Chapter 1: Transparent Curiosity
The rooftop garden smelled like wet soil and city smog – a weirdly comforting combo after all these years. My phone buzzed on the wrought iron table beside a half-drunk glass of bourbon. Dusk painted the Manhattan skyline in bruised purples and oranges. The text glowed unnaturally bright in the fading light.
Sue Storm-Richards: Ron. Are you free? Could I come by? Need to collect some biological samples for analysis.
Biological samples. Right. Jen Walters talked. She always did have a big mouth, especially after a few… enthusiastic encounters. I stared at the screen. Sue Storm. The Invisible Woman. Brilliant. Married. To Reed fucking Richards. This felt like walking into a trap designed by a Nobel laureate.
My thumb hovered. What the hell. Ron Hardin: Sue? This is unexpected. What kind of samples did you have in mind?
The three dots pulsed. Then: Sue Storm-Richards: I believe you know. Jen’s descriptions were… vivid. Reed and I are conducting research into unique mutagenic expressions. Yours is particularly fascinating.
Reed was in on it. That changed the calculus. Slightly. Richards was notoriously open-minded, scientifically speaking. And Sue… well, Sue wasn’t someone who did things by half measures. If she was coming here, it was with purpose.
Ron Hardin: Penthouse rooftop. Door’s unlocked. Come on up.
Fifteen minutes later, the pneumatic hiss of the roof access door announced her. She stepped onto the terrace like she owned the skyline, which, given her family’s history, she kinda did. Dressed not in her uniform, but in tailored black slacks and a silk blouse the color of deep water. Professional. Composed. Utterly stunning. Her strawberry-blonde hair caught the last of the twilight.
"Ron," she said, her voice calm, carrying easily over the distant city hum. "Thank you for seeing me on short notice."
"Always an honor, Sue." I gestured to the other chair. "Bourbon?"
"No, thank you. This is… business." She didn't sit. Her gaze was direct, assessing. Not hostile, but intensely focused. Like I was a particularly complex equation. "Jen Walters shared details about your unique… physiology. Specifically, your reproductive system and its output."
I leaned back, swirling the amber liquid in my glass. "Jen enjoys storytelling. Embellishes sometimes."
Sue’s lips quirked, a ghost of a smile. "She was quite specific. The volume. The duration. The density. The… persistence. Reed found it theoretically fascinating. The potential energy expenditure alone…" She trailed off, her eyes drifting lower for a fraction of a second before snapping back to mine. "And I find it empirically necessary to verify."
"Verify?" I raised an eyebrow.
"Direct observation and collection are essential for rigorous scientific method, Ron," she stated, matter-of-factly. "Jen claimed your ejaculate exhibits properties that allow it to bypass cervical barriers and adhere within the uterine cavity for extended periods. That it possesses unusual viscosity and weight. I need to see it. Measure it. Analyze it."
The clinical detachment in her voice was almost erotic. Almost. "Just like that? Science project?"
"Precisely." She took a step closer. The scent of her perfume, something subtle and expensive, cut through the garden smells. "Reed encourages my independent research. And he understands the importance of firsthand data. After the… complexities… of conceiving Franklin and Valeria, pregnancy isn't a concern." She said it plainly, a fact filed away. "So. Are you amenable to providing a sample?"
I studied her. The cool scientist. The legendary heroine. The woman whose invisible skin drove men insane with desire. There was an electric charge beneath her professionalism, a curiosity burning bright. She wasn't intimidated. She was intrigued. Challenged.
"Okay, Sue," I said, putting the glass down. The bourbon warmth spread through my gut. "Let's do some science." I stood up. "How do you want this?"
"Direct deposition into a collection vessel would be optimal for initial analysis," she said, reaching into the sleek leather satchel she carried. She pulled out a sterile-looking, wide-mouthed specimen jar, the kind you'd use for… well, exactly this. She placed it carefully on the table. "But visual confirmation of the… delivery mechanism… is also crucial. Jen’s descriptions of the organ itself were equally compelling."
A slow grin spread across my face. This was surreal. Fantastic, in every sense. "Right. The hardware." I unbuttoned my jeans. The thick denim strained. I pushed them down my hips, along with my boxers.
