Smash

Lois Lane brought the potato masher down with a cathartic crash. The blob of cum splattered, turning her sink into the world's most obscene Jackson Pollack painting. The reporter raised the masher, which was dripping goo, and stared with curious satisfaction at her handiwork.

Until it began to move.

At first, the naked reporter thought it was simply sliding back down into the sink...but no, the gooey grey-white strands were gathering, drawing together, the thing gathering itself and climbing back up the sink.

Lois swore, raised the potato masher to hit it again...and felt something cold and wet and stick touch the inside of her wrist.

A grey-white glob had congealed there, little more than a mouthful, but it was perched on the end of the potato masher, one ropy strand latched onto her wrist, pulling itself forward.

"Oh fuck no!" Lois yelled as she tossed the potato masher and its stowaway into the sink. Even as the smaller cum-glob disappeared from view, the larger one had clambered up to the top of the sink. The naked reporter backed away.

Think goddamnit, think! She thought, staring around at the contents of the kitchen, keeping one eye on the oozing glob of baby batter. How the fuck do you deal with slimes in Dungeons & Dragons? Cold? Fire?

She eyed the stove. It was an electric range. No good. Nor was the microwave, unless she could get both of the globs into some kind of container. That left...a box of matches for emergencies or something else.

And the box of matches was in the drawer between her and the advancing animated glob of semen.