﻿The VIRAL Anthology

by Alan Smithee; bw; Cristina Prince; Ice Bear; Jordan Farcourt and Limerick

Added 11 July 2020
Updated 10 December 2022

mc mf ff md fd gr in

A virus-themed anthology from a collection of authors.


Foreword	129 words	Limerick	11 Jul 2020	

So Beautiful Tonight	3952 words	Alan Smithee	11 Jul 2020	

Movi Mania	4332 words	Cristina Prince	11 Jul 2020	

Lake Lemonade	29487 words	Limerick	11 Jul 2020	

Original Syndrome	3370 words	Jordan Farcourt	11 Jul 2020	

Love Falls Rejuvenation Spa	13846 words	bw	11 Jul 2020	10 Dec 2022

Slut Zero	17447 words	Ice Bear	11 Jul 2020



The VIRAL Anthology

I wanted to bring together some of the best in Mind Control first to echo the great anthologies of the past—Mindtrap Manor, Hotter Than Hell, Viral Shards, and Quick and Dirty—and second to do something worthwhile during this isolating time.

As part of that, I also wanted to encourage every reader to consider donating to our recommended charity, Feeding America or their own favorite charity. Lets flood their donation box with porn-lover money.

Thank you to all the incredible authors who participated. Looking back at the anthologies of the past, they are moments frozen in time of the very best authors at work. I think these stories and writers are at the same level.

And finally thanks to Simon for all the work he does.

Limerick



So Beautiful Tonight
by Alan Smithee
* * *
Tags: MC, FF
Synopsis: Stay away from all doors and windows. Under no circumstances should you look at the night sky. This is not a test.

* * *
Author’s Note: This story was written for Limerick’s Viral anthology. I owe thanks to them for organising the event and providing feedback along with Shadra and notorioushypno. If you are in a position to, please consider donating money to Feeding America, which can be found here.

* * *
“Lucy, get your ass back down here!”

Lucy frowned.

“I think there’s like a party or something going on outside,” she replied. “Or something’s really bright out there at least. I can just see something through the curtains.“

Splayed out on the wide couch, Marta didn’t have a good angle on the bay windows at this end of the apartment. She wouldn’t have cared enough to turn around anyway—she had something else on her mind.

“Well there’s a party going on in here too,” said Marta, gently running one hand up the inside of her leg. “Which one are you more interested in?” She kissed Lucy, but laying as she was she couldn’t reach higher than her torso.

“What colour is that? It’s kind of...”

“It’s kind of what?” said Marta as her hand continued its slow climb up Lucy’s leg, inching higher and higher up her dark stockings.

Lucy finally pulled her eyes away from the curtain and looked down. Her expression softened, then turned into a smile. There was a glimmer in her eye, and it struck Marta once again just how beautiful she was. She wasn’t the curviest person on earth, but she was tall, toned and perky. Her jet black hair was just long enough to get in the way. There was no occasion, but she was wearing a taut blue dress that she knew drove Marta wild. But it was those eyes, those rich deep brown eyes that were the centre of her world right now.

“You’re insatiable,” Lucy said, then leaned down and positioned herself on top. It wasn’t as spacious as the bed, but this would do fine for now.

“Am I?” said Marta, pouting.

“You know my roommates are home, don’t you?”

“Ohh are they? Do you think they might want to join in?”

They kissed again, and it soon turned into a lot more. Their breathing became heavier, and their touches became firmer and more insistent. Lucy’s body felt so warm pressed against her.

A phone went off, and Marta jerked suddenly in surprise. It was on silent, but the hardwood table transformed the subtle buzz into a major sound.

“Sorry, just ignore that,” said Lucy. Marta was happy to. She squeezed Lucy’s breast, and flicked her finger back and forth across her nipple. Even through the thin bra it had its desired effect.

“You know, I don’t think I tell you enough how much I—”

Another phone buzzed—Marta’s this time. Before she even had time to respond, The phone on the table went off a second time.

“It’s the group chat, isn’t it?” said Lucy.

“We should really just leave it. It’s not like we’re ever going to go back there, I...”

Marta’s phone suddenly let out a shrill tone. It was ear piercing, the kind of sound you might put in a basket next to “nails on a chalkboard” or “microphone feedback”. A fraction of a second later, Lucy’s phone joined in.

“Mother of God what is that?” Marta practically shouted.

The devices each beeped four times in irregular intervals as they both scrambled over to pick them up and make them be quiet.

Lucy looked down at the phone.

“Emergency alert,” she said.

“Yeah I... wait... what the hell?” said Marta.”

She was expecting the screen to say something to the effect of “This is a test of the Presidential Alert System”. She’d seen one like that before. But that isn’t what it said.

“EMERGENCY ALERT: Shelter in place immediately and await further instructions. Stay away from all doors and windows. Under no circumstances should you look at the night sky. This is not a test.”

Marta wasn’t sure what to make of it. A pit started forming in her stomach as her mind started grappling with it.

“Oh my god, Oh my god, Oh my god,” said Lucy. Marta put her hand on Lucy’s shoulder.

“Ok, I think we need to stay calm. Deep breaths, like you were telling me about, yeah?”

Lucy still muttered a few more oh gods before she started breathing slowly and deliberately. It seemed to be working. Lucy’s mother had told her just how bad some of the panic attacks had been when she was a child, but she had it a lot more under control these days.

“What should we do?” she said between breaths.

“The basement, I think we should go to the basement,” said Marta.

“Do you think,” Lucy began, “Do you think it’s the... Koreans or something? A missile?”

“I’m not sure Baby,” Marta replied. She grabbed Lucy and started moving towards the kitchen. Lucy didn’t resist and trailed behind her, hand in hand.

“Because if we’re not supposed to look outside, you know, that’s because the flash might blind us, right?”

“Lucy, I said I’m not sure!”

As they walked through the Kitchen doorway, Lucy spotted her roommates entering from the other side.

“Jesus Lucy, are you seeing this?!” said Dave, one arm around his girlfriend Samantha. Marta had never really liked either of them, but Sam and Dave were a package deal with the rental.

Lucy looked like she was still in a state of shock, but eventually managed to reply.

“We’re heading down into the basement, we think it’ll be safest there,” she said.

“Wait what? Are you for real?” he said.

“It’s Hawaii,” said Sam. “I panicked for a second but this is the same thing that happened in Hawaii a couple of years back. Remember? A glitch in the system, a false alarm, that kinda thing.”

“Well if it’s a false alarm, we can all laugh about it later,” said Marta. “Now come on, we need to move right now!”

Marta started guiding Lucy down the staircase. She still followed along behind her, but now she was starting to look tired, sluggish.

“Alright, alright,” said Dave, chuckling slightly as he and his girlfriend moved down with them. Samantha closed the door behind them once they were all inside.

The basement was lightly furnished. Once you’d walked in down the wooden steps, there were a couple of rather uncomfortable chairs, mostly without cushions, a small circular table that was occasionally used for board games, and a fridge that predated the millennium. It was predominantly empty space punctuated by the occasional cobweb. The most important thing, however, was that it was below ground level and had no windows.

Lucy’s phone buzzed. Then Dave’s. Then Marta’s. They were all going off—not another alert, but regular messages. She looked down at her phone—there were over thirty notifications.

“Everyone must be trying to reach out,” said Dave, looking down at his own.

Marta started reading her messages, and knew that something was wrong. It wasn’t just her close friends. It was people she hadn’t spoken to in years, it was former coworkers, distant family members, it was unknown numbers. She swiped down and zoomed past the list of incoming messages, and they all said the same thing. Exactly the same thing.

“The Sky is so beautiful tonight. You should really have a look.”

Her hand trembled. More messages were appearing with every passing second. Then, they suddenly stopped.

The four of them exchanged looks, but nobody knew what to say. Samantha and Dave look nearly so confident anymore. After what felt like an eternity, it was Lucy herself that broke the silence by dropping her phone to the ground.

“I... I don’t...” Lucy said, holding her head with both hands. She swayed on the spot, evidently struggling to stay upright.

“Are you alright?” said Dave, ineffectually. Marta swooped in and stopped her from falling. She guided her gently down to the only soft chair in the room.

“Babe, what’s wrong?”

“I don’t know,” she muttered. “I think I just need a minute.” She seemed as though she was regaining her composure, and started holding herself up in the chair.

“I think the Network’s overloaded or something,” muttered Sam. “It says I don’t have any signal. That must be why the messages stopped.”

“Ok, ok, fuck,” said Dave. “Let’s think about this.”

Marta turned to the others. She didn’t want to think about this. She had no idea what was going on, but even as her thoughts skirted along the edges of what was happening she was terrified. She steeled herself and took in a deep breath.

“Alright. This clearly isn’t just a false alarm.”

“No. I know that. But what the fuck is it? Why would people be sending these messages?”

“What if they’re not?” said Samantha. “I mean, it doesn’t make any sense, right?“

“So what, someone else is sending it?”

“Yeah,” said Dave. “Like if someone had hacked the cellular networks in the area. They could send a fake emergency broadcast, and they could send all these fake messages around to everyone.”

Lucy’s roommates had annoyed her for a long time. They were rude, they were loud, they always acted like they knew far more than they really did. But for once she was almost grateful to have them here.

“Ok, I guess... I guess that’s possible?” said Marta.

She allowed herself to relax slightly. It did seem like a logical explanation. She activated her own phone again and looked at them all. What else could it be? She thought to herself. Her breathing became steadier.

At that moment, she noticed that the signal indicator lit up again.

“I think the network’s coming back onl—” she began, interrupted by the same shrill emergency alert tone.

The three of them shouted some variation on “oh fuck!” in unison. Lucy remained silent behind them. As soon as the shock wore off, she read the message.

“EMERGENCY ALERT: An unauthorised message was broadcast earlier today. Please disregard it completely. The Sky is so beautiful tonight. You should really have a look.”

They exchanged glances for a few moments in silence. Then, Dave laughed.

“Ok, ok. They are absolutely fucking with us right now.”

Samantha joined in a moment later, like it was a private joke between them. Marta tried to laugh too. The problem was, she wasn’t so sure.

“That really had me going for a minute, you know?” said Samantha. “Like I was almost ready to fully freak out.”

“Whoever’s doing this is bold, that’s for sure,” said Dave. “Alright, I think it’s time to head on up.”

As Marta sat there in silence, the niggling doubt buried deep in her reptile brain just wouldn’t go away.

“Marta, Lucy, you coming?”

She turned to look at Lucy, who was staring into space.

“I think maybe we’ll stay down here for a minute.”

The roommates exchanged a look with each other.

“Sure thing. Do you want us to grab something for her?” asked Sam.

“I don’t know,” said Marta. “She seems lightheaded, I think maybe she needs a lie down for a few minutes. You two go on up.”

They did. Marta turned her phone off, and then Lucy’s. She didn’t want any more of those ear piercing alerts. As the couple unlatched the door to the basement and started to shuffle through to the other side, Lucy stirred slightly. Marta brushed her hand gently along the side of her cheek.

“Lucy, babe, are you ok?”

“Um...” she managed after a few moments.

“Let’s get you onto your side.” Lucy didn’t fight it.

Marta remembered what it felt like to have a sudden blood pressure drop. She’d once had to lie down on the floor of a hospital bathroom for fifteen minutes until enough blood got back up to her brain and she felt alright to move. She wondered if Lucy was feeling something just like that.

“Thank you,” she said, and smiled slightly. “You know, I actually feel,” she started, then took a deep breath, “quite nice.”

“Nice how?”

“Mmm, just nice,” she said dreamily. She looked up at Marta. “You’re so beautiful tonight.”

Marta blushed.

“You’re always beautiful,” she replied. She leaned down to give her a quick peck, but something caught her eye.

It was that thing in her eye that had caught her attention earlier. That glimmer. It was so much bigger than before. Marta spun around suddenly to see what was casting the reflection.

“Is something wrong?”

“No, I... no nothing’s wrong. I guess I’m just still a little on edge.”

“There’s nothing to worry about,” said Lucy, becoming more and more animated by the second. “Come here,” she said, and pulled Marta back around to face her. Their eyes met, and Marta could barely look away.

What was it about that damn glimmer? It was almost like her eyes were glowing, but she had no idea what colour it was. It wasn’t pink or purple, but it reminded her of them. It was so much more intense.

“God, Marta, I feel so fucking hot,” Lucy said, breathing raggedly. She pushed their bodies together, eager to pick up where they’d left off earlier.

Marta was so focused on her eyes that she took a moment to process what was happening. Her body reacted long before her mind did, a warm surge running through her, lips responding automatically. She smiled instinctively.

“Well hello there,” said Marta. She did have to agree with Lucy—her body certainly felt hot.

Lucy pushed close to her ear.

“Fuck me. Right now.”

“Um, Babe, you were about to pass out two minutes ago, are you sure you’re ok?“

Lucy stared at her with an intensity that almost frightened Marta.

“Marta, I love you but if you don’t take me right now I’ll find someone who will.”

Marta was still trying to cope with the emotional whiplash she was going through, but was together enough to stumble over towards the door. She ascended the steps and locked it.

“No, come on, don’t do that,” whined Lucy.

“You realise I was just joking before, right? I do not want them walking in on us.“

“Ugh, just get down here!”

She took her time wandering back over to make a point. Lucy looked like she was going to explode. When Marta drew close enough, Lucy pulled herself to her feet and tackled her onto the rug.

“Fuck me, fuck me, fuck me,” she said, awkwardly unbuttoning Marta’s jeans and pulling them down.

“Holy shit girl, I’m glad you’re feeling better but slow down!”

“... so beautiful tonight...” she muttered under her breath, hands running all over Marta’s body, squeezing and grasping to great effect, taking short breaks to start lifting her skirt and pulling her own underwear down. Marta was starting to breathe heavily too. Her nipples could be so sensitive, and if you squeezed them with just the right amount of pressure it drove her wild.

“Yeah, just like that,” said Marta.

“Fuck me Marta, fuck me,” she urged, hands around her head, holding her close.

“Yeah, you really want it huh?”

“Yes, please, please! I’m so hot, Marta, I need it so bad!”

Marta sent an exploratory hand down beneath the belt line. Lucy was wet, nay, extremely wet. She delighted in how pleasantly warm her girlfriend felt. She slid one finger inside and the reaction from Lucy was immediate and powerful. The feel of her was hard to describe, like there was some tiny current running through her girlfriend’s pussy. It was delightful. She added the middle finger and started a rhythm. Lucy gasped and bucked her hips.

“Yes, please, oh goddd...”

Lucy usually took a while to get where she needed to go, but whatever it was about this whole situation had really sent her near the edge. Marta was just giving her a gentle push, and it wasn’t five minutes before she’d had her first climax. As she came, Lucy grabbed Marta and held her close, staring deep into her eyes. There was something fascinating about them, something slightly unusual, but whatever it was, it was undeniably beautiful.

They reconfigured a bit and before long, they had their tongues inside each other. Lucy came a second time before Marta had her first. That was around the time that Lucy had stopped making any coherent sense.

“Oh Jesus Christ, it’s so hot, it’s so hot Marta, it’s so beautiful,” Lucy said. Marta had no idea what she was talking about anymore. Lucy buried her head again a moment later and she tried to push it to the back of her mind.

In her post coital high, Marta couldn’t shake the feeling that as fucking incredible as that had been, there was still something off. She wasn’t sure if she was going crazy or just needed to get her eyes checked, but Lucy was somehow getting... brighter? People’s eyes didn’t just change like that. Was it a trick of the lighting in the basement? It almost hurt to look at her in the eyes. She felt such a strange sensation looking at her, like the subtle glow was warm in and of itself, a feeling not too different from the sun beating down on your face.

She picked up her phone, considering turning it back on to check if the network had regained some semblance of sanity, but instead she almost dropped it when she caught her own reflection. That thing, that colour. It almost looked like there was a tiny glimmer of it in herself.

“What’s wrong?” said Lucy, nuzzling her gently.

“I’m not sure,” she replied. “I think... um, there’s something in my eyes.”

Lucy’s hand turned Marta’s head back towards her.

“There’s nothing wrong, love. Your eyes look so beautiful tonight.“

A chill ran down Marta’s spine as the words left Lucy’s lips.

The door handle started turning, but it was still locked. The two women turned to face it. There was a knock.