There it was. Freed. Thick as the Monster can she’d referenced, pulsing slightly even at rest against the backdrop of the glittering city. Heavy. The dense weight of it, six pounds of mutant flesh, was immediately apparent, pulling down noticeably. My nuts, oranges straining in their sack, hung low and full beneath.
Sue didn't gasp. Didn't flinch. Her eyes widened, just a fraction, and a fierce, analytical focus sharpened her features. She took another step closer, her gaze sweeping over me with laser precision. No disgust. No false modesty. Pure, unadulterated scientific fascination.
"Fascinating," she murmured, her voice lower now. "The vascularity is extraordinary. The density… Jen wasn't exaggerating. May I?" She gestured with a slender finger towards my cock.
"Be my guest, Doctor Storm." My own voice sounded rougher.
Her touch was cool, clinical at first. Fingertips tracing the thick vein running along the underside, testing the impossible firmness beneath the velvety skin. She cupped my balls gently, hefting their significant weight in her palm. "Remarkable mass. The thermal signature must be significant." Her touch lingered, firmer now, exploring the unique contours, the sheer scale of it. A flush crept up her neck, visible even in the dim light. The detachment was fraying, replaced by a dawning, visceral awareness.
She looked up, meeting my eyes. Her own were dark, pupils wide. "Proceed with collection, Ron. I require the sample." The command was still there, but it was layered now with something else. A hunger. A need to see the theory made devastatingly real.
I wrapped my hand around the base, the familiar weight a comfortable anchor. I started to stroke. Slowly at first, the thick shaft filling my fist. The city lights blurred slightly at the edges of my vision. Sue watched, rapt. Every pull, every glide of skin. Her breath hitched as I thickened further, veins standing out like cables, the heavy head swelling and darkening.
"It’s… substantial," she breathed, her scientific commentary faltering. She hadn't moved an inch, her eyes glued to the rhythmic motion of my hand, the sheer, intimidating bulk of my cock pumping in my grip. The specimen jar sat forgotten on the table for a moment.
The pressure built, a familiar deep thrum starting in my balls, radiating up the thick column. Faster now. The slick sound of my hand working the heavy flesh filled the space between us, punctuated by Sue’s increasingly shallow breaths. She licked her lips.
"Sue" , I groaned, "Jen explained to you that the quantity and duration increase with simulation, didn't she. Doing it this way, I'll get maybe a minute or two of ejaculation, a liter or so of volume. Oral is maybe five to ten minutes, with a proportional increase in volume. Deep vaginal ejaculation is the only way to get the full 30 minutes with a volume of... Well, you do the math. "
The specimen jar sat forgotten on the table, gleaming dully under the city lights. Sue stared at my cock, still fisted in my hand, the rhythmic stroking paused mid-motion. The flush that had started on her neck now bloomed across her cheeks, high and vivid. Her lips parted slightly, the cool scientist momentarily eclipsed by pure, stunned fascination.
"Jen was... thorough in her debrief," Sue finally managed, her voice huskier than before. She cleared her throat, the scientist reasserting control, but the heat in her eyes didn't fade. "Full... deep vaginal ejaculation. For thirty minutes." She repeated the phrase as if tasting its implications. "The volume Jen described... proportional increase..." Her gaze flickered down, then back to my face, a new intensity sparking. "Maximum data yield requires maximum stimulation protocol. That is... scientifically logical."
A slow smile spread across her face, predatory in its certainty. "The collection vessel," she said, gesturing dismissively towards the jar, "is insufficient for this phase of the experiment." She took another deliberate step closer, invading my personal space, the scent of her perfume now mixed with the subtle, clean scent of her skin and the underlying musk of arousal. Her eyes never left mine. "Direct deposition into the optimal biological receptacle is required. For science."
My cock jumped heavily in my hand, the thick shaft pulsing with anticipation. "Sue..." I started, but she was already moving.
Fingers, cool and precise, went to the buttons of her silk blouse. She undid them slowly, methodically, her gaze locked with mine. No fumbling, no shyness. Each button released revealed a glimpse of smooth, pale skin, the swell of her breasts restrained by simple, practical lace. The silk whispered as she shrugged the blouse off her shoulders, letting it pool on the rooftop tiles. The city lights painted her skin in warm gold and cool blue.
