Porkum Slits and Pierces Sue Storm's Tongue

There was a moment when Porkum pulled his prick from her mouth that Sue Storm, brain fuzzy and half-drunk on Porkum's cum, thought that her ordeal might be over. Her jaw hung open, sticky white ropes hung from her lips, eyes dilated and body limp. It felt for a moment as if Sue Storm's throat was a cunt, fresh-fucked and spattered with jizz, as hot dribbles ran down her esophagus toward her stomach.

Then something clamped over her mouth. A soft cloth, stringent chemical smells filled her nostrils and mouth.

"Breathe," Porkum ordered, as the chloroform-soaked cloth smothered her nostrils and mouth.

Maybe there was something in those chemicals that worked against Porkum's pheromones. Sue felt an odd clarity even as her body went limp in her arms. She was half-conscious, though unable to do anything. A prisoner in her own body as Porkum carried her limp form elsewhere. Through room after room. Corridors. Tunnels? Then she was settled into something like a dentist's chair, the back of her skull laid on a padded headrest.

A masked and visored figure shone a light into her eyes. Sue couldn't see much of their face, but something said "female." Rings pierced the black eyebrows. Little spikes pushed out of the bridge of the nose above the mask.

"For fuck's sake. She smells like she just blew a horse," the woman said with a slight British accent. "What a slag."

What followed was the most embarrassing dental cleaning of Sue Storm's life. Water-pick and vacuum tube worked to cleanse Sue Storm's mouth, followed by a UV light that made her tongue feel dry. Sue could feel Porkum hover in the background, the room rich with his scent.

Then Sue found out why her mouth had just been cleaned and sanitized.

The woman's hands were covered by black surgical gloves. She held Sue's tongue out of her mouth with a firm grip. The scalpel touched a spot a little over an inch from the tip. Bit down into the sensitive muscle. Sue couldn't even scream as the blood welled. Spurted. Splattered drops on the clear visor, then dripped down as she cut.

Until the end of Sue's tongue was forked.

Then the needles came out. Sterilized, again. There was just a single sharp moment for each wounded tip. Then, a scrabble with those gloved fingers. An unaccounted weight at the tip—no, the tips. Sue could feel them. With quiet competence, the surgeon—or whatever she was—bandaged Sue's wounded tongue.

"She'll heal. Couple weeks. It'll hurt, bleed a little. Want to be careful with eating and drinking. Risk of infection..."

Porkum said something...but then he lifted Sue Storm up out of the chair.