Sue Storm Goes To A Supervillain Bar

Sue Storm programmed the unstable molecule loom before she went to the shower to wash Porkum's spunk from her dribbling gash. There were boring mundanities to deal with—sleep, exercise, emails, a call with her children to assure them mommy was fine, bills to pay—and a discreet search of S.H.I.E.L.D. and Avengers databases. Nothing that would raise Nick Fury's eyebrow. Just a quick check of the bars most likely to cater to supervillains in Manhattan.

The Invisible Woman felt deliciously wicked as she lifted her leg up onto the counter. Naked, and with several mirrors carefully positioned, she had a perfect view of her pussy and asshole. With a thought, an invisible razor blade ran over her most delicate bits, until for the first time in her adult life, Sue was smooth and clean. The enema and douche that followed were not entirely pleasant, but necessary. A dab of perfume, some dark eyeshadow and black lipstick, a black wig...

She squeezed her ass into a pair of metallic black hotpants with a zipper that ran from crotch to crotch, right across her bald pussy. The knee-high boots had thick soles that added a couple inches to her height; the mesh top was nearly transparent, but black tape X-s across her nipples would let her move through the New York streets without being arrested for indecent exposure. The short jacket covered her shoulders and arms, but left Sue's midriff and lower back bare.

"I should have a tattoo," Sue said, as she admired herself in the mirror. She looked like a whore out on the prowl, or at least what she imagined a prostitute might look like. Her painted lips twisted in a feral grin. She hadn't ever dared to wear anything this slutty.

Yet why not? She was trawling for cock. It wasn't like Reed was ever going to see her in this outfit. Maybe she'd wear it for Porkum sometime...but he wasn't here right now.

The bar had no name. The bouncer, a bald-headed, broad-shouldered black man who could have played for the NFL, looked her up and down when she gave the codeword S.H.I.E.L.D.'s database had provided, then opened the door. Sue slipped inside, let her eyes adjust to the light.

It could have been any other dive bar. Except some of them were in costume. The Rhino and the Walrus were at a table in the corner, the two big men sipping beer and playing cards. In one corner, an older, aristocratic gentleman with a black goatee and a bizarre green and black costume sat nursing a glass of wine as he read from a leatherbound tome—a gleam of madness in his eye. At a video poker machine, the flabby figure of X-Men villain the Toad poked at the buttons. The bar was packed with a who's-who of Spider-Man's lesser villains. Stilt-Man. The Shocker. The Trapster. An armored figure that had to be The Beetle. Alone at the end sat Crusher Creel, the Absorbing Man; naked to the waist, his broad back on clear display, his mystic wrecking ball at his feet.

Eyes turned toward Sue Storm. The bartender, a Black woman with tired eyes, gave her only a glance.

Sue instinctively struck a pose. Hands on hips. A smile on her lips.

"Any of you gents want to buy me a drink?"

It was a practiced accent, more Jersey Shore than anything else. Sue had worked out her approach in her head. She was a capebunny named Crystal, here to try and score with one of the scary villains. Plenty of these super-crooks had their admirers, just like rock musicians had their groupies. It seemed like an easy way to score some cock.

The only thing was...it worked.