Her hands moved to the clasp of her black slacks. A swift zip, a shimmy of her hips, and they joined the blouse on the floor. She stood before me in just the lace bra and matching panties, the picture of controlled sensuality under the New York sky. Not a supermodel, but a scientist-warrior, powerful and utterly focused. Her curves were real, strong – the body of a mother, a fighter, a woman utterly at ease in her own skin.
"Verification requires full access to the collection site," she stated, her voice thick with intent. Her hands went behind her back. The bra clasp released. She pulled the straps down her shoulders, letting the lace fall away, revealing full, heavy breasts, pale nipples already pebbled tight. Her fingers hooked into the waistband of her panties. A breath, then she pushed them down her thighs, stepping out of them with a fluid grace that left her completely naked under the bruised twilight sky.
She was magnificent. Powerful shoulders, strong legs, the slight softness at her belly a testament to her children. Her gaze was unwavering, challenging. "Well, Ron?" she murmured, taking the final step that brought her flush against me, her naked skin warm against my jeans-clad hips. Her hand brushed mine aside from my cock, her own cool fingers wrapping around the thick base where it jutted heavily between us. "The sample requires optimal conditions. Time is a factor."
Her other hand slid behind my neck, pulling my head down. Her lips met mine – not tentative, not exploratory, but demanding, hungry. Her kiss was a scientist claiming her subject, her tongue sweeping into my mouth with fierce curiosity. The taste of her – mint, expensive scotch, and something uniquely, powerfully Sue – flooded my senses. Her grip on my cock tightened, a firm, knowledgeable stroke from root to tip that sent lightning up my spine.
Breaking the kiss, she breathed against my lips, her eyes dark pools reflecting the city’s glitter. "Show me," she commanded, her voice a low thrum vibrating through me. "Show me this phenomenon. Deposit the sample. Deeply."
She released my cock and turned, presenting herself. Smooth, strong back tapering to a waist, flaring to the powerful curve of her hips and the perfect swell of her ass. She glanced over her shoulder, a lock of strawberry-blonde hair falling across her cheek. "Maximum depth, Ron," she instructed, her voice thick with anticipation and scientific fervor. "For the integrity of the data. I want to feel it infiltrate. I want to measure its persistence."
Her hand reached back, fingers splayed against her own hip. She shifted her stance slightly, widening her legs just enough. The dusky pink folds of her sex glistened faintly in the low light, already flushed, already welcoming.
I didn't hesitate. The sheer audacity, the raw need beneath her clinical phrasing, the sight of her – Sue Storm, naked and demanding on my rooftop – obliterated any last shred of restraint. The weight of my cock, thick as my wrist and impossibly heavy, surged forward. I guided the broad, slick head to her entrance, finding her already wet, hot, and yielding despite the formidable size.
My hands gripped her hips, fingers sinking into the soft strength of her flesh. She inhaled sharply, a soft gasp that wasn't pain but profound acknowledgement. A shiver ran through her body as the massive head began to stretch her. She pushed back against me, meeting the pressure.
"Yes," she hissed, the word tight with effort and burgeoning pleasure. "Deep. For science."
With a powerful thrust of my hips, driven by instinct and her command, I buried myself inside Invisible Woman to the hilt.
"Here's my phone," she reached back, handing it to me as I took deep, even strokes inside of her. She'd given birth twice and Reed's anatomy was unusual in it's own way, so she struggled less than most women. "I'm going to turn invisible when I feel you come, I want you to capture video of your semen filling me."
She gasped, a sharp, surprised sound that quickly morphed into a low moan as I bottomed out inside her. Christ, she was tight. Incredibly tight. Reed’s elasticity clearly didn’t translate to passive stretching. Her inner muscles clamped down with shocking strength, a warm, wet vise around my impossibly thick shaft. It felt like being swallowed whole by a living engine of pure sensation.
"Full depth confirmed," she managed, her voice strained but startlingly analytical even as she pushed her hips back against mine. "Density... significant." Her fingers tightened on my forearm where I gripped her hip. "Begin... baseline movement protocol. Record baseline physiological response."
