Sue Grows Hornier and Hornier

The Moloids were revolting.

One of the brighter ones had, somehow, come across a holographic projector which provided a very life-like three-dimensional image of Karl Marx, reciting Das Kapital in a bold, strong voice, in both German and English. The Revolution had started approximately 60 hours later, and now the renegade Moloids had seized New York City's sewer system and were making headway into securing the subways.

Sue Storm, doing her best to corral the pale yellow bodies in their human-wave attacks with her invisible force fields, faced another probem than the sudden burst of class awareness:

Her pussy itched.

It was, she knew, the kind of sensation that built up in her from time to time, especially when Reed Richards had been particularly neglectful of his husbandly duties and Sue Storm lacked the time or privacy to handle the issue herself. With a full-blown Moloid revolt rocking the city and Subterranea, Sue barely had time to pee, much less rub one out.

So the itch grew.

Normally, the Invisible Woman could ignore such an urge easily. She had gone days, sometimes weeks without "petting the kitten." Yet as the sensation was ignored, it didn't just fade into the background, like a rumbling stomach expecting dinner. No, it began to color Sue's thoughts and actions. Her nipples, sensitive enough normally, seemed to harden at a stiff breeze that blew from the underworld. The merest glance at Spider-Man's tight, masculine buttocks as he flipped through the air in an amazing display of acrobatics brought terrible fantasies to her mind, color to her cheeks.

By the end of the week, her panties were perpetually damp, and the horny thoughts had become a running erotic litany in her head. Sue Storm swore to herself as she held Moloids in invisible cages that when this was over, she was going to tie Mister Fantastic's limbs to the bed posts and ride him like a pony. In fitful hours of sleep, she imagined being held captive by the Moloids, their scrawny yellow bodies pressed all around her, thin pencil dicks stabbing into her holes.

It was enough to make her moan in her sleep. To bite her lip until she tasted blood.

Yet she didn't touch herself. Even when it felt like her whole uterus throbbed, desperately needing the terrible pounding of some inhuman cock to split her in two. By the time they had cornered Moloid-Marx, Sue Storm knew she was going to need to take desperate and immediate measures to deal with her unnatural arousal.

Which is when the second part of Moonstone's posthypnotic suggestion kicked in.