the building.
Hours later, in the dead of the night, another man arrived at the museum. He fumbled with a dozen keys as he found the right one for the museum doors. Stepping inside, he closed and locked the doors behind him, then headed off to the cleaning closet to collect his equipment.
The janitor was a simple man. A man past his prime, who looked every bit as old as he was. He had never married, never had much luck with the ladies. Until this job. It was his job to ensure every exhibit looked spotless for the new round of visitors each morning. In times past this had meant long, hard hours, scrubbing and scouring and soaking and scrubbing again. With the current exhibits, though, his job became much simpler. Mop the floors, polish the glass. This was exactly what he did for the first few weeks, but he could never help gawking at the alluring figures beyond the glass.
When the purple-haired minx had been brought in, however, and that devious contraption had been built to contain her, it became too much to handle. He could no longer ignore the desire burning inside him as he worked mere inches away from such exuberant beauty.
Of course, fucking the exhibits wasn't an
official
perk of the job, but who was going to notice if he arrived at work with an extra spring in his step? Nonetheless he was careful, picking his conquests with caution, entering exhibits where his presence wouldn't undermine the security of a Super Menace's restraints. And of course, cleaning up all evidence of his exploits once he was satisfied.
Tonight's target: the meta-human redhead known as Poison Ivy. Her milky green, vine-entangled skin had always repulsed him, but looking at her now with her crimson locks draped around her shoulders and her eyes closed in peaceful slumber, he glimpsed the erstwhile beauty of the former doctor and wondered how many times she must have been shunned by people who saw her exactly as he had. Besides, he'd done the rounds of every other female Super Menace several times over and he was feeling adventurous for something new.
Stepping inside her enclosure, his chest tightened as a wall of heat hit him. It was a dry heat, like that of a scorching summer's day, prone to combustion at the slightest encouragement. He'd forgotten how diverse the climates inside these cells could be. But he understood the reason for this one: Poison Ivy had possessed some sort of plant power, and plants needed moisture to thrive. Dry heat made leaves brittle and weak... and probably had a similar effect on the woman herself.
Numerous small plants and ferns dotted the glass enclosure - all plastic, of course. It wouldn't do to feed her powers just for the sake of a more authentic exhibit. He shuffled around to her front, standing between her and the glass. In the dim light her ashen skin seemed to glow a pale green. Her legs were parted invitingly in a slight V to showcase the dark green vines entwined around her legs like creepers, so fine and snug that they appeared to be part of her flesh. Her whole body was raised slightly off the floor, wide metal bands encircling her legs, wrists, and torso in multiple places. Her feet were positioned en pointe, yet the top of her head was only just level with his. Her busty chest heaved with slow, slumberous breaths.
Despite her abnormal skin tone, Frank found himself admiring the woman's body as the picture of beauty. Her frame was a more traditional hourglass figure, with a narrow waist and flared hips giving way to a shapely posterior. Her chiselled navel added contours to her flat stomach, and the ramp down to her snatch was lightly covered with small, moss-like leaves that were soft to the touch.
Beside her, an ivory mannequin stood in a power stance, bearing nothing but a few scant leaves around the crotch and upper chest. If this was what she "wore" it was no wonder men so easily fell for her. Truth be told, she was beginning to grow on him too. Maybe she wouldn't be his worst fuck of the week.
"Why hello there, beautiful," he said in a gravelly voice. "Ready for ol' Frank to show you a good time?"
There was no reply, as always, but in his mind he imagined her mouth curling in a slight smile. Her mouth... Without the glass between them he noticed a slight sheen to her olive green lips, as though coated with freshly-applied lip gloss. In fact they looked rather succulent, colour notwithstanding. Perhaps he'd steal a kiss later.
Frank unzipped his fly and dropped his trousers. Not for the first time, he grinned stupidly at the inadvertent convenience of displaying all Super Menaces fully nude. He stepped forward and raised his growing manhood with trembling hands. He was already hard simply from standing next to the vixen, but he cradled his shaft a few moments longer as it grew to its full albeit modest length. Then he leaned forward and guided it home.