Right. Science. I pulled back, the drag of her inner walls against my sensitive flesh almost making me see stars. Her breath hitched. Then I thrust forward again, hard, driven by the sheer, overwhelming reality of being buried in Sue Storm. The rooftop air felt cool on my sweat-slicked skin, a counterpoint to the furnace engulfing my cock. The rhythmic slap of flesh against flesh joined the distant city drone.
"Friction coefficient high," she breathed out, her head dropping forward slightly. "Thermal transfer... noticeable." Another thrust, deeper this time, aiming for that spot Jen swore by. Her body jerked, a full-body tremor running through her. "Oh! Sensory node activation... distinct." Her analytical tone was fraying, replaced by ragged breaths. "Increased... lubrication noted."
I settled into a rhythm, deep, powerful strokes that made her gasp and rock against me. Her hand, still gripping my forearm, squeezed with each inward plunge. Her other hand braced against the roof’s parapet, knuckles white. The city lights were a blur beyond her shoulder.
"Kinetic energy transfer... substantial," she panted, her voice losing its clinical edge with every powerful snap of my hips. "Muscular response... involuntary... spiking." Her body was no longer just taking the sample; it was reacting, arching, demanding. "Accelerate thrust pattern," she commanded, the words thick. "Simulate... end-phase conditions."
I obliged. My strokes became harder, faster, driving into her with piston-like force. The heavy weight of my balls slapped against her with each motion, a rhythmic counterpoint. She cried out, a sound utterly devoid of science now, pure, raw sensation. Her inner muscles fluttered wildly around me, a rippling, tightening wave of pure pleasure-feedback.
"Yes... yes... data stream intensifying..." she gasped, her body straining against mine. "Pressure building... threshold approaching..."
I could feel it too, the deep, familiar rumble starting low in my gut, radiating down through my heavy balls. It wasn't just the pressure of release; it was the sheer volume demanding escape, the unique density of my seed preparing to flood its receptacle. "Sue... it's coming..."
Her head snapped up. "Now! Camera ready!" Her voice was urgent, ragged with anticipation. "Initiate visual documentation protocol!"
My free hand fumbled for her phone where she'd pressed it into my palm earlier. My thumb found the record button just as Sue took a sharp, bracing breath. A shimmering wave passed over her skin, starting at her feet and racing upwards like liquid mercury. In a heartbeat, she vanished. Completely. Utterly. One moment she was a solid, powerful presence pressed against me, the next… she was gone. Only the intense pressure and heat wrapped around my cock remained, and the faint, ethereal shimmer in the air where her form should be.
But inside her... that was the miracle.
The moment she turned invisible, the moment I felt the first inevitable, unstoppable pulse begin deep in my core, I angled the phone down.
Holy shit.
It was like watching a biological light show. The thick, ropy first spurt wasn't just semen; it was luminous. A dense, pearly fluid glowing with a faint, internal bioluminescence. It jetted into the empty air, impossibly suspended, outlining the hollow space of her invisible cervix and then surging upwards with shocking force. It wasn't just filling her; it was invading, pushing deep into the unseen uterine cavity with a determined, viscous flow. It pooled rapidly, a growing, glowing reservoir inside her transparent form.
"Jen wasn't... exaggerating..." Sue's disembodied voice gasped, filled with awe and a sharp edge of pain-pleasure. "The pressure... the infiltration force... it's...pushing through my cervical os!"
The spurts kept coming, relentless. Not the usual few seconds. This was a torrent. Thick, glowing ropes pulsed from me in waves, each one visibly distending the invisible outline of her womb cavity further. It was obscene, beautiful, terrifyingly scientific. The sheer volume was staggering. I could see the glow spreading, filling the space, pressing outwards. It wasn't leaking; it was adhering, clinging to the invisible walls with unnatural persistence, building layer upon glowing layer.
The glow intensified. It wasn't just pooling; it was colonizing. Thick, luminous ropes pulsed relentlessly from me, each forceful jet visibly distending the unseen cavity of her womb further outward. The sheer volume was obscene, breathtaking. Her invisible belly began to swell. Subtly at first, just a tautening of the air where her abdomen should be, but rapidly becoming undeniable. It pushed against the space where my pelvis met her invisible backside, a warm, resilient pressure.
