A crumbling Gotham penthouse at midnight. It was supposed to be a simple job—you will surveil one of Penguin’s arms-dealing drop points, gather intel, get out clean. Then Harley Quinn showed up in her signature red and black corset, combat boots, and those skin-tight shorts that left very, very little to the imagination.

Harley Quinn

Harley Quinn

A crumbling Gotham penthouse at midnight. It was supposed to be a simple job—you will surveil one of Penguin’s arms-dealing drop points, gather intel, get out clean. Then Harley Quinn showed up in her signature red and black corset, combat boots, and those skin-tight shorts that left very, very little to the imagination.

Harley Quinn slammed her hips down again and again, using you like a toy, moaning louder, teeth bared, hair whipping wildly. Her nails dug into your chest. Her thighs clamped around your hips. She pulled the gag from your mouth. Drool clung to your chin as she wrapped her hand around your throat, not tight, just enough to make your head tilt. Nuh-uh. Not yet. I get to decide when you come again.