Porkum Sends Sue Storm Pictures Taken From Her Visit

The Baxter Building. Home. Sue Storm stumbled away from the Fantasticar. Porkum's spunk dripped down her legs. A puddle of his jizz covered her seat. Small cleaning robots sped past her, to clean the biohazard before Sue took another step. H.E.R.B.I.E. floated in front of the entrance and to the Fantastic Four's living quarters and gestured her toward the other door—the one that led to the decontamination showers.

Numbly, she did as the robot bid. Stripped out of her clothes and left the tainted costume on the floor, to be quarantined, analyzed, and then torn apart at a molecular level. Naked, she limped into the spacious shower. Lit screens offered calming words, directions. Then the steam and water burst from every direction at once. Slightly caustic chemicals sprayed into every nook and cranny. Her leg bandage sloughed off like a leprous chunk of skin. The pain as a jet hit the wound shook Sue, brought her back to herself a little.

She leaned against the wall, legs spread as gushes of water were aimed at her pussy and ass. The heroine leaned over, as if to will them to go deeper. To wash away all of her shame. With a thought, her crotch became transparent. She couldn't see anything inside of her, except the water as it pushed as deep as it would go. Something untensed inside of her at that. Even though she knew Porkum's cum couldn't have gone inside of her, the visual confirmation reassured her.

At some point, the water stopped. The steam subsided. Sue shivered, naked and wet. A door opened, accompanied by a soft chime. She staggered forward into a room like a great blowdryer, calm and gentle. After that a chair, a mirror. H.E.R.B.I.E. had laid out a fresh bandage for her leg, a comb for her hair. Mechanically, Sue placed the bandage over her wound. Combed her blonde hair. Limped forward to the changing room, where the small robot, following some protocol that Reed had long ago programmed, had laid out a nightie, a clean pair of panties.

There were questions from H.E.R.B.I.E. that Sue ignored as she staggered through her empty home to her own bed. A part of her knew she was in shock, knew the numbness would pass and then would come the tears, the guilt, the rage. It was a process, there was no way to **** it, and she knew that pills or **** would just make it worse.

"Live with it, Sue," she told herself as she collapsed into bed.

As exhausted as she was, as much as she wanted to sleep, it refused to come. Her mind kept revisiting her disastrous encounter with Porkum. The feel of his member as it throbbed between her thighs. The spurt as he emptied his balls. Her terrible desire to bend down and bury her face in that filth. Over and over, it played through her mind. What she had done. What she hadn't done. She could have sent an invisible dagger straight into his heart—if she was the Punisher, or another vigilante who had no compunctions about taking a life. Sue had never considered her desire to not kill her enemies a weakness.

This time, Porkum had taken advantage of that. Had taken advantage of her.

The tears came, sometime before dawn. Soaked into her pillow as she shivered, nauseous and with an unnatural heat in her loins.

Then, at last, sleep.

Too soon, the light came in her eyes. Sue Storm's body ached, as it often did after an adventure. Only continual exercise kept her in shape to deal with unexpected exertions like last night. Where other women would still be crying, her eyes were dry as she swung her legs over the bed and padded, on bare feet, to the gymnasium for a light set.

It was only later, after her ablutions, a quick shower, and a change into her Fantastic Four uniform that the heroine allowed her stomach grumbles to draw her into the kitchen. Orange juice, toast, an egg-white omelet. She hesitated as she reached for a banana, and then grabbed a ripe avocado. Sliced it open and spread the soft green fruit over the toast.

Which is when H.E.R.B.I.E. brought in the envelope.

"Mrs. Richards," the robot said. "A courier delivered this a few minutes ago. Scans reveal trace amounts of Porkum's DNA, commensurate with the saliva used to seal an envelope. Do you wish to add this to quarantine?"

Sue swallowed hard. She took the envelope from his hand and opened it.

Glossy photos came out. Still-shots, as might be seen from a digital camera, and printed out. Not developed from negatives. Sue looked at them one by one and laid them out on the counter.

They were all of her. And Porkum's cock. The whole incident, captured in a series of still images. The **** field she'd projected had been invisible, of course. No one could see anything between Sue and the pig-man. Just the pink porcine prick that jutted from his crotch to between her thighs. Later, her crotch and thighs coated with white scum. Her face, captured in a moment of fear and—well, excitement. Eyes dilated, lips parted, cheeks flushed.

On the last photo there was scrawled a message in a felt-tipped pink marker.