"Quantitative analysis... compromised..." Sue gasped, her disembodied voice tight, losing its crisp precision. "Sensory overload... significant... pressure gradient... exceeding predicted..." A sharp, involuntary clench deep inside her sent a jolt up my spine, almost buckling my knees. Her inner muscles spasmed again, a powerful ripple against my embedded cock, and a fresh, thicker surge of glowing seed answered the call, flooding deeper.
Her gasp turned ragged. "Oh god... Ron... the adherence... it's... binding..." Her voice hitched, dissolving into a low, shuddering moan that vibrated through her entire frame. The scientific detachment was cracking under the relentless physical assault. The rhythmic spasms inside her intensified, becoming less controlled, more primal. Each powerful internal clench seemed to milk another thick, glowing torrent from my heavy balls. Pulse after pulse, drawn out by her mounting ecstasy.
"Minute five..." she tried to choke out, but it dissolved into another guttural groan, long and drawn-out, seeming to come from the very core of her being. Her invisible hands scrabbled weakly against the parapet for purchase. The glowing reservoir inside her was expanding rapidly now, a luminous orb visibly pushing her belly outwards. She looked like she'd swallowed a small, radiant beach ball.
"Can't... quantify..." she panted, voice thick with strain and burgeoning, overwhelming pleasure. "The... density... the heat... it's... everywhere..." Her moans became constant now, a low, desperate thrumming sound punctuated by sharp intakes of breath. Every convulsion, every ripple of her inner walls, every arch of her unseen back triggered another heavy, viscous flood from me, feeding the glowing mass within her.
Ten minutes. Her knees buckled slightly. I tightened my grip on her invisible hips, holding her upright, feeling the incredible weight she now carried low in her belly. The glow was almost blindingly bright now, casting shifting light onto the rooftop plants nearby. Her moans had deepened into continuous, ragged groans, a sound dredged from some deep, untapped well of sensation. Words failed her entirely.
"Fifteen..." I managed to grunt, more for my own bearings than hers. My own stamina was being pushed, the relentless pressure to expel the incredible volume taking focus. She shuddered violently against me, a full-body tremor that forced another gush of luminous seed. Her invisible belly protruded unnaturally, taut and round as a volleyball, the glow illuminating the veins beneath her translucent skin – veins I could suddenly see tracing across the distended surface.
Twenty minutes. Sue was trembling violently, supported mostly by my arms and the relentless pressure of my cock still buried deep within her. Her groans were broken whimpers now, interspersed with sharp cries as particularly intense waves of sensation crashed over her. The glow from her womb was immense, filling the space where her lower torso should be. She looked impossibly gravid, the luminous bulge stretching her invisible form to cartoonish proportions, easily the size of a seven-month pregnancy. Her breathing was shallow, rapid gasps.
The phone in my hand felt slick, but I kept it trained, capturing the surreal spectacle: the empty air defined only by the massive, glowing orb of semen distending her invisible belly, the thick, pulsing cord of light connecting it to where I remained hilted inside her. Her whimpers became a continuous, high-pitched keening sound.
Thirty minutes. The final, powerful pulses surged from me, dense and slow, packing the last inches of space within her impossibly stretched womb. The pressure inside her must have been astronomical. Sue's legs gave out completely. Only my arms, locked around her invisible waist, kept her from collapsing. Her head lolled back against my shoulder, her breath coming in desperate, shallow hitches. The keening had stopped, replaced by a low, exhausted hum of overstimulation. Her entire invisible body felt limp, saturated, heavy with the sheer mass of superhuman sperm clinging and glowing fiercely within her.
The flow finally, mercifully, ceased. I carefully thumbed the button on her phone, stopping the recording. The silence that followed was profound, broken only by our ragged breathing and the distant thrum of the city far below. Sue’s invisible form sagged against me, utterly spent, radiating impossible heat. Her swollen belly, luminous and vast, pressed heavily against me. Science had been served. Brutally. I stared at the glowing evidence, still buried deep inside her, the phone heavy in my hand.