“Hello?” Marta said, not quite shouting but in a voice designed to carry. “Is everything all fine up there?”

For a moment, there was no answer. Then, the person behind the door started pushing into it, as if they were desperate to get inside. When the door clearly wasn’t going to budge, they finally spoke.

“Please open the door, Marta. The Sky is so beautiful tonight. You should really have a look.”

It was two voices, in almost perfect unison, muffled by the door.

The panic was starting to return.

“That’s not funny you guys,” said Marta.

“The sky?” said Lucy, who looked more confused than Marta was. “Oh yes... the Sky. I bet the Sky is so beautiful tonight, Marta.“

“Lucy, stop that, you’re scaring me,” she said, now on her feet and backing away.

“Why are you scared? There’s no need.” Lucy hadn’t followed her. She just stood and stared at her longingly with those eyes, filled with that colour, that enigma. It was so hard to keep looking, but it was somehow even harder to look away. “I don’t know what’s going on exactly, Marta, but I just... I really think we should go take a look...”

Her eyes are so beautiful tonight, Marta thought. She felt dizzy, but only for a moment, as she quickly regained her focus. Had it always been so warm down here? There was a great thump at the door, then another, then another, as Lucy’s roommates started trying to force their way in.

Marta scanned the room, but there was nothing she could bar the door with, not with that staircase in the way. There was simply nothing to leverage against. She ran up and pressed her own body against it, but she was worried that if they did force the door open she’d tumble right down herself.

“The Sky is so beautiful tonight. You should really have a look,” they echoed once again.

Marta felt the next few bashes, but the door held, and they went silent. She wasn’t sure whether to be relieved or even more terrified.

She turned just in time to catch Lucy, only a few feet away from her face. She almost screamed.

“Get away from me Lucy, I’m warning you!” she said.

Lucy’s smile never wavered. Marta felt suddenly weak at the knees. Everything about her was just so radiant, so beautiful. Her eyes were absolutely mesmerising. It took all of her willpower to tear away from the gaze and shut her eyes.

“Marta, it’s ok. Nobody’s going to hurt you. I know you’re scared, but... something wonderful is happening to us. Can’t you feel it? It’s so beautiful.”

She heard the lock moving behind her. Oh no, they found the keys, she thought. She leaned in as hard as she could, just in time to catch them pushing against the door. This time, without the structure of the door holding them at bay, her best effort still allowed them to get more than halfway open. She doubted she could stop them now, even if Lucy was helping her.

But Lucy was not helping her. Instead, she grabbed her arm and pulled her back off balance, nearly causing the two of them to tumble down the stairs and into the basement proper. The door swung wide open.

The roommates stood there, smiling from ear to ear. Their eyes were completely taken by the Colour, that same intense radiance. Marta knew that it was over. The two in front grabbed her and pulled her up the stairs. Lucy pushed from behind. Marta screamed and thrashed as she went up, but only succeeded in delaying them momentarily.

They moved closer and closer to the front door, and Marta allowed herself to relax. Fighting would do no good at this point.

“You’ll understand soon,” said Lucy. “You’ll see it,” she said, gazing deeply into Marta. She could already feel it, and the feeling was growing more intense by the second. Heat was starting to radiate outwards from her eyes into the rest of her head, more and more, hotter and hotter. She felt her eyes watering.

“Why does it hurt so much?” she said between tears streaming down her face. “It’s just a Colour... it’s just a goddamn Colour, but it burns. I can feel it inside me, Lucy.“

“Shhh,” she said, then placed a kiss on her lips. There was nothing left of those deep, rich brown eyes she’d fallen in love with. There was just the Colour now, staring back at her, smiling so incredibly wide.

The door opened. The Colour spilled in from the night sky, and Marta gasped. They knew there was no need to restrain her any longer. Marta stood upright and stared, completely transfixed.

The Sky was filled with it, in every direction. They were right. They were all right. All of the people that had been trying to tell her this whole time. The Sky is so beautiful tonight. The words echoed through her mind, over and over again. The immensity of it, the magnificence, the beauty of it was something that she felt in her innermost self.

She basked in the Colour, that blissful, perfect Colour. It was a shade that no human eye could perceive, but it refused to be ignored. It burned its way inside, changing everything it touched. Lucy had only caught the tiniest trace of it, but it was enough to take root inside her, to blossom and in turn plant its seeds in Marta. She could still feel it changing her now, burning its way through the rest of her body, making her more like the things that it knew. It was so beautiful, and very soon she would be too. She opened herself up as wide as possible, welcoming it, embracing it. Her new mission in life was clear. She would share it with everybody she knew, everybody she loved, everybody she could find.

Marta was going to need her phone. She smiled, wider than she ever had before.



Movi Mania
by Cristina Prince
“Look, I mean—you know how much I wanted to go to that Thai retrospective.” Danielle folded her arms and snapped her snowy peacoat shut, grimacing.

He promised her an unforgettable night, but hadn’t planned for it whatsoever. “How many hints did I give you all throughout January, hmm?”

She grabbed Charlie, her already simpering boyfriend, by his cheeks, pushing them together brusquely, in her usual way of babying him.

“But that was yesterday!” he managed. Halfway through saying it, he realized how dumb it was to use that as a defense, and winced.

“Wasn’t it?” An unfortunate, further case of verbal diarrhea made him gulp. He even held his hand up over his face. It was meant to be a cute gesture, but it had incidentally proved to be useful.

Bitchy and slave-driving on good days, Danielle was clearly teetering between agitation and anger at this point. His woman put her own raised hand down and began wrapping herself up in a big scarf.

“Exactly,” she smirked, icy. Then she repeated it and tossed him a look that said, “You’re just lucky that I spared you.” He nodded, frustrated. Too frustrated to think twice about how ridiculous it was that he always accepted her abuse.

“Well?” Danielle tersely demanded. When she saw that her boyfriend was starting to cry, she buried her chin deep into her scarf, so that he wouldn’t see her smile. In front of everyone at the cafe, he sheepishly pulled her big winter hat on for her. Some girl went “awww.” A couple dudes laughed.

“Well...” he sputtered, never having an intended sentence or idea in mind. Just all-encompassing psychosexual fear. It figured. Pay one single compliment to her lean yet curvaceous body, and lose any and all sex priveleges for three whole weeks now. He didn’t care, though. He couldn’t resist her. He loved her.

She sneered. It wasn’t quite cold enough outside to wear gloves, yet she put some on anyway. Like every night they spent together lately, it seemed to be wholly comprised of her covering up whatever bits of skin that still showed even slightly.

If he could make out the pert butt that he so cherished, underneath the lengthy tail of her coat as it was, all he’d think to do was look away just as soon as he saw it.

Self-conscious beyond reason, Danielle’s poor sense of confidence took a major hit after starting at her new job. It didn’t stem from anything pertinent to issues with her own appearance, but it certainly manifested itself that way.

Being intimidated by more seasoned employees, she’d kick her legs on their bed upon returning home, glance down in pity at her taut, washboard abs, and wail things like, “I’m so faaaaat!”

No matter how much he said he loved her perfectly fit physique, and no matter how much he meant it, she translated his interest as something that didn’t quite fit with her poor body image.

She could sniff out Charlie’s boners before he even had them. “No!” she’d warn him, right as the first pulses of blood would hit his dick.

He hadn’t, in days and days, the pleasure of gazing upon all his favorite parts of her. Spanking it to covert snapshots he’d taken of her, ones that would certainly end the relationship if she knew about them (potentially earn him a black eye, too), just wasn’t doing it anymore.

The intrigue of the woman he’d met in earliest parts of summer was briskly snuffed out by fall.

The thong she wore in his favorite, choicest private pic had long since been discarded. Two months in, and she equipped her underwear drawers with nothing but plain all-purpose whites.

It wasn’t so bad. Her athletic ass and teardrop breasts managed to look perfectly fine in most of them, and he could pretty much always see her nipples.

He took this wardrobe change as a warning, nevertheless. A symbolic way for her to say, ”We don’t live together. You live with me.” At least she was gracious enough to allow his unnecessarily huge DVD collection.

And at least she’d kept one of her pairs of hot pants. Not like he was holding out much hope that he’d even see those again NEXT summer.

Charlie looked at the areas of his girlfriend’s face that were still exposed. “You’re pathetic,” she informed him. Medicated balm soon slathered over her lips, he resigned himself to a certain fate. A kiss was not in his future. At least she spared him another bitch trip to the counter, though, to return her partially-eaten stuff and get different items, free of charge.

“Let’s get out of here, sweetheart,” she fake-cooed. She’d ordered a piece of cheesecake and a white mocha, but had barely touched either of them. Before that, it was an iced chai and a red velvet cupcake. What remained of her current order was essentially enough for the establishment to re-sell without much notice.

In a show of her usual cattiness, Danielle had raised her voice at the cafe staff, all the way from her table. “They” were apparently underqualified to be baristas and slung “shit-turds” instead of coffee, “and not even shitty coffee!” Her shrill complaints made a group of young girls leave, made a baby cry.

“I love you, y’know?” Charlie sweetly said as he escorted his girl out of the place and back into the frigid February night. He knew she was having a rough time of it lately, and so he’d made it his priority to serve her. “I love you.” He placed the palm of his hand atop her back and slowly rubbed the chilly wool of her coat, reassuring.

“Look, just shut the fuck up, okay?!” she snapped. “We’ll just go to Moving Scene and see what they’re screening tonight. Their website’s down for some reason, otherwise you know I’d know. Good thing it’s only four blocks away from this bedpan you call a coffeeshop!” He bit his tongue instead of reminding her she’d wanted to try the place out ever since she read a review.

“I insist we go dutch,” Danielle continued, in a calculated manner that implied “no sex tonight.” “You’ve got your member card, right, sweetie?” Charlie nodded, eager to please. “Ooooh!” she squealed, mocking him. “Who’s my bestest-westest boy-toy, hm? Is it Charlie-warlie! Why yes, I think it is!”

She grabbed him by the hand and yanked him down the city street by the wrist. He whimpered at her careless force. She chuckled at his pathetic pain threshold. “Happy Valentine’s, pretty lady!” growled a passing vagrant. Her toy-friend turned around to look, so she pulled on his ear for him to better focus.

“Ow! Whadja do that ff—” he shouted, but instead of letting himself get angry, he simply made sure to walk in even paces and keep up with her, managing to clutch her hand in the process, with a firmer grasp than she’d employed. “I just wanted to see if I had any competition, that’s all.” He stuck his tongue out.

Danielle eased up, just the tiniest amount for Charlie to notice. She let her boyfriend hold her hand. “You’re so cute when you try,” she deadpanned. “But little master Charles, to be honest... The way tonight’s going, I probably would leave your bony ass, and for nothing more than that old guy’s putrid disgusting beard, too!“

* * *
They argued for the millionth time while waiting at the ticket counter. “No,” she scowled. “You’re twisting my words again. I said, ‘am I really such a pretty lady?’ That was it! And you’re just on some lame shit about some shitty actress!” She put a fresh layer of her awful-smelling lip stuff on, sucked at her teeth, and rolled her eyes, beyond pissed.

Danielle reluctantly began to unbutton her black coat, wiping at her face. The heat in the foyer was blasting obnoxiously as they passed the five-minute mark of waiting for anybody at all to come to the desk. It was annoying; it made fighting over compliments seem like a winning idea.

She pounded the bell impatiently. Didn’t Marcy, or Marla, or someone—didn’t that nice nerdy girl with the butch hairstyle work tickets on Monday nights? She was about to ask her boyfriend, but one look at him made all of her misplaced frustrations bubble right back up. He was an idiot!

Charlie arched his back, pretending to unkink some make-believe muscle. “No, come on!” Danielle was handily reminded that they’d been duking it out. “All I did was—I asked you not to take it so personally if I agree with your brother, or your co-workers—or whoever—that you do kind of look like Jennifer Garner. Why is that so bad!“

“Seriously, guy, she’s not pretty. Because she’s really more plain than attractive, and well, I guess—so am I! Plus... she sucks. She sucks balls. She ruined ‘Juno’ before the screenplay could even get a chance!” She grinned, and Charlie even chuckled, but the only other audience for her wisecrack was the popping of a couple old battered radiators.

“Where is everybody? Usually this theater’s packed, and you’d figure, Valentine’s Day and all...” Charlie pouted, despairing to the point of tuning her out. He appraised her while she was idly staring at a mostly blank marquee. Okay, so she wasn’t hot hot, but—she was undeniably cute, especially whenever she dared to smile. She had perfect teeth, to boot.

She was easily the best-looking girl he’d ever dated. And... she did kinda-sorta look like Jennifer Garner. Danielle’s hair was definitely more stylish, though, darker, and she had a habit of letting her eyebrows run bushy and a bit ragged. Otherwise, the cheekbones, the dimples... she had slimmer lips than the actress, and maybe slightly bigger boobs, but in a certain light, the resemblance could be uncanny.

The ice queen tapped her feet. “Whatever, boy-babe. You look like Jon...uh...than? Suh-wuhhh...” She flicked some more sweat off her forehead. “Ugh, I mean, whoever—gah, whoever that stupid-ass... stupid little... silly-ass dumb-dumb is—y’know, like, from—“

Jaw uncharacteristically hanging and idling now, she played that it was her intent to reach her chin all along, to scratch it... not to hurriedly clamp it shut, because the regular way of doing it simply would not work... “...ooh! ‘Johnny Maguire’!” Danielle flashed a big smile, grinning and gleaming from ear to ear. Her cheeks were pink from the stiflingly hot room.

Was she starting to... drool? “Eeeee!” she squealed. Charlie had never heard a sound like that leave his girlfriend’s mouth. Joy and jubilation always took their considerable distances from her. “That’s um... like... that’s uh-name uh-the movie an’ stuff, right? ‘Johnny Maguire’? ...or was it, mmmmmaybe it was sutt’n else like, hm...“

“...Jimmy or some shit?” He caught her twirling her hair, sincerely unsure as she was. “Nah... nuh-uh... mmmm, who gives a fuck, right?” She hoovered a glob of spit from the edge of her lower lip, sucking it up before it could make its break down and off her jaw. A new tendril of saliva took its place immediately and went unattended.

Danielle just gabbed right through with her leaky mouth. “Uh-sides, that movie, like, totally sucked, like, I swear—for realsies! It totally sucked total shit! They ain’t even show, like, Reese Witherspoon suckin’ on any-uh that there yummy Cruise-y cock, neither!“

“Big pile-uh suck all ‘round, nahmean? S—U—K!” Charlie laughed. He tried to stop before she caught on that he was thoroughly enjoying her conflation of Reese Witherspoon and Renee Zell... whoever the right one was! He grabbed his crotch to readjust. So hot and sweaty... She noticed he was rock hard before he did. Neither of them noticed she’d spelled the word “suck” wrong.

Both of them wanted her to do just that, though. She drew a wandering and carefree hand back, dangerously close to grabbing for his dick through his jeans. “Or no,” she began, as if reading his mind. She licked her lips and abandoned the allure of stuffing her boyfriend’s cock down her throat, pushed that craven desire aside, to make room for some actress and her stupid sexy face.

Why did she need to suck him off all of a sudden? Wasn’t she really mad at him? “I’m so... I’m feelin’ all... what’s the word—stupey, kay? So just—listen, jus’ berry with me... kay, hon?” As an aside, she tongued his neck and hotly whispered into his ear, “I’m, like, soooo gosh-dang-it wet right now, my big hunky Charlie-warlie.“

He didn’t seem to care that his girl was starting to sound like a big redneck airhead out of absolutely nowhere. His cock was starting to parse all his sentence cognition. It was able to determine that the more mess-ups she made,

On Danielle’s end, thinking about a popular romcom was evidently overclocking her brain and setting it on fire. She huffed and panted, hot and hot and... “So. Okay. Okay, so... like, not that Reese-y’s Wetty-poons... that other blondie-girl lady, the one what’s from ‘at ‘Mr. Jones-es-izz Diary Book’, with the fancy, like, accenty thangs an’ all.“

She sucked on her lollipop. Hard. Making sure to form a tight seal around the circular indentation around the top of the candy, and to roll her tongue around the .

She didn’t think twice about being magically imbued with the ins and outs of the Cowboy Cockpop. It simply didn’t feel like it was new information at all. Though bitch of the product was really all those thick veins all around the thing. They were way cool, sure but they just reminded her of sweet, sweet cock.

