3 Days

Porkum was hard at work making a new batch of bonbons. It was a two-handed job, the pig-man mutant grunting as he aimed himself at a clean mixing bowl, held by a Doombot. He had, for inspiration, taped a photo of Sue Storm to the robot's chest. Eye on the prize, and all that.

"How," Doom's voice came from the robot's mechanical throat. "Do you know that the Invisible Woman has begun to consume your...offerings?"

"Doomy," Porkum grunted. "I've been turnin' women into bimbo fucksluts since I turned 18 and my powers kicked in. None of 'em, no matter how smart or powerful, can resist. Had this science-chick look at my splooge once, and said it was like in the biological war of the sexes, I'm the neutron bomb. Total obliteration. Utter overkill. Sure, maybe she can resist. But her own biology is workin' against her. Once she gets a whiff, her own biology is gonna want nothin' else. It ain't even mind control! Just unleashing the inner slut."

Doctor Doom did not answer. He had been discreetly analyzing Porkum's biology and emissions on his own. In truth, the pheromonal discharge alone was unusually aggressive and keyed toward the female anatomy. The sperm was both exceedingly active and long-lived, but also featured multiple specialist spermatozoa, some of which were designed not for impregnation, but to attack the female nervous system, releasing substances similar to nerve agents. Breakdown in the stomach acid of lab rats had shown results similar to crack cocaine. Instant addiction.

Which meant the physical and mental symptoms of withdrawal would be...extreme.

Sue Storm's pussy hurt.

She had, with a sort of methodical madness, jammed nearly everything that could fit inside her pussy inside of her sometime over the last 72 hours. Wooden spoons in the kitchen. Valeria's shoes. The television remote controls. Once, she had crammed six tampons in there and was diligently trying to pry open her cervix with the tip of a sharpie before a sudden and violent sneeze had ejected everything and Sue had fallen into another crying jag.

Reason and rationality had fled from her as body and mind tried to process the chemical withdrawal. H.E.R.B.I.E. monitored from a distance, directing Sue Storm to hydrate, attempting to distract her with books, music, and television. Nothing worked. She slept little, each brief, fitful nap ending with some terrifying erotic dream that sent her pulse racing. Masturbation offered a weak distraction, so H.E.R.B.I.E. had sought to placate her with video pornography and a variety of marital aids.

It wasn't enough. Visual and auditory hallucinations had begun to invade her sensorium. Sue Storm had curled up naked in the shower and cried for an hour, and then attempted to insert the sink faucet into her vagina while moaning her brother's name.

H.E.R.B.I.E. reviewed the emergency protocols. Sue Storm was obviously in distress. Her rationality was compromised. The wound on her thigh was healing, albeit slowly; the small robot taking advantage of her brief periods of unconsciousness to change the dressing. Yet Sue was distressingly thin, unable to eat much, and often frantic with her sexual activities. Reed Richards and the rest of the Fantastic Four were still days or weeks away in another dimension.

The time had come for medical intervention.

"Gimme chocolate," Sue Storm gasped.

"Affirmative," H.E.R.B.I.E. acknowledged.

In the biohazard quarantine section of the lab, Porkum's chocolates had been undergoing analysis. The key material was not synthesizable. Yet H.E.R.B.I.E. had, with the use of drones with pheromone detectors, been able to identify the source.

The robot knew where Porkum was hiding. Sue Storm had just authorized the mutant's capture.