Sue Storm of the Moloid

Sometime ago:

Susan Storm used her immense powers to rangle a group or moloids who were flooding the Negative Zone through a cave on an asteroid. Moleman had apparently decided to invade the Negative Zone. Luckily, the Fantastic Four were in the Zone at that point and were called in to interfere with the invasion. "Scott, Johnny and Ben," Susan called through her comms link to her teammate. "We got to close these portals." She was leading the team ever since Reed had "died". Susan wasn't giving up on her husband. A lead had brought the Fantastic Four to the Negative Zone, but it ended hp being the alternate version of Reed...aka the Brute.

Sue Storm, the Invisible Woman. Johnny Storm, the human torch. Ben Grimm the ever loving Blue eyed Thing. And now, in Reed's absence was Scott Lang, the Antman.

Now they were entrenched in a moloid invasion. Johnny and Ben were off on another asteroid dealing with Moleman himself and large Subterranean monsters.

In her very revealing outfit, that was nothing more than a bikini with a cleavage window making a "4", Susan floated right off the asteroid holding out her hands. She had to move the group or innocent moloids in an invisible field. Move them away before she collapsed the cave portal. Probably originating from Monster Island in the positive universe.

Pzzzzzzzzzz...

The Invisible Woman heard the crackling before she felt a somehow cold prick followed by a searing hot sensation filling her form. She yelped in pain and crumbled to the asteroid floor surrounded by moloids who seemed poised to punce on her. But they hesitated. She couldn't move let alone use her powers.

From a perch of rock to the left of the cave a horned moloid smiled with a smoking silver weapon. One she didn't know. But he bellowed in a low voice. "A paralyzer ray," he gloated. "You'll be incapacitated for a time." He added. "Courtesy of Tyannoids." He stated and jumped from his perch. "Tyannoids are..." he was trying to explain but was cut off.

"I know what Tyannoids are dude." She rolled her eyes, able to speak and lift her head from the heap that was her body but unable to do much more that. "I been doing this job for a bit." The jabs were confident, if not arrogant and mocking. Could be the Negative Zone effecting me, she thought in her head. Though she obviously knew of Tyannoids, an offshoot of gray moloids and they're leader, the time displaced Roman emperor Tyrannus.

The horned moloid approached slowly. "Indeed," he nodded. He was different, few moloids had horns and even fewer were this intelligent. "But know it was not Tyrannus nor The Mole-Man who felled you." He beamed with pride closing the gap between them. Other moloids gave him space. "It was Vahg The Sour!" He boasted. His name was pronounced like Bog more than Bag.

Susan chuckled, now able to get her elbows under her to lift her up. "Never heard of you." She was laughing but she was surprisingly frightened of the little moloid. There was soothing sinister and imposing about him.

"You won't forget me, I assure you!" He taunted her and was now close standing above her. His eyes roamed her body, her supple curves, and Susan watched the small villains loincloth literally lift up above her, until Susan saw it below the loincloth. A cock...huge...veiny...yellow...inhuman. "It seems your outfit has distracted me." He called down to her. He seemed to her to be twenty feet tall suddenly. So imposing. So...so big. He made the impossibly huge prick dance under the pushed up loincloth noticing Susan's eyes were locked on it. Her mouth agape on disbelief. "Show some respect and fealty to your better and you just may yet live." He smiled down at her, letting his gun drop to the side.

The words vibrated in the air, a low, guttural command that seemed to bypass Sue’s ears and go straight to her spine. Paralyzed on the rough asteroid stone, the Invisible Woman stared up at the horned moloid, Vahg. Her eyes, wide and unblinking, were locked not on his triumphant smirk, but on the obscene, veiny column of yellow flesh tenting his crude loincloth. It bobbed slightly with his pulse, a monstrous, inhuman thing that should have filled her with revulsion.

Instead, a hot, liquid shame pooled low in her belly.

It’s the Zone, she screamed internally. The Negative Zone is affecting my mind. It has to be.

But the internal protest was a weak whisper against the roaring, primal curiosity that had her tilting her head, her lips parting on a shaky exhale she didn’t intend to release. The cold prick of the paralyzer ray was fading, replaced by a different, deeper heat. A memory, sharp and unwelcome, flashed: Reed’s absence, a cold bed, the hollow ache of months without touch. The degrading command—fealty to your better—should have ignited her fury. Instead, it coiled around that ache, a dark, seductive promise.

Her hand moved, seemingly of its own volition, tucking a strand of blonde hair behind her ear. The gesture felt submissive. Deliberate. Her mouth, painted a soft pink, opened a fraction wider, her tongue a faint, wet glimpse behind her teeth. Her head began to tilt back, her gaze sliding from the intimidating crown of his cock down its thick, throbbing length.

What am I doing?

The thought was distant, academic.