“I don’t even care what Mr. Jones thingy is. Got it!?” She poked him on the chest in an effort to act like her normal, tough self, But you’re my little Johnny McSomethin’ boy, aintcha, boy?“

Charlie knew that he totally didn’t look like the kid from that movie in the slightest, but she’d brought it up before, had even talked about it earlier on that very same day. But his girlfriend was Danielle McCreedy. The Danielle McCreedy. Columnist-slash-blogger-of-some-renown extraordinaire.

If her high school had given two shits about her, she might have won “Most Likely To Get Published in the New Yorker.” But they didn’t. Charlie gave a shit, and it was Charlie and Charlie only, that really did all the loving in the relationship. He knew he could withstand much worse

The two of them really were in an awful place, though. It was infuriatingly poetic that when the weather changed, so did she.

Which was why it was surprising that his film scholar girlfriend was suddenly at a loss for the most trivial details of a blockbuster movie. What turned such a feeling into a gulping kind of dread was the fact that he, too, was having trouble keeping up, mixing up names in his head.

“Fertile Flashjobs in Our Family Way” February 15, 2010

Suit No. 1 was emphatic and on the verge of losing his cool. He wiped his forehead maniacally. It was dry as a bone. “If you don’t believe me, take a look for your own self.” He flipped open to an earmarked page in some Rolling Stone issue and threw it at Suit No. 2.

He loosened his tie, poured out a teaspoon of bourbon onto the shag rug of the Brittany-Blimpie blimp.

Suit No. 2 was busy... elsewhere. “I bet we could make a fortune.”

Suit No. 1 flicked on a TV. Some news network. After the last few seconds of a fluff piece on a pinebox derby, a “BREAKING NEWS” interstitial crashed on.

An incredibly nervous and despairing newscaster wastes no time in racheting up the heart-exploding terror: “It sounds like the plot of some Russ Meyer movie for Republicans, but it’s all true, yes—every last word of it—and your sons and daughters could be at rrrisk!“

Suit no. 2 tore into a power Red Bull, gulping it all down seemingly in one go. “Okay, okay. I get it. What we wanted to not get out of hand, ever if we could help it, is now getting out of hand a whole fifteen fuckin’ years earlier than our most generous predictions!“

“Better quarantine that girlfriend of yours,” warned Suit no. 1, laughing. “Estimates indicate that every last woman in the continental U.S. is gonna be a corn teen now.”

“Are you crazy? Canada’s been fully bimboized for four years now!“

* * *
Danielle and Charlie were coming down from a delicious and intense fuck session. “Did I really scream, ‘Breed me!?’” she asked, panting and laughing.

She reached over to the BreadCorn on the endtable as she wheezed and crashed into a fetal position. She kicked her legs and munched, sliding her foofy little pink socks off her feet and onto her big new butt.

“No way!” she smacked, through a heaping mouthful of the cinema’s concession. It was really yummy to snack on, but it could be weirdly substantial...

Weird! He flicked at her nipple, horny, snarling.

He sidled up to her huddled frame, kissed her on the cheek and proceeded to roll her onto her thick new back. It glistened, tan. New.

The ice queen , sweating quarts of it. Her sweat had a pink hue now.

“Hang on jizzuh... —ssslurrp— jus’ sssecond, baby,” she husked, “I gotta at least think about gettin’ ready for work if I’m—” She tried to climb off his dick out but he was holding her by the shoulders, really pushing for a third go at it. Despite how annoyingly insistent he was acting, it was charming that he didn’t know what the fuck was going on either.

Still... No. Absolutely not. She was not going to let herself acquiesce. “Y’know what—I don’t know who you think you are, but if you think you can just have your way with me over and over again just because I want your cock, like, so fuckin’ bad, you’ve got some serious screws—” He thrusted up and rocketed his rod to the hilt of his woman.

He owned her. She let herself fall. She loved the taste and feel of being light and easy. Her eyes rolled into the back of her brains and she looked like she was attempting to sneeze out a moan. Then she whimpered and cried, clutching onto him.

It was her job to take him in, to always do what he wanted. Her brain went, “whaaa?!” Then her hips shushed it away. She could worry about that later.

But still. “Mmmm... Okay, sweetie. Well, honey,—hunnnnnneeeee,” she whined. “Honey—mm—baby!“

He flexed his cock impatiently...

“So?” he coughed. Danielle didn’t answer him because she couldn’t. Her stupid boyfriend’s awesome cock made arguing really hard. So Danielle the ice queen just shimmied all the way down his mightier-seeming pole, taking him all in. “Ow!” she said, momentarily frail.

When the sound reached his brain, it had translated as “Harder!” Then she forgot about wanting to hop off of him. He hit the scream sector of her cervix and she howled like a mythical beastlet.

It wasn’t until after nearly fifteen minutes of riding her man that her brain kicked on again. “Fuck, it’s... no! It’s eleven goddamn thirty?!!“

“Melon Angel and Rockstud Rumprammon?” A hologram security tag, hastily stuck to the back flap of the envelope, had caught his eye wrong, and it gave him a stinging shock. It shot something into his brain that exported a whole life’s worth of new information right in, allowing him to know all sorts of information... and, information.

She ripped it out of his hand and giggled all the way to a graceless flouncy finish, right on her breasts—no!—her boobies. She chose to ignore the improbable swelling, but it just wouldn’t leave her be.

Neither one of them noticed a trail of neon pink laser beams (similar to the one that shocked Rick’s eye, shooting off from the box more like an emission of foreign energy, or some spatial blip, than a benign reflection) that resulted from her accidentally pointing their welcome package’s hologram sticker at the remote sensor on their TV.

The television set turned on and off by itself.

“Turn it off, it’s turning me on!!”

“Did you split your pants!”

“Omigod, shut up!” She play-clawed at his chest and purred.

“It says...” What was happening to him? It wasn’t like he was forgetting how to read. His head was simply unable to stay focused for longer than a single letter of a word. He stroked his bone, frustrated and freaked out. Come on! Why is unlearning how to read turning me on??

“Weeee.... inviiiiiite.... yeeeeewwww.... tooooooo-uh.... yoouuurrr.... weddin’ niiiiiiiiiiight... buffet an’... life insurance package?? Huh?” Danielle took a deep breath, snapping out of it. It felt like a big pink candy vagina had swallowed her entire brain

“Oh! See... We basically have to go down in four days if we want to claim the suite for the weekend. This sounds like some kind of harmless scam to me. I be.”

Danielle gasped. “Honey!” He swiveled his desk chair around as if he thought she said, “More!” He grinned a cheshire cat grin. Through the venetian blinds, her tits looked like five thousand tits.

* * *
Suit no. 2 had appreciatively accepted the invitation to spend a Friday at Suit no. 1’s cabin up in New Hampshire. Having to live with his daughter and wife in a military hideaway was draining in new and unexciting ways, each and every day.

He was planning on going alone, but he was also planning on Rachel, his daughter, not eavesdropping in on his private landline. She threatened to blackmail him if he didn’t take her along. He said the world just wasn’t safe anymore. She swore up and down that she’d squeal and tell her mom the truth.

He wasn’t on some task force investigating Cherub Cove, he was one of the fucking architects of the damn place! So he relented, naturally. “Did you really think he’d make all the money he does at a government job?” Bella, Suit no. 1’s daughter asked her, shortly after her father’s private jet touched down on an abbreviated runway beside a private lake.

They’d been circling around the lake in Bella’s daddy’s big boat for a half hour, before Rachel’s only friend in the world floored it way far out to the opposite side and the two sat there peacefully for a couple of minutes, before Bella had started shivering and shimmering. Rachel gulped.

Okay. Just keep calm. This probably isn’t what it looks like. Just don’t try to breathe in. Bella’s skin was glowing, bright, and a thick fuschia mist clung to the entire outline of her body. Her hair was growing, lightening and curling at an absurd speed. “Hey, Rach!“

Rachel went, “Yeah?” She winced. The high, babyish register of her voice made her sound like a dumb porn star. Bella threw her head back, laughed deep, and blew heaving lungfuls of gauzy pink fluff-mist into her friend’s jaw before she had a chance to shut it.

“I don’t feel so hot,” she puffed. “I think my butt’s getting bigger. I used to fit jus’ fine in this chair without the armrests diggin’ into my hips!”

“I think you definitely wanna make out with me right now!”

“But I’m siiiiiick!” she whined, fakely. Unfortunately, she saw through the sexy haze to her truth...

* * *
“Oh, shit,” lamented Suit no. 2.

“You guys, like, read the... innerwebs, I reckon, huh?”

“I’m sorry, Dad.” Bella socked Rachel right in the elbow. “Call him Daddy!” Rachel and Suit no. 2 shared a “kill me now” look with one another. She shivered and froze, terrified. Suit no. 1’s daughter did the same.

It was happening. It didn’t really sink in before, not completely. Now it did. She gasped, going pale. There was no going back. Infection... Breeding... That “bimboization” thing her mother and father kept arguing about for some reason.

It was happening. Her mind swam in an unpleasantly hot whirlpool of bewilderment. Nothing made sense but everything made her mad or scared or... horny?

She pouted, then in a half-second, wailed out a half gallon of hot pink salt.

It made her feel like she’d just taken a big bong rip.

It was happening. Everything her father had feared for the family. And all because she was taking her loneliness out on him. Now he’d probably feel punished for life.

A third man in an identical black suit, the only alteration being a red white and blue Hawaiian shirt, was laughing. Rachel’s heart sunk. It felt like it tripped and fell off of a skyscraper. “Hello, guys. The end of the beginning is upon us.

“Wait a minute, you mean you don’t hold government positions?“

“No! Of course not, silly.“

Now who’s up for a movie night? I hear “Giggle Puppy In The U.S.A.” is pretty good.”

“Who’s in that one again?” Bella asked, bored. She was rubbing baby oil on her new little pot belly, as if willing a fetus to buy some real estate.

“But what about movie night?” he asked earnestly. He was so precious.

“What about it?” she teased. Then ripped off his school uniform, polo first. She took her time fishing out his rod. “Fuck movie night!”

Rachel was so wet that he sank right into her and she set her ass to bouncing right away. Before she could relish the moment and imagine what it would be like to lord over Bella, she appeared at the foot of the conjugal bed.

“Seriously. Come on. Ewww-uh! My brother?” Then she legitimately vomited, but it somehow came out as soapy fuschia bubbles. No one acknowledged that, though. For the girls, it was as if they got karmically demoted or something. Like they’d been lowered to live as mere communication vessels for their craven vaginas.

“Cum on my tits, Spunky. Spunk that chewy gooey spunk all over Auntie Rachel’s big juicy melons!”



Lake Lemonade
By Limerick
The amazing JayBeeArt has put together full sequences at https://www.reddit.com/r/limericksbimbos/comments/hnw0gi/lake_lemonade/.

Please please please consider making a donation to Feeding America or your favorite charity if you appreciate everyone’s work.

CHAPTER ONE:
They were a gasp ahead of it. Luke could feel the hot wind at their heels. Every closed door in the apartment complex was a tombstone. He filled a suitcase and his work briefcase with necessaries—two pairs of underpants, passport, shirts. On TV the news anchors seemed uncertain, and every headline ended in a question mark. It read “NEW CONTAGION?” when he shut it off, firmly.

Paige took longer than he liked, fretting over belongings. Eventually he zipped up her two suitcases and said, eyes firmly on hers, “lets go.”

“Alright,” Paige said, taking a last look around. It was hot out, but they were both in travel clothes—jeans, shirt, sweater—good for any circumstance. His fiancee filled a glass of water to the absolute tip and drank it all down. A droplet ran down her chin and onto the floor. Luke eyed her, wondering—was it in the water supply? That was probably on the news just then—“WATER SUPPLY??” In impact font.

“We’re not gonna stop to pee,” he warned her.

“I promise not to make any of it into pee,” she promised, putting her hand on her heart. “It’s going to be all blood and maybe a little sweat.”

“That’s a promise,” Luke said. They both paused, listening. It was still and silent. Was it always like that? It wasn’t often they stopped and listened to nothing on a Sunday afternoon. “Lets get out of town.”

* * *
They nearly made it. Paige spent the final hour humming tunelessly to whatever the radio played. Eventually she cinched her legs up on the dashboard. The humming stopped.

“This is it,” she said, eventually. “We have to stop. This is the moment.”

“There’s a plague,” Luke said. “Apparently.”

In truth, what they were running from was amorphous and vague. Luke’s friend Colin—doctor, well-informed, absolutely reliable—had texted panic messages. Even as texts, appearing in a bright blue bubble, they were unnerving. “LEAVE CITY ASAP AVOID EXPOSURE. NOT A DRILL.”

And then one more: “WEIRD SHIT.”

That had been the last text from Colin. He’d been a stalwart presence during COVID-19 on everyone’s facebook pages, counseling proper distancing and lending advice on masking. For him to order an immediate evac was… disturbing. Weren’t they supposed to stay where they were? Luke had relayed the messages on to a bevy of worried responses—where had he heard this from? What was it based on? News organizations had just caught wind of a problem when Luke and Paige had fled. They were still setting up cameras on the calm exterior of medical buildings.

Now the couple was hours off from the city, and the roads were all narrow. Luke pulled into a diner just ten minutes away from the lake house.

“Stay here while I check it out,” he cautioned Paige, who ignored him, barreled out of the car, and into the glass-fronted restaurant. It was open and bustling. Luke hesitated about putting on a mask—no reason to let the locals know that a transmission vector was in town. But he was hungry. He kept the mask in the car.

“Two,” he told the waitress. She had a good local waitress look, Mom-adjacent with big wide hips. Paige had disappeared somewhere. “We’re in a.. actually…” the truth was, he was damn hungry. “bacon and eggs and toast for three? Coffee for four?”

“Congrats on the bun in the oven,” the waitress said, as he slid into the booth. Normal waitress repartee. It was a relief. Luke fake-laughed to it. “You two come down from the city this morning?”

“No,” Luke said, settling on a lie. It was lucky he hadn’t shaved that morning. The story would be: they’d been camping.

“Something’s up is why I ask,” the waitress said. She glanced over at a TV up on the wall. It was scratchy and snowy, not just fuzzed with black and white but with a glazed pink and purple swirl. It looked vaguely like some sort of press conference was set up. Luke could just make out flags around a podium. But there was no one there to talk. They both stared at it for quite some time.

“Oh my goodness I am thinner now,” Paige said, breaking in. “I peed out a separate person. Oh, nice, diner coffee!”

They both looked at her, startled. The waitress had poured too much, looking at the television fuzz, and there was a growing black pool on the formica. She pulled the pot up, embarrassed. “I’ll be back in a second. Where did you say you were headed?”

They hadn’t, and Luke wasn’t about to say.

“Oh, down the street,” Paige said, cheerfully. “Pretty much. You know that little bitty lake over by Barlow? My family has the lake house!”

* * *
Once inside they both washed their hands for twenty full seconds..

Paige collapsed onto a sagging yellow couch with real relief, drying her hands off on the old fabric cover. “Civilization!” she said, dramatically.

“Not civilization.”

“The opposite of civilization,” Paige said. She remained there while Luke brought the suitcases in. He’d used her slow packing to bring a lot of the pantry with them. Eggs, cooking oil. The air had a warm, bone dry feel, and every light switch shocked him with static discharge. Every wall was wood paneled. There was a Billy Bass with expired batteries overlooking the kitchen table. The refrigerator was the color of old eggshells.

“It’s just like I remembered,” Paige said, pleased. She’d held onto a key just to feel like part of the family.

“I hope the TV works. There used to be this weird guy who did puppets at six in the morning on local public access. I think he ended up killing himself. Holy shit, turn on the TV.”

Luke finally permitted himself to drink water. He’d only needed to pee a trickle, which he was very proud of. His head pounded. The TV was a mess of wet static, although there was some sort of audio coming through. They both listened to it, intent.

“Music?” Luke hazarded. “Am I hearing that? Like a ba-bum-ba thing?”

“Maybe,” Paige agreed. She sat cross-legged on the couch and, in fact, hadn’t moved since arriving. “It’s kinda nice. Like a white noise, mmm-bmmmm—mmm. You know?”

They listened to it a little longer.

“No reception,” Luke noted, shaking himself. His headache pounded to the beat of the television. He held up his phone, which was at zero bars. “We’re not THAT far away from a town.”

