The Media Catch Sue and Porkum Out On A Date

Celebrities were people too. They wanted to out, to live their lives, without the constant attention of the press. Drab clothes, a hat, sunglasses, could do wonders. It didn't take much to make a famous face inconspicuous. The Invisible Woman had an easier time of it, comparatively, thanks to her powers. She could simply vanish when she chose to. Move unseen. Pass the paparazzi by.

Porkum had a bigger problem. It's hard to hide when you're a four-hundred-pound pig-man with bright pink skin. Still, with custom-tailored suits, large overcoats, a hat—and a careful selection of venues—they made it work. For months. Private booths at restaurants, sometimes coming in the back. Dark movie theaters, at night, scarcely attended. Long walks in isolated parks at morning and sunset. Stolen moments that made Sue Storm's heart thrill for how secret they had to keep her affair, her double life.

Until Doctor Doom decided that the time was ripe. Reed Richards might be blind to his wife's infidelities, but that was only because he had never made the effort to look.

Elaine Kendrick didn't like matrimonial work. The private investigator had been hired for a law firm, supposedly on behalf of a husband looking for evidence of his wife's infidelity. Divorce cases were messy, but all Kendrick needed to do was take a few pictures, document the affair. It was good money, and they gave her places to start.

The intelligence was good. That should have been Kendrick's first clue something was up, when the blonde woman met the huge man in the overcoat outside the restaurant. She had gotten a drink at the bar, her camera placed discreetly to take a few snaps. His hand on her thigh. Pushed under her dress. Then...his snout.

Mutie, Kendrick thought to herself. She didn't like those superhero types. But a job was a job.

When they left, she was already gone.

The master bedroom of the apartment had a window. The maid had not drawn the blinds and curtains. Moonlight streamed in. On the roof opposite, Kendrick used the telephoto lens to capture the two figures stumble into the room, pawing at each other. Her dress came down. A hint of nipple. Then his cock—Elaine's jaw gaped at the sheer size of it. The monstrous mutant that the naked blonde writhed against, her mouth pressed against his as he lifted her up and impaled her on his prick.

It must have been her imagination that she could hear it from out here, across the street.

Then, a gift. They didn't close the blinds. The pig-man pushed the blonde against the glass. Her breasts flattened against them as he thrust into her. Snap after snap as the almost pornographic shots came off. Kendrick's mouth went dry and she went through the film. Became more selective as she got low. Then the blonde sank out of sight, only her ass visible, stretched around the great pink fuckstick that made Elaine's hips ache.

The private investigator had no idea how the blonde fit it all inside of her. But she also didn't care. Kendrick had more than enough evidence for her client. Drop the photos off, get paid.

Later, when she opened the morning's copy of THE NEW YORK NEWS, Elaine Kendrick felt a cold sensation sink into her guts. She hadn't followed the blonde back home. Hadn't seen her stagger out of the apartment, into a car, and make her way to a spot two blocks from Four Freedoms Plaza. Hadn't seen the woman blink out of existence, and ten minutes later a door opened by itself near the loading bay.

Kendrick had no idea who she had been taking photos of until she saw the headline:

SUE STORM: THE PULLED-PORK WOMAN!
FANTASTIC WHORE'S GRAPHIC AFFAIR

Even as Kendrick's own breakfast twisted in her stomach in nausea at how she had been misled and used, Reed Richards stared at the morning paper. Sue Storm had come in late that night, and was sleeping in. She hadn't yet seen it yet—nor had any other member of the family.