She was moving her head closer. The musky, earthy scent of him—stone, sweat, something alien and male—filled her nostrils. Her heart hammered against her ribs, a frantic bird trapped in a cage of her own making. She was inches away. She could see the intricate network of purple veins, the smooth, almost waxy-looking skin, the swollen, ruddy tip peeking from his foreskin.

A phantom sensation ghosted over her lips—the imagined weight, the shocking heat, the stretch.

Whooooooshhhh!!

A torrent of searing orange flame screamed across her field of vision, missing her head by inches. The blistering heat was a physical slap. A Moloid shrieked, the smell of burnt hide and ozone replacing Vahg’s scent.

“Get away from my sister, you ugly troll!” Johnny Storm, wreathed in fire, hovered above them like an avenging sun. His face was a mask of protective fury. He unleashed another sweeping blast, forcing the horde of Moloids back in a panicked, screeching retreat.

Vahg snarled, a sound of pure, bestial rage. He snatched up his silver weapon, his monstrous erection now a forgotten casualty of the sudden ****. His eyes, burning with hatred, met Sue’s for one last, electric second. In them, she didn’t see defeat. She saw a promise. A later.

“This is not over, woman,” he growled, the words cutting through the chaos. “You will kneel.”

Then he was gone, barking orders, leading his troops in a scrambling retreat into the unstable cave network.

Johnny landed beside her, his flames dying down to a flicker around his fists. “Sue! You okay? Talk to me!”

She blinked, the world snapping back into a harsh, jarring focus. The heat on her skin was from Johnny’s flames, not from her own shameful flush. She pushed herself up, her arms trembling. “I’m… I’m fine. The paralyzer is wearing off.”

“Good, ‘cause we gotta move! Ben’s got these Moloids on the ropes, but this whole rock is coming apart!”

She nodded, forcing her professional mask back into place. She was Susan Storm, leader of the Fantastic Four. She created an invisible shield around them as Johnny blasted the cave ceiling above the main portal. Molten rock rained down, sealing the rift with a final, cataclysmic groan. The mission was a success.

The victory felt like ash in her mouth.

*

Back in the positive universe, in the sterile, silent vastness of the Baxter Building’s lab, the ash was all she could taste.

The debrief was a blur. Ben, covered in rock dust, gruffly recounting his brawl with subterranean monsters. Johnny, jazzed on adrenaline, replaying his “awesome save.” Scott Lang—sweet, dependable Scott—hovered near her, his concern a quiet, tangible thing.

“You sure you’re alright, Sue?” he asked, his hand almost touching her shoulder before pulling back. “That thing he hit you with…”

“I’m fine, Scott,” she said, her voice tighter than she intended. She didn’t look at him. Her eyes were fixed on the main monitor, its light the only illumination in the dark lab. “Just need to run some analyses. You all go ahead.”

Johnny clapped Ben on the back. “C’on, rockhead. Alicia’s expecting you. I’ve got a date with Kourtney that definitely doesn’t involve talking about mole people.”

Ben grunted. “Lucky you. She still a model?”

“The best,” Johnny winked, already heading for the door.

Scott lingered. “Sue… it’s late. You should eat. We could… I could order something? Thai?”

The offer was a gentle pressure on a bruise she didn’t know she had. He wanted her. It was in the softness of his voice, the way his eyes followed her. It was a safe, human want. It should have been a comfort.

It felt like a cage.

“Not hungry,” she said, finally turning to give him a brittle smile. “Really. Go home, Scott. Thank you.”

The disappointment in his eyes was a small, sharp pain. He nodded, a man dismissed, and left her alone with the ghosts of machines and a husband who wasn’t there.

Alone.

The word echoed. She wasn’t just alone in the lab. She was alone in her skin, a skin that still hummed with the memory of a paralyzing ray and the sight of something monstrous and compelling.

She turned back to the monitor. Her fingers flew over Reed’s keyboard, pulling up every database, every cross-reference. “Vahg. Vahg the Sour. Moloid. Tyrannoid. Subspecies. Origin.”

The computer whirred, schematics and ancient text scrolling past. She learned he was a hybrid, a freak among freaks. A general of minor note in Moleman’s army. But the biometric analysis delved deeper, comparing his horn structure, his gait, his residual energy signature to archaic archives.

Hypothesis: Subject exhibits markers consistent with Gortokian lineage. Probability: 87.3%. Suggested descent: Direct line from Gor-Tok, last prince of the Gortokians.

Royalty. The word shimmered in her mind. Your better.

A bitter laugh escaped her. She was comparing pedigree with a monster from a hole in the ground. But the laugh died in her throat. He hadn’t felt like a monster in that moment. He’d felt like… a king. A cruel, domineering king who looked at her and saw a subject. A possession.

Her body tightened at the thought.