“Hmmm,” Paige held her phone up. She shook it. “No go.” She finally stood up. “Lake?” she suggested, finally.

* * *
The lake was truly beautiful. Blue with a mirror finish, each and every tree with its own perfect reflection. It was mid-summer, hot. There didn’t seem to be any bugs about. The lake was rimmed with just a few houses, all of them quiet and silent. The sun was getting low.

Paige came out in a bikini.

“What, really?” Luke said, surprised. “Seriously?”

Paige gestured at the house. “Lake house. Lake.” It was a very dark navy blue, and covered in white polka dots. Paige had short brown hair, cropped to just below her ears. Ordinarily he liked looking at her in a swimsuit. She was his fiancee for a reason. But it seemed—wrong.

“Something is horribly wrong. In the world. I don’t know if swimming is the answer,” Luke said.

“I figured you’d say something like that, which is why I brought your swim shorts even after you left them behind,” Paige said. The back deck was still closed up, although there was a shed nearby that probably held all sorts of dead-bug patio furniture. She bounced off down to the short beachfront. It was mostly dead grass and stones. Luke followed just to keep the conversation going.

“There’s a horrible pandemic.”

“Is it horrible?” Paige said. She’d taken her glasses off to swim, which meant he got a rare look at her actual face. Was there a hint of smugness? Of calm disbelief?

“Colin wouldn’t mess around. And it was already on the news. Something is up.”

She stood with her toes in the water. It was a musty green right at the shoreline. “Would you rather we went inside and played Chess?” He hated chess. With Paige. She routinely waxed him. “Or Trivial Pursuit? From 1995? If there’s really a thing we’re all doing a bunch of swimming. It’s HOT. Are you actually mad at this? Go inside and see if the family booze collection is intact.”

Luke hadn’t gotten engaged by fighting every fight. Back inside he checked her phone, on the off chance she had more reception than he did.

There was a text message on the lock screen. It wasn’t clear how long ago it had popped up, or how—her phone read a resolute 0 bars. But it did. And when Paige got inside, hair wet, that’s when they had the real fight.

* * *
The couch was awful. It smelled like dozens of years of wet family butts. If it had been leather it might’ve been tolerable, but it was a knit of some sort, and every mistake Paige’s family had made was lodged somewhere deep inside some of the cotton. It was also a half-foot short of comfortably accommodating a six foot tall male who had been banished from the communal bed. Luke checked his phone, which was now just a 0-bar watch. Just shy of midnight.

It had been a truly bad fight.

The worst part was that he had seen how it would unfold from the first instance. The things they’d say to each other. Yes, he had gone through her phone. Yes, he was being a snooping jerk.

Nonetheless: the texts had read:

[The Lake House, right? Can I come too?

Feeling really worried!]

From the bridesmaid group chat, from someone named Claire that he had never met who was presumably some kind of close college friend. Or whatever. Actually, she had to be a friend from High School or even earlier, because she knew exactly where the lake house was. Had perhaps slept on that same couch.

Luke knew, was sure, that he slept in his actual bed all the time mildly curled up, his knees drawn up towards his chest. There should be no reason he couldn’t do so on the gross couch. Where it touched his skin the fabric ground in, exploring his nervous system. But it was far too hot to sleep with a shirt on, or much of anything. It didn’t help that the actual master bedroom contained a magnificent bed, already made up, that had been waiting patiently for an exhausted couple to climb in between nice clean sheets.

There was a knock at the door. More of a slam. Luke sat up. His cell phone read 12:51 a.m., which meant he must’ve slept somehow. He was covered in sweat. He hesitated—the intellectual, the unimpeachably correct thing to do, was to not open the door. He’d personally checked the locks on every window and door, after the fight. He’d told himself: when Claire shows up, if she does, she can sit in her car while they discuss a proper quarantine.

Paige stumbled in and threw open the lock. She didn’t wear much more than Luke—a chemise that he didn’t remember her owning. He opened his mouth to yell—what? Slam the door?

A bedraggled young woman stepped in. “At least make her—” but she and Paige shared a long hug.

Luke blew out a breath. It would be okay. During the big pandemic things were slow to spread. He tried to tamp down anxiety. “Wash your hands!” he said.

Claire—he assumed it was Claire—broke the hug, looked apologetic. Paige had the presence to look mildly abashed. Right, wash your hands, that was the rule. She was in his house, or his fiancee’s house, but at least he had made that much progress back. Paige and Luke looked at each other while Claire scrubbed up, humming Happy Birthday to herself for twenty seconds. If she offered him a handshake, Luke thought, she was going back in the car.

“I’m PRETTY sure I’m not sick,” she told them.

Claire sat in the rocking chair. More poor containment. She should’ve stripped, showered. She wore jeans that looked rumpled and threadbare, a creased and worn black button-down, her purse still across her chest. A glasses-wearer. They were of the same general model of white brunettes. Except—and Luke couldn’t help notice—Claire had big boobs. They were hidden deep inside the shirt, but they were there.

“I’m not even sure what the symptoms are,” Luke said. “We booked it immediately. You probably know more than we do.”

Claire shrugged. “I don’t—really... “ she flushed. “I left when… someone in my apartment complex... got it. I think.”

“What do you mean?”

“She was.. Moaning,” Claire didn’t look them in the eyes. “Really, really loud moaning. REALLY loud.”

They all considered that. “Like she was… in pain?” Paige probed.

Claire slowly shook her head, considered, then waved it back and forth. “I don’t know what I heard.” Her face was distant, focusing out past the double glass doors out over the lake. It was too dark to see. There were no lights on at all. “The radio cut out halfway here. Just static on every station. I don’t know… why it would do that. It’s the radio. I tried to tell you I was coming but… no reception.”

“You’re safe here,” Paige said. She had clearly seen Luke open his mouth to say something like: go sleep in the car. “We’re gonna hole up and do a heck of a lot of swimming. Did you bring your suit?”

“I brought the clothes I’m currently wearing,” Claire said. They shared a moment of looking at those clothes. One pair of underpants, one bra. “And some workout stuff in the trunk. And a car, I guess?. Can I stay?”

The air was very heavy. The clock struck 1:15.

“The guest room,” Paige said.

Claire sneezed. It was like a gun fired through the window. For the first time, Luke saw a trace of fear trickle across his fiancee’s face. She only slowly managed to force it away. Claire had tried to get her elbow up in time, failed, and left a spray cloud of nose across the entire middle of the living room.

“Lets go to bed,” Paige suggested, brightly.

“There’s a guest room?” Luke said.

* * *
At least he’d made his way back into the communal bed. And he’d slept well. When he awoke Luke half-expected a fever, congestion, nasal drainage. Of course he felt great, even with less than five hours total asleep. He even had a glowing and persistent erection. It was completely inappropriate for the situation, and insisted on itself as he lazed under old covers. He stretched out, which just made it stronger, firmer.

“I guess we’re back on quarantine time. It’s nearly eight-thirty,” Paige said, slipping out of the bathroom. The towels had to be thirty years old, but she’d found one not impossibly petrified and wrapped it around herself. Her hair was all wet curls. “You feel okay?”

Luke recognized this as an apology gambit. He had, after all, been right—now they’d acquired a roommate. It’d be easy to play the “I was right” card, but for what? Instead he pulled the covers aside to reveal his dick aching under pajama pants.

They were both very good at makeup sex; it was one of the cornerstones of a healthy relationship. Paige had even commented on it—called it the result of poor dating decisions in her twenties, that she had gotten so skilled on handling penises to end disputes. Luke had always found that to be a depressing way to think of it. What better and more satisfying way to tie off a fight then with mutual orgasms? It was a reaffirmation of their love, right? Paige sighed in the way that told Luke he was about to be thoroughly fucked, and let her towel drop.

“You look flushed,” she told him, striding forward. Her tits were still damp. “Feverish, even.” She ran a finger up the backside of his dick, then freed it from the pajama pants.

“You look… uhhhhh… hot,” Luke said. Cheesy lines were another relationship touchstone. “Let me take your temperature with my penis.”

“Certainly, doctor,” Paige said. She climbed on top of him, getting the covers wet, and pushed him in. For a moment he was startled—his fiancee was so wet. Had she..? In the shower…? But then she winked at him and squeezed, and Luke lost his concentration.

They hit a rhythm right away, which usually took some work. And right after that, Paige lost her own stride, which usually meant she was getting close to cumming. They’d been fucking for maybe a minute. The box springs of the bed started to shriek right away. Usually Luke was fine with letting his fiancee grind her way to an orgasm. Today he took big handfuls of ass and bounced her up and down. It was very aggressive for him, but Paige didn’t seem to mind. She whimpered as he used her.

“I’m close,” he said. She felt so hot and wet. His cock was getting squeezed. It was an unnecessary warning—Paige started to shiver. Her eyes shot open, and then she started to moan. Claire would no doubt hear everything. The thought of their vulnerable new roommate stuck with Luke. He shot into Paige.

“Oh my god, how much did you fire into me?” Paige said, looking down. “Does fear make you cum harder?”

“Apparently,” Luke said. Paige rolled off and laid down, spent. She crossed her legs. “Do you think Claire heard?”

“I think our neighbors back in the city heard,” Luke said. He rubbed her belly. Then he sat upright. “Why does it smell like pancakes?”

* * *
Claire had made pancakes. She had also found the family’s old clothes. A girlish yellow and white striped shirt that was far too small, that showed off a ton of midriff and was strapped tight around her boobs. She’d also put on runner’s shorts that were pitch black. When Luke came out she was bent slightly over a hot stove. His dick had been drained entirely, which was why it surprised him when it gave a twitch.

“I was starving,” she explained, holding up a spatula.

“Claire, we definitely didn’t have any eggs,” Paige said. She was in loose khaki shorts and a flowing red shirt. It was childish and unfair to compare her to Claire, after she’d JUST fucked him senseless.

Nonetheless...

“Yeah!” Claire said, shrugging. “Yeah. Its flour and water and some baking soda that expired like four years ago. But there was a lot of sugar.”

She deposited a half-dozen on a plate and gave them to Luke. They were extremely flat. But they were warm and he was suddenly enormously, powerfully hungry. He picked one up and ate the entire hockey puck.

And froze. Contamination. Viral spread. How could he have been so stupid? And the pancakes tasted like floury sugar bombs.

“I got up at like, 5:30,” Claire said. “TV doesn’t work. No reception. Board games are just where we left them. Took a shower. Went for a short walk. Paige, I set up the chess board for us. Two hours ago.” The board was plastic and so were the pieces. It looked like she’d played a game against herself—there was just a King left, surrounded by opposing queens.

So she’d gone around touching all their stuff. Great. Claire had definitely inserted herself into the viral isolation pod. Luke picked up another three flatcakes. At least they were hot. And at least she didn’t look sick.

“I was REAL glad to hear you guys finally up,” she said, looking Paige right in the eyes. So that’s how it was going to be. Paige surprised him by shrugging it off and grabbing a stack of two-dimensional pancakes. There was no butter, and no oil either, so they’d been cooked on a flat stove.

“There IS maple syrup,” Claire said. She pointed over to a yellowed, faded bottle with a brown sludge inside. “It doesn’t have an expiration date.”

Luke marched over to it and turned it upside down. The crystals inside didn’t budge. Claire pursed her lips and cross her legs. Her hips pushed the shorts taut and her belly button poked out. Luke turned away so she couldn’t see his erection. It smelled very sweet around Claire.

* * *
They went back to the diner.

In part to get information—why would the TV be a fuzzy mess? Cell signal nonexistent? Radio worked, but there didn’t seem to be any operating news stations. All they could get was music, even on the AM stations.

“I’m positive this is the news station,” Paige said, handling the dial. They’d stuffed Claire in the backseat. She was tousling her hair and pursing her lips out the window. She’d dressed for a job interview, button-down shirt and someone else’s pants. The lake house was apparently where the Paige family clothes went to rest. The music over the radio was peppy, brainless pop.

“This must be it. KNOR 1411. Your news leader. Claire, remember my Dad tuning in as soon as we left the house, like we were about to hit massive traffic on this little dirt road?”

“Oh yeah,” Claire said. She kept her eyes out the window. Her knees fidgeted. Her legs opened and closed. Luke noticed.

Of course the diner was closed.

“There’s a little store nearby on main but… not the best place to go in a mass infection event,” Paige said. She rapped on the window. “Fuck. I wonder if we can just get some ketchup. It’d make the flatcakes taste better. Not that they can be any worse.”

Claire had stayed in the car. It was their first moment to talk. “What happens when she starts running a fever?” Luke hissed.

“We shoot her,” Paige deadpanned. “With a gun.”

“No, for real.”

“I don’t know. We’ll toss her in the guest room, it has its own bathroom. Unless you really want to kick her out. Are you just starting another fight so we’ll have more makeup sex?”

“Yes!”

Paige considered that.

“It was pretty great,” she conceded.

“Oh, it’s you two,” it was the waitress. She’d cracked the door open. This time she was in jeans and a t-shirt. “We’re damn closed.”

Luke turned before she could close the door, angled his foot inside. “Can we get a grocery package?” he said, fast, timing the slamming door. “We’ve got cash. You can just leave it outside. I’m guessing you’ve got stuff that’s gonna go bad, you know?”

“Are we doing that kind of crap already?” the waitress groused. Luke sensed victory. He took out his wallet and waved crisp twenty dollar bills. “I’ll leave them under a rock, and you can lysol them. Plus we feel really great,” he said. That part wasn’t wrong. Paige visibly considering more makeup sex was a great vaccine.

* * *
They filled up the trunk, and Luke felt good about the situation for the first time since they’d left. Big slabs of industrial-sized bacon, a massive bag just marked ‘SUGAR’, potatoes loose and rolling around in the back of the trunk. Pasta in commercial packaging. Gallons upon gallons of milk. There was even cereal in there, and some of those tiny jam packets intended for a single slice of toast. Paige had helped fill the trunk. Claire hadn’t done squat, which made him feel more charitable towards his own fiancee. She’d hoisted in dozens of eggs, more than the intruder could say.

“We’re provisioned. I just have to shoot a buffalo for a little more meat. Actually, hey, are there fish in the lake?” Luke said, getting in the car.

“Nothing you’d eat,” Paige said. They’d left every bill they had under that rock. Even so it was a more than fair trade. “I guess you could catch a hundred minnows and fry them all together, but you’d mostly be eating eyeballs.”

Claire was still staring out the window. Luke glanced in the rear view. “Claire?” he prodded.

She gave them a brittle smile. “Heyyyyy, guys? I’m feeling a little….. Ahhhhhhhh….. Off.”

The good feelings burnt in a cinder. He took a closer look. Claire’s pert, heart-shaped face was flushed. Her eyes were very bright behind her glasses.

“NOT like BAD,” she amended. “No. Not bad at all. Not like achey or fatigue or anything like that but yeah I feel… really warm. Really really warm.”

“Symptoms?” Paige said. Her voice was cool and assessing, which surprised Luke. They’d never really been in a Situation before. Not even a flat tire.

Claire resumed looking out the window. Was she… blushing? “Warmth,” she reported. “Lots of warmth in the… thigh area.” Luke’s eyes wandered down to that region. Their new roommate was sitting on her hands. “Also the chest region. Of the body. Feeling quite hot.”

“Bad hot?” Paige said. They were already at the lake house. The diner was walkable, honestly.

“Noooooooooo,” Claire said. She shook her head. It was just a bit too emphatic, her eyes just a little far away. “Not bad. Uh. Ordinarily you’d call it kinda good. Kinda….” she looked forward and pursed her lips. “Fun.”

Luke and Paige did another exchange of couple-glances.

“Claire, are you… aroused?” Paige said. “Sexually?”

“I mean, YEAH,” Claire said, a bit too breathily. “Seriously, definitely yes. I didn’t want to bring it up because, I don’t know, maybe I was just… horned up. But I am PRETTY sure its not like, normal arousal.” She let out a long, hot breath. It practically steamed up the air. “Oh my god, it is not normal one little bit.”

“Lets get you inside,” Paige said. Luke drummed his fingers on the steering wheel. He’d ate this woman’s pancakes. They were all in a cluster of exchanged fluids. Apparently this particular flu liked erogenous zones.

