Sue Resists His Instructions

The streets of Manhattan are never deserted. The moment Sue Storm staggered out onto the sidewalk, a car zoomed past her, the bright lights catching the naked, cum-covered heroine in stark relief. Then it was gone.

Sue staggered forward. One foot in front of the other. Nostrils flaring as she drank in the foul smells of a New York street—yet it was ambrosia compared to the cum-reek that covered her.

She struggled with his commands. Go home. No spitting. No cleaning herself up. Let the whole world see her.

It was thick in her mouth. Rancid. Bitter. Impossibly thick. Her failure. Her embarrassment.

Her jaw worked. Lips locked. She knelt in an alley, bent down, head between her knees. Fingernails pulling at her lips.

Sweat poured down her brow. Heart thundering in her chest.

So she focused. In her mind, she visualized a hinge opening. She felt the paper-thin force fields between her teeth. Slowly, achingly slowly, she forced her own mouth open.

Globs of white filth emptied into the alley. She had to fight the urge to bend down and lick it up.

Sue Storm lay in that alley, drooling the white filth, until the sky went from midnight black to the blue before dawn. Until she could stand on wobbly legs, and vanish. Not to head home. Not yet.

Maybe the bitches on Porkum's world were all pushover sluts. The Invisible Woman wasn't one of those. She wouldn't be. Nor was she done with that mutant pig-man sonofabitch. Not by a long shot.