Sue Storm Digs The Chocolate Out of the Trash

The Invisible Woman rolled off the bed. Crawled on hands and knees. Her leg throbbed. Stomach growled. Sweat dripped off her body, tiny gems that glistened as they hung off her stiff nipples. She swallowed her own saliva as her stomach growled, the hunger, the craving a physical thing in her guts.

An invisible battering ram knocked the trashcan over. She tore through the day's trash to get to the pink box. The chocolate bonbons were soft, gooey, half-melted. A lifetime of self-discipline fell aside as Sue Storm stuffed the creamy chocolates into her mouth. Like an animal, she gorged herself on the sweets. As if she didn't care about rooting through her own garbage. The bitter smell of used coffee grounds, the slightly rancid smell of egg shells and fruit rinds came to her.

Sue couldn't ignore it. Shame filled her. Self-digust. As she devoured every crumb of Porkum's gift. As she licked the gooey chocolate strands off the inner paper. The Invisible Women knew herself for what she was, and what she was doing.

Acting like a complete pig.

All too soon, the midnight garbage-feast was over. Sue sat on her hands and knees. She panted in the dark, that too-full feeling in her stomach.

By degrees, the shakes and shivers wore off a little. The sweat dried on her skin, and the fever-heat subsided a little. Sue left the trash where it was as she crawled back toward the the bathroom. Her wound throbbed, and Sue **** herself up on one shaky leg. Splashed water in her face, over her skin. Then lowered her head to the faucet and lapped at the stream. Felt the cold water slide down her gullet, to wash away the taste of the cream down into her stomach.

She staggered back to the bed, as her contented stomach rumbled. Collapsed into the bed and lay awake for a long time, her brain in disbelief about what she had just done. The terrible compulsion that had come over her, utterly uncontrollable. Sue Storm thought about the years she had been dieting, exercising, all to avoid such overindulgence and the flab it brings. Recriminations flowed through her brain as she thought of how her tight-fitting costume would show every ounce of chub. How people would judge her with their eyes.

Yet the worst thing was...the dreadful certainty that she would do it again, if there were any more bonbons left in the trash.

Sue lay awake. She listened to her gut rumble as the late-night indulgence was digested. In her head, she knew she'd eaten them all. Yet minutes later, the heroine dragged herself off the bed and crawled back to root among the trash, just to be certain.

"Lotta people think love is an emotion," Porkum said to the Doombot as it waited for the next sample for tomorrow's batch of bonbons. "They think folks resist temptation because of willpower. But really, it's just chemistry. Biology. The right chemicals in your brain, you fall in love or get addicted. It's not about self-control. It's about dopamine. Lotta superbitches think 'oh, it won't happen to me! I'm not a slut, I'll resist! I won't give in to my baser urges!'"

His hips thrust, and an animal grunt came from deep in his throat as a thick white sludge spewed into the cup. The Doombot stared on, utterly emotionless, waiting for the pig-man to finish.

"But they do. They all do. Because it doesn't matter how strong they are, how smart they are, how powerful or prudish or loyal they are to their wimpy-dick husbands and boyfriends," Porkum stared at the image of Sue Storm on the screen. "One taste. That's how it starts. One taste, and I got my hooks on 'em. They need more, and when they finally come to me to get it—then I own them. Body and soul."

Porkum handed the brimming cup to the Doombot. A huge pink tongue slid out of his mouth to lick at his snout.

"You'll see, Doomy," Porkum muttered to himself, his eyes fixated on the blonde heroine's picture. "Doesn't matter how high and mighty a bitch is. You can get a scientist with a PhD hooked on crack cocaine in a few puffs. Feed meth to some high-priced bitch lawyer and she'll be sucking cock for another hit inside six months. Only my stuff's better than crack. Better than meth."

The pig-man grinned, wickedly.

"I think maybe we'll send Sue another photo with this box."