Claire giggled. They both turned to look at her. She had a silly grin on her face. It only slowly slid off. “Sorry,” she said. “It’s just—who the heck heard of a disease that makes you want to fuck?”

* * *
Claire was the most intensely serious person that Paige knew.

She had grounded their friend group, the sensible one, the one that could make decisive judgments in the group chat about men or major life decisions or financial risks. She had always one to nurse the drink at the bar, to have a spare pad in her purse, to give a subtle shake of the head that meant: I have thought about this and don’t do it. They all trusted her. When Paige had broached moving in with Luke it had been Claire’s ‘ok’ over the imessage flow that had clinched it.

And now she was taking very deep, very hot, very wet breaths in the guest room, and seemed creepily blissed out.

“Really, no kidding, what are your symptoms?” Paige said. This entire “I want to fuck” thing had to be a joke of some kind. Shortness of breath was a symptom. Horny was not a symptom.

“You keep asking that, I think it’s pretty clear what the symptom is. If it’s a symptom,” Claire pointed vaguely down to her thighs. They were not just damp but soaked. The air had that subtle scent of biology.

“Maybe that’s… the body… trying to cool off,” Paige tried. It was intensely lame. Claire giggled. That was disconcerting. Claire was not a giggler, and she shut down giggling in others.

“Sex flu,” Claire offered, between giggles. “Oh god. Why am I laughing?”

“Do you really, actually, want to have sex right now?” Paige probed. Maybe this was all some funny misunderstanding with the virus. It had gone after Claire’s lungs and accidentally hit her boobs. “Like, really REALLY really?”

Claire closed her eyes. The beads of sweat hadn’t gone away. “Yeah,” she reported. “Oh yeah. Really badly. It’s like… you know this morning when you were fucking the shit out of Luke?”

Paige didn’t want to hear about Luke from her horny and virus-crazed friend. “Sure,” she said, crossing her arms. She’d spent the interview backed up against the door. No doubt her fiance was right on the other side, listening intently while purportedly putting away groceries.

“You know that moment when you’re just about to get a penis inside of you? Like it’s a really tender guy and he is leaving nothing to chance. He is kissing your neck, sucked your tits, got his knee between your legs rubbing up against your panties, he’s telling you how he wants to fuck you so bad. You’re both naked and he’s got this enormous dick but he is slowly starting to push towards you? And you know that in about five seconds you’re going to have this cock all the way up you?”

They stared at each other. “Okay,” Paige said.

“It’s exactly like that.”

Was this going to be her in the near future? Paige hadn’t forgotten how eagerly she’d banged Luke that morning, in the middle of an epidemic, with her good friend listening just down the hall. Yes, she occasionally howled out orgasms, but she had felt THAT morning’s particular orgasm in the tips of her hair. She bit into a nail, concerned, and then cursed herself for doing so. Why was she letting her hands anywhere near her mouth? They had to be swarming with fuck germs.

It was also concerning that Claire had arranged herself to be easily bred. There were a lot of ways to lie in bed. Completely prone with her head on a pillow would’ve worked fine. Claire had arranged herself with her legs perched at the foot of the bed, her head halfway in the middle, and her pussy peeking over the edge of the covers. She was perfectly situated for a guy to come in, stand there, and start to fuck her. Paige saw her hips moving, apparently to get that tiny bit of friction just from scraping her ass against the musty bedspread, which had faded, soil-brown bears embroidered on it.

Paige went and washed her hands. Was she herself starting to sweat? She checked the mirror: clear, blemish free. Was Claire sexier then she was? It was hard to compare herself with a girl writhing in need, blowing and gasping to be fucked. Claire definitely had bigger tits then Paige had known about—they had always been securely fastened in a sensible bra. And the tight shorts revealed a healthy ass.

Maybe she had to fuck Luke again, just to make sure he was safely drained.

“Paige?” Claire called out.

“Yeah?” she’d been washing her hands, thinking about Luke, for a long time. About propping her legs up on the side of the bed. It was the perfect height for long, savage strokes.

“Do you think it’d be bad if I, you know?”

“You know what?”

“Mmmmmmmasturbated,” Claire said. It was a very complex way to say the word, with a hint of fear but also a near purr. “Like do you think it’ll just make things worse?”

It wasn’t totally clear why Claire asked, as she already was. Her friend had stuck an entire hand down the front of her soaked shorts. At least Paige could attribute her own flushed cheeks to embarrassment. Here she was, back to the door, watching her good friend jill herself off. Claire’s eyes slammed shut. She was clearly already feeling it.

“I hope not,” Paige said.

“Oh my god I’m already close,” Claire said. “Its… different. Its different. Different,” she seemed stuck on the word. It was surprising she could even get it out, slurring it, with the vowels and consonants all jumbled together. Her tongue didn’t seem to be working. Her nipples, even with her on her back, stuck right out of her shirt. Paige watched her fingers dance. Claire bucked her hips against them.

“Ungh, ungh,” her eyes opened. Then she came. Even for Paige, no stranger to orgasms, it was unnervingly intense. There were sounds mixed in there that could’ve been sobs, and Claire herself was wide-eyed, her body shaking into the sheets.

Luke opened the door.

“Oh,” he said.

Claire was just starting to calm down, breathing once again. The only good news about the situation, from Paige’s perspective, was that she had never managed to get her own clothes off. So while the room was thick with pussy juice and Claire’s face was bright red, she wasn’t actually displaying her clit to Paige’s fiance. And her boobs were mostly contained, although one hand had snaked up there to pinch her nipples. Luke lost a lot of points by standing there, dumbfounded, his eyes right between Paige’s thighs.

“Oh shit it’s a boy,” Claire managed. To Paige’s horror, she smiled, eyes shining. “Hi Luke.”

That broke the spell. Paige pushed him out the door, slamming it shut behind her.

“YES she was masturbating and YES you don’t need to stand there watching her rub herself,” she snapped.

Luke was on the defensive. It didn’t help his case at all that he definitely had an erection. Paige glared at it.

“I heard screaming, I came in. Is she okay? What the hell is going on?” The sex fug was clearing. Claire was still moaning in the other room, although a slower, more controlled set of moans, like she was gently getting her tits fondled.

“Some sort of… weird flu. It… excites… the libido. I guess,” Paige said. “Acts on the… erogenous zones.”

“What?” Luke said. He rubbed at his face. “She got so horny she had to fuck herself? With you in the room? Jesus christ. And what was that smell? It was…” his eyes got far away. “It was really something.”

“You didn’t need to watch her finger herself,” Paige said. She forced herself to uncross her arms. Was she angry at him or at Claire? She needed to figure that out quick, because it was about to become a talking point.

“She sounded like you were whipping her, in a good way,” Luke said. “Are you MAD at me? Why were you just watching? You were like a yard away. She had fluids flying everywhere. Is that going to be YOU?”

It was a good, good, good question. “You better not just stand there if I’m the one doing that,” Paige warned.

Luke took a moment to try and parse that. “What?” he said.

* * *
She emerged at eight, and a great gust of sex-wind came with her.

They’d kept the living room free of it, that sugar cane and honey scent that was suddenly Claire’s signature. After one last shattering orgasm, shaking the attic beams with disconcerting screams, Claire had fallen deep asleep, her hands still soaked and caught in her waistband. She’d slept with her legs splayed open, and Paige had watched her arch her back and murmur pleased things in her dreams. She’d bumped her hips back and forth. It was pretty clear she was getting satisfyingly dicked down in her slumber.

Luke had made dinner, and they’d dared to think: this was it. Claire would wake up flu-free and they’d have an uncomfortable laugh at the naughty virus she’d caught. Paige hadn’t felt all that different, although she kept catching her eyes wandering down to Luke’s dick. It was suddenly important in a new way.

And then Claire emerged. Her shorts were askew, showing off half her thighs, and just barely covering her pussy. Her shirt was wet with sleep sweat and boldly outlined every inch of her tits. They looked at her. There was no question she was still deep into it—Claire licked her lips as they stared, and she had deep, half-hooded eyes.

“Paige?” she said, in a voice that hinted at iron self-control. “Can we talk for a sec? Maybe outside where it’s cooler?” Claire nonetheless kept her eyes tight on Luke, who was frozen over the kitchen island, reading an old Tom Clancy book they’d found in the game nook. Claire radiated heat even in the lazy summer soup.

It was barely cooler outside, especially with Claire nearby. She seemed to absorb every wisp of wind. There were real stars out that far in the country, and they were just starting to show, outlining the lake in twinkles. Not a single person was out. The lake was a mirror.

“Lets sit down,” Claire said. She very primly sat down and very carefully crossed her legs. Paige was close enough to smell her—it was still sweat and sweet juice. She looked burned up from the inside. Paige wondered if her intent was to spring up, lock Paige out behind the heavy sliding door, and fuck her near-husband senseless. “Paige, I’m in your wedding party, right?”

“Yes?” Paige said. It was a relief in a way to see the self-possessed Claire, the old one, even in this heat-wracked girl.

“And it’s gonna be a big wedding, right? Bridesmaid dress, gotta buy that, plus we’re planning a huge bachelorette for you. Three days in wine country. I put the deposit down last week. What I’m getting at is, I think I need a favor.”

“You’re not gonna fuck Luke,” Paige said. They stared into each other’s eyes.

Claire forced a laugh. “I was NOT going to ask to fuck your… sexy… rugged… fiance,” she shook her head, to try and clear it. “But I DO need some of his sperm.

Reality took another sharp dip. “Sperm,” Paige said. “You need Luke’s cum.”

“To drink. Like really soon,” Claire added.

Paige never doubted her sincerity. Claire looked like a girl who really needed something very badly. Evidently, that thing was cum. “Its a medical emergency,” Claire added.

“Lets get you to the doctor, then,” Paige said. She stood up just to pace around. The deck was still warm from the day. The weather was altogether too nice for this kind of pandemic. It should’ve been storming, the waves lapping the shore. “There’s probably a hospital somewhere.” And what would it look like, if Claire was the archetypal patient? A whole ward of moaning girls, rubbing each other with the stethoscopes?

“I don’t think they have cum IVs. Paige, PLEASE. I wouldn’t ask if I didn’t need, NEED it,” Claire said. She reached out to take Paige’s hand. Paige reluctantly held it. She was damp and hot. “Think of it as me asking for a glass of water,” Claire said. “Or ketchup. Because you squeeze it. In a cup is fine. ANYTHING is fine. I have tried, very very hard, not to ask for this, for hours.”

“Uh huh, sure,” Paige wiped her own sweaty forehead. What was it going to feel like, when she had it? “Does all of this… hurt?”

“Oh, no,” Claire said, her eyes suddenly glassy again. “It feels so good, Paige. You wouldn’t even believe it. It feels so fucking amazing.” She ran her fingers across her lips and pulled them open.. “Too good.”

“What if we just mixed salt water and toothpaste together and see if that did the trick?” Paige tried, but Claire didn’t bother responding. Paige stood up, and went inside, to milk her husband’s dick.

* * *
“Huh,” Luke said. “And you agreed to this.”

“If she says she needs it, she needs it,” Paige said. They’d left Claire out on the porch, and she appeared to be touching herself again. “I don’t doubt her. It’s all crazy but… it’s all sex related. I don’t know. I’ve heard that… sperm… release hormones in female bloodstreams. Or maybe it’s just her glands going crazy. I don’t know. If someone says they’re thirsty, I hand them a cup of water.”

“I’ve never been the water before,” Luke said. They were in the master bedroom, the only place left that was reasonably secure. Paige had washed her hands after holding Claire’s. It felt totally pointless. “Are you really okay with me doing this?” he said.

“I mean it’s not like you’re putting your dick in her mouth,” Paige said. It was the wrong thing to say. She let out a long, hot breath. There was no air conditioning in the cabin. “Lets just do this. Pants down.”

“I can just jack off in the bathroom,” Luke said. “It won’t take me very long. I spent, what, fifteen years practicing this?”

It was a reasonable suggestion, and yet… Paige rejected it. It felt wrong, clinical, awful. Her husband, almost, shouldn’t have to beat off under a bathroom light. If she wanted his cum it stood to reason she should milk it, lovingly stroke it, catch every silken drop in a glass. “If Claire wants your seed it has to come through me,” Paige said. “I’m the middleman. Middlegirl. Lets get you freshly squeezed.”

She didn’t comment on Luke’s already erect, dribbling dick. He had a stream of precum at the tip. There’d been far too much talk of masturbation, and too many hot moans, to complain about it, especially since she was about to jerk him off. Paige put her hand all the way around his cock, protective. This was HER penis. Which meant she needed to do an extra good job giving him a handjob.

And since it was a handjob, that meant talking him off. Stood to reason. It seemed like the most natural thing in the world.

“I liked fucking you this morning,” Paige said, in her best kitten voice. “It’s nice to just climb aboard and ride.”

She ignored her own growing heat. It was natural enough, easily explainable. She was jacking off her husband’s nice big dick. Her body was reacting in a normal way, producing wetness, making her body warm and hot.

“Any…” Luke rocked in her hands. He was very warm, even on this warm night. “Time. Babe.”

“Maybe tomorrow? Maybe we’ll wake up and you’ll fuck my pussy?” Paige sped up her strokes. “Maybe I’ll wake up all juicy for dick and—oh geez, oh fuck Luke warn me.” He was spurting in great white arcs. The first one shot across her face, narrowly missing her eyes. Luke, gasping, directed the second into the glass. There were many more. It was an impressive amount of jism. She pumped and pumped him. Her arm should’ve been tired. Her pussy clenched.

“You can stop,” Luke said, falling back on the bed. “Geez.” Her hands were cobwebbed with the stuff. It smelled like distant bleach. Paige felt flushed, hot. She rose, mechanically. Claire was out back, idly jilling herself while she watched the stars. She didn’t bother to take her hand out of her shorts at all.

“Eh? Oh, oh!” Claire’s hand clasped around the glass, and she raised it to her lips without any hesitation. She even stuck her pink tongue out to get at it a little faster. Paige watched as her fiance’s cum slowly jelled into her mouth. Claire dropped the glass once it was empty. It shattered on the porch.

“Oh my god,” she said, in a tiny girl voice, sinking deeper into the patio furniture. Paige wasn’t sure what she had expected—maybe some sort of thunderous orgasm. This was more like slipping into a deep, restful slumber.

“Claire? You okay?” she said.

“It’s so good,” Claire managed, at a near whisper. Her body shivered once, and then she stopped talking entirely. Her chest rose and fell in long strokes. Paige watched her for a few long minutes. Then she went inside, came back out with a dustpan, and cleaned up the glass.

It was only later, in the bathroom, that Paige realized she’d had a trail of jizz on her face the whole rest of the night. It was all across her chin, partially dried. She cautiously licked at it, watching her own reflection’s reaction. It didn’t taste all that good.

But it didn’t taste bad, either.

* * *
CHAPTER TWO:
“It was a dream,” Claire said, the moment she woke up, her eyes fixed on the underside of a rough-hewn ceiling. She relaxed into the sheets, their musty, turgid, but warm embrace. A dream, it had been a weird fuck fantasy. The fact she was in bed proved it—her dream had ended with her falling asleep out back, after really enjoying a cum milkshake. And now she was tucked into the covers.

As dreams went it was bold and transgressive. She’d wrecked her relationship with one of her best friends, had made a complete ass of herself, and hadn’t even gotten to have sex. It was all unsatisfying masturbation and begging for sperm. Some sort of latent sub interest? Claire was well aware of her hard-ass reputation among friends and co-workers. It was an office joke—if you need criticism, blunt and unsparing, without a smile, Claire was the perfect person for it.

Not a very funny office joke, now that she thought about it.

It was disconcerting that she was still dressed in the same teen cast-off outfit as in slumberland, the way too-tight t-shirt and the abused, ragged panties she’d stretched to hell. Some sort of dream resonance. The t-shirt was even tighter then she’d remembered, and her tits had snuck out of the bottom of it, firm and well-rounded underboob. Even unrolling and pulling the fabric down it wouldn’t lie flat, just barely making it over her tits.

Claire stared at her reflection, waiting for the sleep-fog to lift, and her ordered, calm mind to remind her what the real reason was she was at the Lake House. Probably some sort of wedding planning thing, a restful and calm weekend of mimosas and dipping into the lake. Girl time. Luke probably wasn’t even there. She cupped her boobs, admiring them. Something about them seemed unusual. Did her mere touch always send happy sparkles through her head?