Frustrated, she stormed out of the lab. The common living area was a mess—Ben’s empty beer cans, one of Johnny’s discarded jackets, a science journal Scott had been reading. The domestic clutter of the family she was holding together. It felt suffocating. She cleaned with furious, pointless energy, trying to scrub the image of yellow flesh from her mind. It didn’t work. With every wiped surface, every picked-up item, the memory grew more vivid, more detailed.

The way the veins had pulsed.

The sheer, impossible size of him.

The low, commanding rumble of his voice. Kneel.

Her hands were shaking. She dropped a glass. It shattered on the floor, a sharp, crystalline explosion that mirrored the tension inside her. “Damn it,” she whispered, leaning against the counter.

She needed to forget. She needed to feel something else. Anything else.

A bottle of red wine, half-full, beckoned from the bar. She didn’t bother with a glass. She drank deeply from the bottle, the tannic liquid burning a path down her throat that did nothing to quench the deeper fire. She drank until the edges of the room softened, until the sharp panic blurred into a thick, needy warmth.

The walk to her private quarters was unsteady. The door hissed shut behind her, locking out the world, locking her in with her thoughts. Her fingers went to the clasps of her uniform. The blue fabric, the revealing cut of the ‘4’—it felt like a costume now. The costume of someone brave, someone in control. She peeled it off, letting it pool on the floor, a puddle of failed resolve.

Naked, she padded into the bathroom. The large, built-in hot tub sat in a recess, steam already curling from its surface on a pre-set timer. She stepped in, the near-scalding water enveloping her, a liquid embrace that seeped into her muscles. She sank down until the water lapped at her chin, closed her eyes, and tried to think of Reed.

His face was a blur. The memory of his touch, intellectual and precise, felt cold. She conjured Namor—all arrogant, oceanic passion. It felt theatrical. Scott—sweet, earnest Scott—his imagined touch made her feel a pang of guilt, but no heat.

Only one image brought the heat.

Vahg.

His horned silhouette against the alien stars. The way he’d stood over her, dominant and unashamed. That cock. The ultimate symbol of his crude, brutal power. The degradation of it was the point, she realized with a jolt that made her thighs press together under the water. The mighty Invisible Woman, brought low, not by a cosmic ****, but by a base, physical demand. By a thing she shouldn’t even recognize as sexual.

But you do, a drunken, shameless voice whispered inside her. You do.

A hand slipped between her legs, under the churning, bubbling water. Her own touch was hesitant at first, a ghost of what she thought she should be doing. But her mind was elsewhere. It was back on the asteroid, on her elbows, looking up.

She imagined not pulling away. She imagined letting her head complete that traitorous tilt forward. She pictured her lips, now parted in a soft moan against the steamy air, parting for a different reason. The initial press of that broad, alien head against her mouth. The shocking, fleshy heat of it. The stretch as she tried to open wider, the strain in her jaw a sweet, submissive pain.

Her fingers on her clit moved in time with the fantasy, circling the swollen, **** nub. Her other hand cupped her own breast, pinching a nipple, imagining the touch was rougher, larger, tipped with claws.

“Show respect,” she heard his voice in her head, and her back arched, pushing her breast more firmly into her own hand.

She was panting now, short, sharp breaths that fogged the air above the water. Her hips began a shallow, rocking motion, riding the heel of her hand. The fantasy shifted, turned darker. He wasn’t just standing over her. He was on her. In her. The sheer, impossible size of him, splitting her open. The pain of it transforming into a brutal, overwhelming fullness. Fealty. It wouldn’t be love, or even lust. It would be conquest. Acknowledgment of a power greater than her own.

“Oh, god,” she gasped, the words torn from her.

Her fingers worked faster, a frantic, slippery rhythm. The water sloshed around her. She was a respected hero, a leader, a role model for woman. And here she was, naked and drunk, masturbating to the thought of being violently taken by a horned moloid general in the dirt. The contradiction was a spark that ignited her entire nervous system.

“You will kneel.”

With a choked, guttural cry that was part sob, part scream of release, Susan Storm came. It wasn’t a gentle wave; it was a convulsion. Her body seized, back bowing out of the water, muscles locking. A hot rush of her own release joined the churning water between her thighs as she squirted, hard, the sensation so intense it bordered on painful. Pleasure, white-hot and shocking, detonated at her core and radiated out to her fingertips, her toes, the roots of her hair.

It seemed to last forever. When the final tremor subsided, she collapsed back against the tub, spent. The water was still. The only sound was her own ragged, **** panting, echoing off the tiles. Her heart slammed against her ribs, a frantic drumbeat of shame and satiation.

She stared at the ceiling, steam condensing and dripping down like tears.

What have I done?

The question hung in the humid air, unanswered. The image of Vahg’s triumphant, horned smile was the only thing in her mind, clearer than ever.