One Million Dollars A Bottle

"A...million...?" Sue Storm couldn't believe her ears.

"Unique. Can't get it anywhere else," the voice on the other end grunted. "Rich woman like you, shouldn't be too much of a problem."

"I...I can't pay that much!" Sue insisted.

"I'm sure you'll think of something," Porkum said. "Call me when you got the cash."

The call ended. Sue Storm sank down into her chair.

This was insane. It was impossible. It was true that between Reed's patents and their merchandising, the Fantastic Four were comfortably well off—but two million dollars a day was more than petty cash!

"H.E.R.B.I.E., how much cash money do we have in the Baxter Building at the moment?" Sue asked.

"Fifty thousand, six hundred and twenty-two dollars and fifty cents," the robot replied. "Not counting the contents of the children's piggy banks or Mr. Grimm or Mr. Storm's wallets."

Sue Storm shut her eyes. Her stomach rumbled. She wanted her frothy glass of milk. Yet two million a day...even one million cash was just...she'd have to go to the bank, get it out of savings. What would she say when she asked them why she needed that much cash? What would she tell Reed.

"I just won't do it," Sue told herself. "I'll quit, cold-turkey. How hard could it be?"

That was the start of a miserable day.

If it was just the craving for Porkum's milk itself, Sue thought she might be able to overcome it with sheer willpower. Except it was more than that. She couldn't keep food down. Every meal hit her stomach, and then her stomach rejected it. Hunger gnawed at her, and her skin itched as if it was two sizes too small. An irritable jitery mood settled on her like a cloak, and her every move felt ****, out of joint. She couldn't take her mind off of her milk. It had been a part of her life for such a short time,a nd yet she already could feel the lack of it gnaw at the edges of everything she did.

Even the nurse in the evening, and the children on the video-call that night, commented on how Sue looked tired. Worn down. She smiled, and didn't tell them anything about the fact that she hadn't had a solid meal all day, how her stomach had cramped terribly, she was weak and shaky and thinking constantly about Porkum's milk.

It was worse at night. She'd expected some relief in dreams, but sleep wouldn't come. Her body was dappled in a cold sweat, and though she rubbed her pussy with an almost mindless constancy in the dark, climax never came either.

In desperation, Sue Storm turned on the late-night news.

"...today, the Punisher ambushed a **** deal in the Lower East side. Police responded to reports of gunshots and explosions and found seventeen dead bodies, along with 17 kilos of cocaine and nearly 2.3 million dollars in cash..."

The Invisible Woman sat bolt upright. Sweat dripped off her nipples, ran in rivulets down her face, her pussy burned and hand cramped, yet she was frozen, locked on the screen. Criminals had cash, of course. Lots of it. Maybe she could...

Sue Storm wrestled with the sudden, terrible thought. To rip off criminals to pay for her milk. Did that make sense? Or was it just her sleep-addled mind, clinging to any vague hope. The Invisible Woman felt the edge of her terrible addiction—for that is what she acknowledged it was, now—and her morality wrestled with her driving physical need. There were other, legal ways to get the money, unpleasant as they were. Yet she stared at the bricks of cash as the police piled them up to take them away—and Sue Storm fell into a long, dark night of soul-searching.