Claire pulled her hands free fast.

Why had that felt so fucking amazing? And why was her head still writhing with images of her stroking herself, instead of giving up the location of her suitcase full of sensible sweaters and blouses?

She heard a sound like a mouse jumping on a bed. Claire turned, startled. She pursed her lips, ran her tongue over it. Unnoticed, so far, her ass wiggled behind her, panties straining to hold it in. She itched at it, but the sound was too intriguing to ignore. It sounded like a steam pipe leaking.

Claire paddled across the living room. The sound was in the master bedroom, and now it was definitely moans. But that couldn’t be right—Paige’s voice wasn’t that breathy, that high-pitched. She’d heard her friend fuck just yesterday. It had been a hot listen, too. Paige was ultimately a little shy on personality, outside of the most generic interests, and listening to her cum had been a new and interesting side of her.

She was definitely getting fucked once again. Just on the other side of the door. It wasn’t even closed, just cracked. Claire stood in front of it, blankly, listening to the noise of a good friend getting dicked down. Whatever was going on in there, it would probably end with a broken bed.

Eventually her brain started to work again, putting the sound of wet, hot, fucking to the side. This pretty much had to mean it had all been real. The masturbation, the intense need to drink Luke’s jism. It definitely explained why her thighs were suddenly starting to leak. Claire jammed her hands back down her panties and felt around. She was definitely very moist.

“Oh fuck,” she mouthed, eyes wide. It was all real. Some sort of viral intruder was inside of her, poking at her libido, making her do things like stand there and listen intently with wet thighs while her friend was noisily fucked.

Last night’s intense need flooded back into her: she’d come down from one of many orgasms to realize she desperately needed jism in her mouth. It waa a sudden and intense thirst, like she had hiked a trail in a blaring sun. She had needed to fight her own body not to sink onto her knees in front of Luke, ignore his fiancee’s indignant look, and suck the nectar right out of him.

It was still in her mouth, wasn’t it? It wasn’t like she had brushed her teeth before bed. She still had Luke cum on her tongue, sort of.

And that sounded… great. It wasn’t as all-encompassing a need as last night, but some sperm, in her mouth, sounded really nice. Claire made a noise deep, deep in her throat. What WAS this virus? Bad enough she was auto-stimulating like some mouse with a cocaine lever, but she needed to bathe in cum to boot? Her body was pretty sure it would feel just as satisfying shot deep within her, like god intended, and even lathered onto her tits would do in a pinch.

It just had to be cum. Dumb, dangerous, saline cum.

Her foot inched the door open, while Claire was sorting through many new feelings.

Inside, Paige was getting the best fuck of her life.

They hadn’t managed to get all the way naked. Paige’s sleep pants were still half on, just shoved down, and they hung baggy and loose around her knees. She wore her oversized sleep shirt, which just left her ass bare. Luke had bent her over the bed to fuck her, his own pajamas still mostly on, his cock out. Claire had a bad angle to see his penis. They were in half-view, but she could see Paige thrusting her ass back to the tune of Luke’s strokes. They were both going for deep, satisfying sex, each revolution ending with Luke absolutely buried up to the hilt deep in her snatch. Paige had done everything she could to make the angle easier, practically on tippy-toes in front of the bed. They were both drenched with sweat. Luke had both hands on his partner’s butt, just to steady himself. It smelled incredible in there.

Claire had to fight her legs. They were eager to walk in, kneel, and put her tongue out. Any bits and pieces of sex that got in her mouth would be fine. The couple had stopped actively fucking each other and were just locked together, humping. Luke was growling in a low baritone that was making Claire’s pussy absolutely gush. Trying to walk away made her fall backwards onto her ass.

“Get up,” Claire told herself. She was ill. This was viral. It was not normal to lose total control of your thighs because a half-married couple were boldly fucking each other a yard or two away.

It helped that she was, in fact, incredibly hungry, for actual food. And she had amends to make up for regarding yesterday’s not-pancakes, feeding everyone expired wheat. Luke would appreciate it if he came out of a tiring session of banging Paige senseless to a nice breakfast of bacon and eggs. Provided by the other available pussy.

“Stop it,” Claire thought, listening to the guttural sounds from one room away. It was clear that the twosome had been trying to be quiet before, since they were now moaning and growling nonstop, two mammals breeding each other. Claire finally let her finger inch in—on top of her underwear—while she gathered ingredients and pots and pans. If she timed it just right she could pretend it was Luke thrusting into her. And why not? Her body needed medicine, right? Maybe there was some antibody in his balls, and her body craved it.

Making breakfast while hungry and stupid with lust was a challenge. Claire cracked the eggs into the carton, threw away a stick of butter and set the wrapper to sizzle, and spilled orange juice with her shaky hands. It was no use trying to pry her fingerfuck hand away from between her legs. It didn’t want to go. The assembled plates were messy conglomerations of protein and carbohydrates, but they were done, at least. Setting off the smoke alarm twice hadn’t stopped Luke and Paige at all.

Claire risked another look inside. Her good friend was kneeling, in front of Luke, her mouth open wide, as he jacked right onto her tongue. “Here it comes,” he growled. Paige somehow opened even wider. Her tits looked so cushiony and soft.

It was too much for Claire. She felt something give, deep within her slit, and the next stroke from her cramping finger sent her over.

When she came to, on the floor, it was to Luke looking down at her with contempt.

“Hope you’re happy,” he said. He’d put on a pair of flimsy boxer shorts and nothing else. The boxers had big wet stains that Claire wanted to suck on. “Paige and I have it now.”

“Sorry!” Claire chirped, automatically. A man had reprimanded her, and she felt an instant need to soothe and deflect. Add that to the growing list of what had the virus done to her. Luke stood next to the tap and methodically drank glass after glass of water. Claire took a look into the bedroom. Paige was fast asleep, deposited onto the bed. It was worth checking—but no, she hadn’t missed a drop. The floor was clean.

When she looked back, Luke was already halfway done with his plate. He ate methodically. “How much did you watch?” he said.

“Uhhhhhhh… some?” why was she so tongue-tied? Words felt sluggish and slow. “Just the sex part.”

“We’ve been at it since—actually I have no idea.” Luke was already done with breakfast. He’d put an entire plate down in twenty seconds. “I’ve never been that horny. Never. You know I could smell Paige’s pussy? Earthy. Kinda… lemon. It was like crack for my dick. I was iron.” She watched his nose twitch, and wondered if he could smell her.

“You did wash your hands before you made eggs, right?” he said.

“Of course!” Claire lied.

She stood next to the sink and fidgeted with her hands. It was probably going to irritate Luke to watch him eat, but it was hard to think of doing anything else. He was still sweating, droplets pattering the 70s-era floral tile. Why couldn’t she move away, and do anything else? Even go to her own bedroom and, perhaps, find new underpants? These were going to have to be thrown away. They had seen too much.

Luke finished his plate and dragged hers over. He resumed eating. Claire opened her mouth, then didn’t say anything. She could cook more. The important thing was, he get lots of essential nutrients. She’d get them back eventually. Claire started up the burner again.

“It’s not just,” he thrusted with his fork a few times, a gesture that Claire really approved of. “The libido stuff. I’m a guy. I know what it feels like to really want to get your penis in something. I was 15. It’s like there’s this tunnel vision and all I can see and think of and smell is pussy. It’s crazy. Everyone in the world must be rutting right now. It’s a good thing Paige is on the pill. You’re on birth control, right?”

It was an intense question, and they both knew it. It opened the door to a lot more questions. “No,” Claire said. She was definitely not. The pill didn’t agree with her. She wasn’t in a relationship. Her pussy spasmed at the realization: she was in extreme, incredible danger of getting a baby put in her by someone else’s practically-husband. She turned away just to cope. Breeding. Luke hadn’t fucked Paige. He’d bred her.

What if he bred her?

He eyed her, thoughtful, before returning to her plate. If Luke came inside of her, grunting one of those wonderful grunts, spurting seed as his balls contracted, she’d absolutely no question get pregnant. It stood to reason the virus was messing around with breeding. It’d be easy to spread as person clung to person, fluids everywhere, mixing together into a sex-scented puddle on the floor.

“Claire, stare elsewhere,” Luke interrupted her. He pointed to the third plate. “You can have that. Paige is absolutely knocked out. I fucked her into a near-coma.” Did he say the last with a hint of male pride? Claire dove in anyway. They were both so hungry, needy. It was undignified, worse than all the sex, which itself was disturbingly mammal. Claire needed to eat so badly. When they were done they both leaned back, bodies briefly mollified. She was still hungry.

Luke’s dick was already bulging in his boxers. “Look at that,” he said, no longer shy about it. “God damn it, Claire. It should feel like it was threshed. I spent hours laying pipe in Paige, and I’m just…” he clenched both fists, slowly released them, then went and sat on the couch.

Your fiancee is asleep, Claire wanted to say. She tried to keep her eyes away from him. Maybe she could do dishes, and let Luke gently bend her over, relieve that aching burden inside her pussy. Maybe knock her up just a little.

He was staring at her. “Why do you keep twirling your hair?” he finally said, even while she flushed, her thighs spreading apart.

Something about the confusion, the uneasiness, got through to her. She’d never put her hands through her hair, teasing it like a cheerleader with a bad crush. Or cooked for a man without a thank you, or, for that matter, sitting around docile and half-mute while he was rude.

‘I’m… it’s…” Claire stammered. They stared at each other, mutually unsure of the situation. What the hell was even happening?

“Are your fucking TITS bigger?” Luke said. He raised a hand and steadied his dick, and Claire took that moment to flee to the guest bedroom. Later, when she got up the nerve to check, they were definitely getting pretty big.

* * *
His phone rattled and pinged and cried out. Luke had left it plugged in and turned all notifications to full blast, just in case. He had put it strategically by a window.

It was a very welcome interruption. There was absolutely no chance he was going to read a book in the middle of some weird sex epidemic. He’d turned the TV back on. There was something going on behind the constant snow, he was sure of it. It drew him in, some human-like figure, that struck some ancient recognition signal, deep in his head. But ultimately it was an ululating feed of trash with a static whisper.

The truth was, what he really wanted to do was tug on his dick.

Luke had had a standard male puberty, which meant he had definitely dealt with a nagging sense that he needed to cum. This was more of a firm, unyielding pressure, starting at the base of his balls and feeding upwards into the inside of his head. When Paige had woken him up, whining and needy, he had flipped her over immediately and slid right in. No questions asked, no thoughts present. Then he’d simply rammed his cock into her in a way that would’ve earned a scolding two days ago. It wasn’t even porno sex. He’d just needed as much friction as possible.

Still needed it. Craved it. Claire’s speculative, dumb stare had made him surge and boil. Paige was out of it. After dumping more cum in her than he’d thought possible she had basically collapsed. Say the word and Paige’s horny friend would get on her knees and suck. They both knew it. He could smell her.

That was maybe the most disturbing part of this, the scent thing. He could still smell her animal dripping, and it was sharply distinct from Paige. Paige was a floral, herbal. Anise and citrus. And… something off, a harsh note in the bouquet. Not bad, precisely, just… off. Claire was a cherry sugar, and there was nothing at all wrong with it. Each whiff made him harder.

He was debating masturbating into a glass and giving it to her—the ethics, the morals—when the phones set off.

By the time he got to the phone the fleeting signal had passed by. It had dumped a load of text messages in and moved on. The vast bulk were test messages from friends and family regarding the total lack of service. So it wasn’t just being out in the boonies. And then the virus had taken hold. The Guy Chat was a cacophony of “holy shit guys” and “god damn” and then a reading off of inches that was intriguing: 4, 5, 3, 6.

There was something off with the phone, a sort of fuzz to the screen. He moved his thumb over it, trying to pinpoint the oddity. A sort of resolution issue—he could just about spot it….

There was a set of messages from Mom that he deleted unread.

And then girls. Ex-girlfriends, coworkers, female friends. One was from Amanda, coworker, valued team member. She had sensible shoulder-length hair and wore light sweaters nearly year round. She’d previously sent an e-mail to the entire team denouncing the dress code change allowing tights at work. “We need to hold the khakis line!” she’d urged. She’d sent him a picture of a pussy. Presumably her own. It was newly shaven, and Luke’s dick told him he liked nice, bare slits. They made it easier to see the cum leaking out. He’d have to have a word with Paige about that.

Luke almost deleted Amanda’s pussy pic. He paused. There was no sense lying to himself. All the testosterone coursing through him was absolutely right. What was Paige gonna do if she found this, get mad at him? Good luck with that; dick was paramount and he controlled the supply. He texted back. “Why did you send this to me?”

His body told him that was the right response. The words on the screen whorled, momentarily indistinct.

She responded immediately, must’ve been waiting for it. “You’re a man.”

He stared at it, hot blood flooding through him. He was a man. She’d called it. He had a man response, also, to the four new pussy pics Amanda sent him, one after another, the camera getting closer and closer to her snatch. He stood there, cock pulsing. He was a man, true.

The signal went dead, exhausted from delivering snatch.

He looked at Claire’s shut bedroom door, speculative, when Paige emerged from the bedroom. She looked worn out. He traced the lines of her tits—they were prominent, real prominent, like she had stored all his cum in them. Her jeans looked tight on her.

“Oh no, it wasn’t a dream,” she said, staring at his body. “Oh, FUCK.”

“I told you to lock Claire out,” Luke said. But it wasn’t an important argument anymore. There were new concerns.

They stared directly into each other’s eyes. The relationship had changed over the past few hours. They’d used each other’s bodies too fully and intensely. Luke looked at his fiancee and thought: I made you cum so hard you brayed like an animal. I fucked you so deep you passed out. I filled you up with so much sperm it ran down your thighs, and I’m probably going to do it again soon. Add to that the fact he could smell her, sniff and know where she was, and the relationship was definitely undergoing changes.

“Oh, thank god, food,” Paige fell onto it. Claire had thoughtfully made a new plate before disappearing. Luke thoughtfully looked at his fiancee’s ass while she scarfed down thousands of calories, eating with both hands, barely using a fork. His dick wanted to breathe.

“Stop this,” he told himself, fiercely. He was acting petulant, horny, aggressive. They were ill. It was fucked up to consider bending Paige over, in the middle of breakfast, just so he could fuck her again. They were two adults who were in love, not rutting animals.

The TV snapped over into something new.

Still static, but purposeful, and color-filled. Cascading sprays of pink and purple across the snow. And not just a randomized slurry but a sense of a sworl. But even more interesting was the music. A chippy, pop-inflected beat, like the background to a pop song that was felt if not heard. It was charming and aimless. Luke checked the other channels—all the same, and all at the exact same rhythm.

Paige dropped her fork. “I’ve never eaten that much in my entire life. Oooof. Its been a big morning for all my body holes.”

Luke snorted. “Almost all.”

“Oh god, don’t joke. What is happening to us? Did you see all the text messages? A bunch came through.”

“Uh huh.”

Paige looked out the window. “I guess nowhere was safe.”

Luke shrugged. Suddenly, having Claire around wasn’t so intolerable. Maybe even… agreeable. He took another look at Paige.

“Is your… hair… different?” he said.

Claire re-emerged just then, passably normalized. She had combed out her hair, had re-dressed in her clothes from arrival, as sweat-damp and itchy as they seemed to be. Luke stared at her. She was clearly trying to communicate normalcy, being a very normal person and not a horny girl. But it wasn’t working at all—she walked with careful slowness, keeping her legs apart, her face schooled into a mask of calm. Claire had put her hands at her side. She smelled like soap, by and large. Luke sniffed. And that same wet tinge, hot and sweet.

The truth was, he liked it better than Paige. Paige smelled like a musty Hallmark store. Claire smelled like candy. He tried to will down his erection.

“House meeting?” Claire suggested, a little too spritely. She sat cross-legged on the rug. The music played quietly around them. Paige ambled over to the same rug and nearly fell into it. She still looked fuzzy, out of it. She kept tousling her hair. It was all curly. Maybe all that pounding, Luke had to think.

“I thought we’d come up with some rules while we get over our illness,” Claire said. She had a pencil and paper with her, some Lisa Frank pad she’d probably found deep in a drawer. “Civilizational rules, you know?”

