Sue Masturbates With An Invisible Cock Shaped Like Porkum's

The slim pole in the Invisible Woman's shaft shifted away from her memory of her husband's seven-inch shaft to something longer. Thicker. Ribbed and mutated, the blonde heroine gasped as it stretched her poor pussy to its limits, to the edge of pain, the stomach of her abdomen distorting as it pushed deeper inside her. Until her eyes rolled back in her head and her ass lifted off the chair, her whole body weight supported by the invisible copy of Porkum's cock embedded in her dripping cunny.

Not the whole of it. Porkum's cock was twenty-four inches from distorted tip to the base of its swollen shaft, and the massive manmeat was nearly five inches in diameter at the base where the huge, pendulous testicles hung beneath it. Yet the twelve inches that Sue Storm's imagination and power had crafted were already too much for her poor pussy to handle. The stretched snatch felt ready to burst, and yet Sue's left hand rubbed at her stiff little clit as her body jerked and spasmed atop the invisible dildo.

It wasn't the same. Yet it was enough. Porkum, trapped in his cell, was oblivious to the voyeur watching his idle masturbation, and cared nothing for the wasteful splash of his apparently inexhaustible seed against walls and ceilings. Patient as a stud pig, waiting for the sow to be presenting to him. He judged it wouldn't be long now.

Porkum did not know the biomechanics of how his pheromones and related chemicals worked. He had only seen the effects. The way women's demeanor changed around him. Their bodies responded first, growing sexually aroused, recognizing the potential mate. The conscious recognition of their arousal and attraction came later, caused confusion, anxiety, and finally, always acceptance. Some bitches rationalized it. Others simply gave in to their instincts. None of them could resist him for long.

The villain chuckled to himself, his great pink stomach shivering like a bowl of jelly. He couldn't wait to wake up one morning to that blonde goddess on her knees, trying to deep throat his cock. And he'd let her, too. He'd help her. It would be one more step on a path that would lead her to be his fucktoy, her every heroic instinct and urge overridden by a need for his cock.

He had seen it before. It was inevitable.

In Doomstadt, the Latverian monarch stared at three-dimensional representations of molecules. Porkum, his erstwhile partner, did not know the mechanics of how his own powers worked. Yet Doctor Doom now did. He had isolated and analyzed each individual substance in Porkum's secretions, noting the effects on models of normal humans. The results were a kind of biological warfare, a reflection of evolutionary pressures not present on this Earth. The sluts of Porkum's dimension had thousands of sex-drenched years dealing with mutants like Porkum, and their responses were keyed to such warfare.

In this universe, women like Sue Storm had far fewer defenses against such biochemical assaults. Doom watched the models as the pheromones raped the heroine's brain, triggering receptors in patterns that suggested heroin or crack cocaine. Crippling physical and mental addiction could result. Some models even suggested exposure could trigger secondary mutations or permanent brain damage, though Doom thought it unlikely in this case.

No, the more probable result of Sue Storm's exposure to Porkum was raw physical need.

Doctor Doom considered how he might best use that.