“I’ll do it,” Luke said, surprising himself. But there was something faintly ridiculous to him about an infected person, wet between the legs, trying to come up with rules. It hadn’t escaped his notice that the girls were spread out beneath him, while he had his legs spread wide open. It felt good. Claire hesitated and then gave up the pen and paper.

“Claire, you’re house cook. Paige, you’re on dishes. Laundry… Claire. Paige… sweeping. Alright?”

“What about you?” Paige said.

“Security,” Luke said, promptly. It was spur of the moment, but it did appeal to him. He had two women in his care and protection. Who knew how the virus was affecting everyone? “Also information technology and outdoor chores. I’ll check the shed for a hammer. Good? Good. Now. Lets talk about you know what. Protein needs.”

The girls got very quiet and still.

“Claire, I know you have needs,” Luke said. He watched Paige tense upt. “Obviously I’m taken. Can you handle yourself? Be as loud as you need to be. If you need to touch yourself around us, that’s fine. Fair? I want to be as cool about this as we can.”

Claire gave a stiff thumbs up? “I don’t know if I have a choice… to be honest… but thanks. But I am really going to try not to be a burden.”

“If you need any male protein…” Luke scribbled aimlessly on the pad, drawing a very big and very erect penis. “...and it seems like you do… Paige will blow me for it, and then spit it into a glass for you. Fair?”

The two women looked at each other. Paige hated blowjobs, always had. It was surprisingly fun to watch the gears turn in her head. He’d informed Claire his body was off limits, which Paige liked. And told her she was going to blow him in no uncertain terms, in front of her best friend. Paige pursed her lips. It was taking her a pretty long time to think, to be honest.

“Great, fair,” his fiancee said. She nodded her head. “Makes sense to me.”

“Claire, are you craving right now?” he tossed the pad behind him and mildly spread his legs. It was too far. Both girls blanched at it. He covered with a cough and an awkward laugh, snapped his thighs shut once more. “Just… checking.”

For a moment the pre-virus Claire asserted herself. “I was going to see if lake water hit the same spot. It’s basically salt and water. And probably fish cum in it. Paige? Care to join me?” But her eyes darted to his dick, immediately anxious she’d gone too far.

Paige jumped on the idea. “Oh. Oh, sure! Yeah, lets go swimming! Great!”

* * *
She had a blowjob scheduled for her near future, and Paige found herself… looking forward to it.

They’d allowed themselves to pretend that everything was normal. Lake water was perfect for it. Immersed in cool, calm water Paige could just about close her eyes and think: the virus is passing through me. My white blood cells are waging an assault on Fort Libido. I will emerge with a normal temperature. It was easy to not feel disturbingly wet when she was just straight out water-logged.

Of course it was all a big fat lie, starting with how both of them kept turning towards the male snoozing on the porch deck. Luke had stripped to shorts, slathered on sunscreen, and apparently fallen asleep. Nonetheless his cock was practically visible from the shoreline, big between his legs.

She’d definitely felt a jolt of nervous panic at Luke’s breezy pronouncement that she was on blowie duty. Classic man behavior, finagling an epidemic into more hummers. And yet her body had taken register of the idea and responded: sure. Great. There was something very appealing, now, about getting a dick into her mouth. Not just the part at the end, although she was very much looking forward to that. His cock sliding in and out, his hands on her hair, his scent claiming her. She’d spent a lot of time in the water considering it.

Frankly it sounded really good.

“Are your tits bigger?” Claire said. They’d both found swimsuits from past occupants of the Lake House, probably belonging to Moms or Aunts. They had unnecessary frills and high waists, and looked awful. Plus her boobs didn’t fit at all. “Mine are way bigger.”

“Yeah,” Paige admitted. Not just swollen but oh so tender. “They still feel warm, even in the water, you know? Like you can feel all the activity going on in them. Their little boob engines are revved up.”

She glanced at Claire. She’d left her glasses on even in the water. Paige couldn’t recall seeing Claire’s actual body before. She was always behind buttons and hoodies and zippers. It had been a shock, not a very pleasant one, to see a very female body emerge from underneath. She’d always suspected Claire had big boobs. But not this big.

Her own chest was just as heavy. With everything else going on it was low on the list of concerns—but, they were bigger. Thicker and rounder at the same time.

“Boob engines, huh,” Claire said. “I’m thinking of taking my top off. They are digging in to the straps. God. Do you think they’ll go back to normal, afterwards?”

“Maybe?”

“They feel permanent. Like, I think if it was just water, I could tell. These feel like TITS. And my nipples are bigger. That’s not bloating. That’s bigger nipples.”

“So take off the top,” Paige said. She didn’t want to be the first. The truth was, her own boobs were digging in as well. But no one wanted to be the first to go topless in public. And besides, Luke wasn’t around to admire.

“Alright. At least I’m floating better. Here goes,” Claire loosed it. The cups floated free in the murky water. The upper slopes of her tits bobbled, her nipples just visible underneath the surface. They both giggled. Paige freed her own bust. It was enormously freeing. Her body liked it. It was getting hard to say no to her body.

“Maybe we’re just like, doing puberty stuff again,” Paige said. They floated idly, back and forth, minnows checking them out, suspicious. “Like, whatever this is, our bodies are just thinking oh shit its puberty time again, lets get revved up. That’s no big deal, right?”

“I didn’t spend my teens aching to get a pint of spunk down my throat, I don’t know about you,” Claire said. She floated on her back, serene, her nipples pointing straight up. “You haven’t even felt it like I did. You got plugged all morning, got it into your body the right way. I’m going to be flossing with jizz until I can meet a boyfriend. I bet everyone is paired up by the time we get back to the City.”

“Aw, maybe they’ll sell jizz at the store. Or make a soda version! I’d drink that!” It was meant as a joke, but her body prickled at the idea. Jizz. She did like jizz. Was this what the need for cum felt like? Her eyes sought out Luke, concerned. Just the sight of him was reassuring. Her supply. SHe should make sure he stayed properly hydrated. “Do you think Luke is changing too?”

“He ordered you to suck his dick,” Claire said. “Does he always do that?”

Paige flushed. “I mean… yeah…. he did do that...” she trailed off. This is when she should’ve had a leisurely girlfriendy conversation about men being men. On the other hand, it was going to be difficult to conceal that she kinda did want his cock in her mouth. A lot.

They both were looking at him now. “Maybe you should wake him up,” Claire suggested.

“No. We’re modern, independent women,” Paige said. “And he’s taking a nice snooze. Lets just hang out in the water.”

They paddled, restless.

“My hair is different too,” Claire said. There was a catch in her voice. An edge.

“You feeling it?” Paige whispered.

“Yeah,” Claire said, eventually. She sank below the water and then back up.

She was feeling it. A pressure in her head, an itchiness in her throat. Her body was reminding her: go get some cum. Go get that taken care of. It loomed larger and larger in her head.

“Me too. Oh shit! Someone is coming!”

They half-submerged, scared at the very sight of a new person. It wasn’t all that reassuring to realize it was a woman, older, in dark sweats and with a pair of cloth masks in different pastel colors over her face. She had a hood up—all that was visible was eyes with a cracked, weatherbeaten section of forehead and face. She emerged from the woods to the west at a brisk trot, not quite a run.

“Oh, fuck!” she said, catching sight of them, and took several steps back. “You’re infected, aren’t you. God, yes you are. You are! Look at those tits!”

Both Claire and Paige looked down. Were they really so much bigger? The truth was, they looked great, shiny with lake water and soaking in the sun. But not enormous, right? “Sor-ry,” Claire said, annoyed. “Not our fault that swimsuits hurt.”

“You’ve probably been soaking in semen, too. Letting every urge take you, sucking on cocks with wild and free abandon. Disgusting.” Paige and Claire shared a look. Jogging interloper was sweating a bit too much for a mild walk through the shade.

“You okay, lady?” Paige said. “It’s not really THAT big of a deal. It’s just, you know, you’re horny. And there’s the cum thing. But we’re not swimming around, we’re not giving our boyfriend a tongue bath.” Shit, had she really said ‘our’ boyfriend? That couldn’t be a thing. Claire sank into the water thoughtfully.

“He probably has a baseball bat of a dick, now,” the jogger said, looking around fearfully, just in case a really big penis was about to attack her. “And that’s before the other changes. Why did you even have to come here? You can’t be too far gone, your hair looks normal. Normal...ish. Did he already breedy you?”

Paige was stuck on the woman’s calm assurance that Luke was about to get a much bigger dick. “What are you talking about?” she said, taking a step forwards. The minnows leapt to avoid her. Her boobs broke free of the surface of the water. The jogger took a big leap back.

“No! No, stay back!” she said, her voice suddenly softer, weaker. “It’s not going to get me. Enjoy sucking dicks and drinking jizz until your brains drizzle out of your nose, ladies.”

Luke was sitting up in the chair, confused and sleepy. The jogger audibly gasped at the sight of him, chest catching every ray of the sun. She took one, two steps, and then broke off, running too fast to be really jogging, off along the shoreline. The truth was, she had a really nice bubble-butt.

“We gotta fight this,” Claire said.

“We will,” Paige promised.

* * *
“Claire, you gotta say uno,” Luke growled. “It’s literally the name of the game. You get down to one card, you say uno.”

Claire was flustered on a number of different levels. First, and foremost, it was deeply embarrassing that she was getting wrecked at stupid uno. Four times now she’d gotten called out by Luke for forgetting to call uno, playing the wrong colors, and other simple errors in a game intended for ages six and up. She’d checked the age range on the box. It was small comfort that Paige was making the same basic flubs, including once putting her cards facing backwards.

It was getting really worrying. The “brains out of noses” comment had jolted Claire into action. The truth was, she was feeling kinda… ditzy. In a way that wasn’t totally explainable by distraction.

So she’d tried to play chess with Paige. They’d played chess any number of times in the Lake House, growing up. Not out of any particular love of chess, but sometimes there was nothing else to do, and Claire, in particular, liked the game. She almost always beat Paige. She’d found the old set, ignoring her growing thirst, and sat down with it next to Paige.

Who had beaten her.

It was painful, watching the King fall over. Even worse, they were both giggling wrecks, umming and uhhing through the most basic stuff. Claire had exposed her queen like a complete dimwit, and then watched as Paige didn’t notice at all. Maybe it was just because Luke was nearby, reading a book, his legs uncrossed.

Maybe.

Then they’d played a completely disastrous game of Clue. Claire had absolutely aced her LSATs, and so it was extra dismaying to be absolutely at sea with marking off murder weapons and rooms. She was GOOD at Clue, she was sure of it. And yet she’d spent most of the game mad that Paige had gotten to be Miss Scarlet, easily the sexiest possible piece. She’d been assigned Mrs. White. The maid. That she was a blonde was small comfort. And for the life of her Claire couldn’t remember what a conservatory was. She should know that.

“Just draw four me,” she said, defeated. It was just as flustering to have Luke downright annoyed with them. He was playing shirtless, in khaki shorts, eyes narrowed at his own cards. He’d won seven times in a row, and was getting unhappy with the confused competition. “I suck. Maybe the virus saps the ability to play boring afternoon party games. I bet if we had Cards Against Humanity I’d find a way to die.”

It was rattling as well to realize she could smell Luke’s irritation.

All three of them were spending a lot of isolation game night getting used to scenting each other. Luke was a blaring red male musk, and there was no getting used to it. Like pine and spice, more exotic than she would’ve expected from what was ultimately a standard guy. Claire had tried breathing through her mouth, just to get a break from feeling Luke pulsing through her blood. It didn’t seem to make a difference. Every breath was another drink. And it was responsive—anger was like a spray of cinnamon heat. His arousal, on the other hand, was a constant note, like paint in a new house, and was a musky human animal.

It was worse to realize that Luke could certainly smell her. Claire had been working up the courage to ask about it. She didn’t doubt they were all spraying pheromones at each other in a haze. And it wasn’t like that was the only way for Luke to know she was, despite her best efforts, aching for his dick. Her nipples kept growing into the bikini top, which was starting to show a lot of underboob. That at least was some comfort: who would play cards at peak performance when they were sprouting tits? Claire had put on shorts over her bikini bottom, and was afraid to look down. Obviously she was leaking. It was all mortifying.

“Uno. And my last card is a wild. Another victory for men,” Luke said. He tossed his cards down.

Claire’s phone buzzed. They were getting more messages now, although the internet still timed out, tantalizingly close to actually bringing up webpages. She’d left it in her lap, not a coincidence.

“Huh,” she said. “Anyone want to see my sister’s pussy?”

“Why’d she send it to you?” Paige said.

“Looks like she sent it to everyone. I mean, I assume its hers.” A lot of people Claire didn’t know were giving thumbs up responses. It was a very close close up, possibly to show off that it was newly shaven down. Two fingers were up in it. Probably her sister’s fingers. She sighed, resigned to it.

“I want to see,” Luke said. He didn’t even bother looking at Paige for approval. His fiancee knit her eyebrows, unhappy. Claire passed it over. It really was a beautiful pussy, pink and inviting, peach-like. Luke studied it, and both girls checked to see if his dick twitched. No doubt his growing irritation had something to do with his obvious, iron erection. He’d been adjusting it all evening, and it looked uncomfortable, behind his shorts. “Huh. Shaven.”

The girls shared a brief look: there wouldn’t be a hair on their cunts past nightfall.

It was hard, trying not to plan adultery. Claire and Paige had been friends for years and years. She’d made firm plans to stand in their wedding party, smiling gently and wearing a bad dress. Her doubts about Luke had been shared on the group chat. He had seemed to her flabby and indistinct, as men went. Prone to withdrawn, self-absorbed statements. Claire had aired this to all, sure in the knowledge that the sanctity of girl’s group chat was inviolate. Even now she had no real fondness for Luke. It was simply that she was overpowered by the fact that he was male. He had a penis, it was full of jizz, and his annoyed masculinity was like a gentle tongue on her clit. She wanted a male.

Claire had the distinct sense it wasn’t really her decision, this whole “don’t give in” decision.. What was she going to do, say no? It was increasingly unthinkable. Not just the old sense of the word—Claire was finding it actually difficult to imagine. She teased at her hair, nervous. Was it longer, or was that just her?

“Claire, it’s your turn,” Luke said, breathing out through his nose, hard. He handed the picture of her sister’s slit back.

“Uno!” she said, frozen. She’d been deep in another fantasy about Luke’s cock. It was hard not to feel like crying. Why THIS? Why not just a simple upper respiratory illness? Any amount of phlegm was better than the realization that her snatch was leaking onto the floor.

They stewed there, breathing in each other. “Don’t give in,” Claire told herself. Don’t ask for his cum. Ignore the blood pounding in her ears, the scratchiness in her throat.

“Luke, can we... “ Paige motioned towards the bedroom. When Luke gave her a blank look she grimaced, and then briefly pantomimed sucking his dick. Claire was enormously relieved. Yes, Paige had given in. But it wasn’t her.

They could tell that Luke was relieved too. He smelled better. But he feigned reluctance, pretending that a bald request to blow him was rude in front of the guest. “Really? Alright. I’ve got this next Uno hand beat too. Maybe you’ll do better once you get a vanilla smoothie in you. Come on. Bring a glass. Claire, I’m assuming you want some of this?”

“Need,” Claire said, clawing some dignity back. “Call it a serum, when it’s me. Medicine or… drugs.” Boy, it sure felt like a drug. All three of them were happy again, now they were going to spill cum. The need had been growing all day long, very steadily. Claire wasn’t sure what would happen if she didn’t get some protein in her or on her. She didn’t want to find out.

They went into the bedroom, and Luke, once again, didn’t quite close the door.

“I think its bigger,” Claire heard Paige say. “Umm.. Luke honey… your dick is bigger.”

“Just go,” Luke said. Claire inched the door open with a finger. Luke had to be able to see the door move. He didn’t say anything.

They were doing the blowjob differently. In Claire’s admittedly-limited blowjob experience there were usually two options. The first was the guy sitting on the couch, the second was the guy lying down. Luke was still standing, his legs spread wide, his shorts around one of his ankles. His dick was bobbing in the middle of the room. Paige’s comment was totally unnecessary—of course it was bigger. Claire felt a wet patter on her tits and looked down. She’d downright drooled all over them.

Paige was sucking him differently, too. She’d wrapped her lips all the way around his dick, and was letting him know, with tiny noises of encouragement, that it was totally fine to go deeper. She was crouched, umpire-style, one arm on the other side of Luke to steady him.

“Alright, hold on,” was all he told her, and then he started to fuck her face.

Claire’s eyebrows shot up. Clearly things were getting a little porn-y but this was totally unnecessary. He was using her. The other shock was that Paige didn’t really seem to mind, although she was wobbling on her legs. From what little noises she was able to make, around his dick, it seemed like she was enjoying the hell out of it. Claire could barely remember drinking down that first salty squirt—she had a vague recollection of bright lights and music, and a strong desire to do it again. Paige was definitely enjoying it.

As intense as it was, Luke wasn’t going to last long. Especially with a day’s worth of cum stored up. “Get the glass ready,” he said. “Paige. Hurry up and get the glass ready. Paige!”

Paige didn’t give a single fuck about the glass. Her good friend put both hands on her man’s ass and drove her mouth hard. She had to have dick in her throat, and if it wasn’t an incredible and heart-rending betrayal Claire would’ve been impressed.

“God DAMN it AHH,” Luke said. The blood drained out of Claire. There it all went, into Paige. From the way his balls hung between his legs it was like a quart. Her body needed it for some reason, possibly to get even bigger and even more cum-thirsty, but whatever. Luke grunted and growled, then put his hand on Paige’s hair and shoved her back and forth, emptying out.

When he was done he let her go. Paige sank backwards, then further back, giggling stupidly. She hadn’t spilled a drop. “Paige, damn it, what the fuck was that?” Luke said. “How the hell are we—oh, god damn it.”

It was feigned, Claire was sure of it. He had to have known she was there. Up until the last betrayal her hand had rubbed between her legs. “Claire, come in. You can see what our little jizzhound did.”

She came in on her knees, uncertain. But the scent was intoxicating and the image of Luke standing there, cock wet, half-erect, was all she could really see. And besides, Paige was out of it, sperm-drunk and addled.

They locked eyes. It was no effort at all to look needy and bereft. She really did need it, physically need it. “Sorry,” Claire choked out. The whole thing was ludicrous, after all. No one needed jizz, not really. Men spent years talking girls into swallowing on their birthday. It was a delivery device for sperm. Salt and DNA. Claire tried to convince herself of all that. Another part of her, more practically, opened her mouth very wide.

Luke shivered, and his dick twitched. “Paige, I have to do something for Claire,” he said, too loudly. Paige was completely somewhere else, and said “okay!” in a soft, girlish voice.

“Not sure how much I have left,” he muttered, but his scent again betrayed him. He wanted to do this, wanted to jizz in the mouth of someone new. Had just enough left in him to make a fantasy happen. Claire got on her haunches just like Paige and went still. He grunted, cocked his dick like a shotgun, and shot. His dickhead was just inches away.

It was in her, thank god. This time she actually tasted it. It was concentrated Luke-scent, almost spiced, and wonderful. Her body wanted to shut down immediately. Claire fought it, fought through a wave of warm heat. She couldn’t collapse in their bedroom.

“Thanks for the medicine,” she managed, with a pert smile. DId she wink or just imagine it? Claire dragged herself to the guest bedroom, waggling her ass as she went. She had graduated from three academic programs, she had run a half-marathon twice, she had an extensive quilting collection, she had beat all her older brothers in chess, and the greatest moment of her life was sinking onto the bedspread with a nice load of cum in her tummy.

* * *
CHAPTER THREE
He was awake at 5, wide-awake, and eventually decided: fuck it. Time to go running. It seemed like a productive thing to do, and perhaps it would burn off the persistent, irritable edge on everything. It was impossible to say if it was virus or circumstance, this surge of persistent aggression, like he was held back by a cage of small threads. Frustration at being locked up and out of touch? Virus-generated male belligerence?

He pissed from a dick that was longer and heavier, even darker colored, the skin on it a tanned reddish-brown. Horse cock. He woke it up with a thought and watched the blood pump in. It was much bigger. “Damn,” he swore. What the hell was happening to them? To the world? Was there an entire globe out there getting gigantic dicks? Was global sperm supply a thing? His head warned off too much thinking about it, or anything. No wonder, all his blood was now in his penis. Luke put on shorts, painfully, took his running shoes out of the back of the car, and set off around the lake.

He’d nut in another woman’s mouth last night.

The problem was, it’d be so easy to excuse. Emergency situation. Paige had been a naughty little brat, hovering up the cum, leaving nothing for her supposed friend. Claire had walked in so needy and sad, and hell, Paige had given explicit verbal approval for her fiancee to shake out sperm droplets into her open mouth. Downright understandable, cumming into her open mouth.

So understandable, he wanted to do it again. She had opened her eyes so wide when he’d summoned one more spurt, the creamiest batch of the night. Paige had taken it. Claire had needed it.

This wasn’t working. Luke stopped running. The slightest breeze of sex and his dick shot up. He was going to have to tape it to his leg. Was this all really going to go back to normal? Some virus having fun, leaving them mildly swollen and sex-intent for seven to ten days? A wild, fun orgy for all of humanity? There’d be a bumper crop of babies in nine months, good god.

No, best not to think of that, either. Claire hadn’t told him if she was on birth control. She could be fertile. Maybe that’s what he scented, wanted… Nice creamy loads in her snatch would get the job done..

“Fuck!” Luke said, to the rising sun. It didn’t help that his balls were certainly bigger as well. He could feel them jostle around as he tried to run. Was all this stupid shit really permanent? He didn’t need a bigger cock, as good as it felt, as much as it made him feel like a man. He had a fiancee. He was going to marry this woman. Claire could get by on dixie cups.

He paused—wait, had he fucked Paige again, in the middle of the night? The memories slowly slipped in. He’d woken up past midnight, sweat-soaked, and decided to rummage around in Paige’s body. She was wet and hot in the stifling, muggy room, had backed her ass into him as he’d put his fingers in her. They’d wriggled against each other, wondering: what were they becoming? And then he’d picked her up and stuck her on his dick. She’d purred as she’d slipped on. Neither had spoken. After she’d cum, and he’d cum into her a lot, it was back to sleep. He hadn’t even really remembered, until now. Was his brain not even bothering to make all that into memories? Was fucking Paige going to be like going to the bathroom?

He could just picture Claire waiting patiently for his dixie cup…

Luke plunged himself into the lake. It soaked through his running shoes, but it was calming, cooling. Cold, actually. And a gross green in the early morning. He walked out and got ready to squish his way back.

There was a flash of some titties out of the corner of his eye.

It was one of the other vacation homes. They were almost all dark and quiet, closed up, but this one had the shades open. Luke craned his head. Someone was watching graphic pornography on a very large television. Even far away, he could see some bottle blonde with good tits doing that porn-only move where they looked back in mock-surprise at the dick sliding in and out.

He crept up, enticed, leaving footprints on the deck. Approaching quietly, he could see an older woman, her tits pooched out to both sides, her legs splayed high up in the air, like she was trying to touch the ceiling fan. He couldn’t see what she was doing to herself, but both hands were working hard.

His dick, soothed by the water, rocketed back up. Luke took two steps back, and bolted for the house.

* * *
No one had made him breakfast.

It was just six-thirty, true, but both girls were up, which meant they had the opportunity to make him breakfast. Claire was in the living room staring at a book, and doing her very best to not overly react when he strode by, dripping wet. The book started to shake. Luke ignored her: if she wanted cum, making him bacon would’ve been a good start. Paige was still in the master bathroom. He opened the commercial-grade cheerio box and filled the bowl up to the very top. Cheerios cascaded as he poured the milk in.

“Are you blonde now?” he said, roughly, at Claire.

“Ummm. Yeah, I guess,” she said. Her glasses were looking more and more out of place on the rest of her. She was a dark blonde, her curls sweeping her shoulders.

Luke ate five bowls, and then went and methodically ate bread, and then ate an entire jar of peanut butter. The irritation mounted and grew—they knew he was making his own breakfast. Obviously he was starving from the caloric needs of adding dick. Ultimately they needed his protein, was it so much to ask that they get it into him? Even his bites were angry. The only good thing was that the frustration kept his dick from surging up again.

“Your tits are huge now too,” he told Claire. She nodded, meekly.

It was challenging to even try and tell himself he was being unfair, virus-warped. He hadn’t made breakfast for anyone. But there it was: he was doing all the hard work of fucking and cumming while the girls lazed around giggling and high on his spunk, they could pitch in in the damn kitchen. Maybe wearing pink aprons and letting him fuck them while doing the god damn dishes.

“Hey babe,” Paige said. She grinned at him, kissed him on his still wet hair. Her tits pressed against his back. She’d put on a white and green striped shirt, no bra, and a pair of shorts that were painted on her. “How was your jog? You need more cardio? Did we fuck last night?”

She must’ve smelled his anger. “Everything okay?” Claire, who must’ve been scenting it the entire time, had put the book down and was studiously avoiding his glare.

He had to choke this irritation down. “When it’s… breakfast…. Would you mind… cooking?” There. Civil. Paige looked struck. Whatever thoughts were coursing through her had better work fast. He had no patience for anything about gender roles, for setting up a chore rota. It was extremely important to him, now, that his soon-wife feed her soon-husband.

“Oh! Oh sure! I can—did you eat all of this?” She pointed to the peanut butter.

“I need the protein,” Luke said. Her regret and apologies were a cool balm. Order was restored. She’d never forget, of course not. Of course he was hungry, growing that nice big dick. It was enormously gratifying to see her suddenly bustle around, appalled.

“What were you up to?” Luke said, genuinely curious. He’d been seething on it for some time.

Paige relaxed. “Getting all smooth,” she whispered, in his ear. “I found an old razor.”

“Lets see,” Luke said. Paige smiled even more broadly. This had probably been her plan all along. She ambled backwards. “Come into the bedroom,” she teased.

“I’m still eating. Lets see.”

Paige glanced over at Claire, who had a view to all of this. Their look was unreadable. Neither had said no to him, so far. Once again her hesitation was just a few ticks on the clock. Paige dropped her shorts. She wasn’t wearing any panties. She was as smooth and pert as promised.

Her scent surrounded him—that crisp, citrus scent, that same… off note. Luke reached over and rubbed his finger on his fiancee’s pussy. It was all pink and wet. The lesson to Claire was: this is my special pussy. I want this. He stuck his finger into his mouth, sucked on it. Like lemon sugar. He wanted this. And, he had to remember, only this.

* * *
Paige was well aware of her own reputation in the girl group chat. They’d shared far too many confidences, far too many cutting jokes, to not put her on notice. She was the normal one, a human yardstick. Ordinary, standard, not the funny one [that was Candice], not the smart one [Claire], not the fun, daring one [Mary, Sarah]. For a long time Paige had assumed she was the pretty one [shy but sexy Hannah]. The sour reality of it hit hard after college especially, when they all went off for advanced degrees or trips in Europe and she… started an office job of total mundanity, at exactly $45,000 a year.

When she’d gotten together with Luke the group chat had chattered around it, never quite saying it: was this love, or did she have nothing better to do? Was this just part of her greased ride towards 2 kids, a love-hate relationship with the Weightwatchers app? Any truth to the rumors that she was racing to be the first to the wedding, momentarily triumphant in bridal white?

And now her fiancee was giving long looks at the smart one, who was also rapidly becoming the pretty one, and was definitely a horny one. It was time they talked, after Paige cooled down from getting her pussy fondled in the kitchen. Her heart slammed in her chest. It had been intensely humiliating and also so fucking hot.

She’d woken up grinning and kinda blonde and kinda titties.

“Hey, lets see if there’s anything interesting in the junk room,” she said to Claire. Luke was tinkering with his laptop, trying to get an internet signal.

The junk room housed four generations of lake crap, and smelled like lake, to boot. She’d come in briefly to take some of the board game supply—it was magnificent, and consumed an entire large cabinet with moldy cardboard. There were still swimsuits hung up to dry on the spare table in 2003 waiting for their owners. Deflated floaties on the wood. Claire had poured herself into a pair of khaki shorts much like her own. The way things were going, they were going to bust the buttons by noon.

Claire had, of course, beautiful hair. It was riotous, red and blonde and rainbow-pretty. Magnetic, full of personality. She herself was, of course, a dumb ash, all curled up. Both of their mouths hung open. The good news was, Claire was looking kinda dim. The bad news was, it was just making her more fuckable.

“No fucking Luke,” Paige said, once the door was closed.

“I’m not,” Claire said. Her face was going soft, which was especially unnerving. Claire had always been lines and angles, and she was covering all of that with feminine softness. Paige had struggled to locate her own cheekbones in the mirror. “Seriously, Paige, I’m definitely not.”

“No, I don’t want you to say, you’re not. I want you to say no to HIM. I don’t want you waiting around him with your pussy in the air wafting pheromones everywhere and then when he strides over you’re like, oh dear, I guess I can’t say no to this big strong man. I want you to say NO to my FIANCEE.”

Claire’s hand flickered over to Paige’s hand. Her fucking fingers were getting thicker, along with the rest of her. Her engagement ring was too tight. It was a low blow to even look at.

“I didn’t invite you here, I took you in when Luke wanted to let you starve in the shed, and I don’t want you to reward me by FUCKING LUKE,” Paige hissed. It was challenging to keep up arguments like this. Her body didn’t feel chemically geared for nasty catfights. She had all sorts of hormones in her blood, and they were presumably supposed to make her horny and happy. Both of their tits shook when they argued, or talked, or moved around much at all.

“I didn’t say anything when you stole jizz I need to not die,” Claire said. She had her arms crossed, which just highlighted how big her tits were getting. Paige had chosen to semi-hide them behind a breezy top. Claire had on a low-cut magenta thing that strained at both straps. “I’ve gotten like a thimble of sperm. YOU get to fuck him whenever you want, get felt up for funsies, while I’m in bed all night frigging myself senseless.”

“You think I like getting rubbed off like a toy in the kitchen? In front of YOU?”

“Oh please, you loved it,” Claire snapped. “I saw that juice trickling down your leg.”

They glared at each other. But it was so hard to keep going—they really had been friends forever, and besides, they both needed someone to talk to. Plus they were both loaded up to their eyeballs with oxytocin and serotonin.

“It’s all so WEIRD,” Paige said, flopping into a forgotten folding chair, never refolded. She didn’t say it, but it was super weird to see Claire so… dumb. She’d picked up a whole host of blonde mannerisms apparently overnight: twirling her hair, biting her lip, cocking her head. Her voice had acquired a new high-pitched frequency.

“Yah,” Claire agreed. “You know when you were fucking Luke last night? It was like 2 in the morning?”

Paige struggled to remember. Had that happened? Had a lengthy fuck session been blasted clean out of her head? “Sure?” she said.

“Anyway I was feeling a little sad and I went out and ate all that ice cream we got. Just completely housed it. I ate an entire quart. Yeah. Wake up this morning, I should feel pretty bad? Nothing. And look at my ASS!”

She turned around. Paige wasn’t super aware of the normal contours of Claire’s butt, but it definitely wasn’t the thick, round rear waggling in her direction. She’d added a ton of rear apparently not just overnight, but half-overnight. “Also, do you realize you’re going mega perm blonde?” Claire said.

“Mega perm blonde?” Paige reached for her phone. She’d been a brunette forever, excepting one struggle summer, when she was green-pink. It was far lighter than even last night, and traveling up from the roots. Only her tips were still a mild wood-brown. “Holy crap. And whats with your hair? It’s red-yellow-whatever.”

“I’m not getting the cum you are. I’m getting the ice cream. I bet thats it. I don’t know. Whatever.”

Claire slapped her rear, experimentally. “Jiggles,” she reported.

They started to giggle, and couldn’t stop. It was all so stupid, turning ice cream into butts and sprouting big tits and lusting for boy jizz. They were just horny girls, old friends, tittering away. Claire sat next to her in the other folding chair, still giggling, and they admired their own legs, how soft they were.

“We should play more chess or somethin,” Claire said. “I’m kinda worried we’re getting ditzy, you know? I was reading a book out there and it was like, damn. Paragraphs.”

“Yeah, the game with the horses,” Paige agreed. “We super should.”

After sitting there for a bit, thighs companionably together, they heard Luke call out “Girls?”

They rose, obediently.

* * *
Her man was cross-legged in a pile of cords and electronic components. He looked troubled. Whenever he sat like that his dick bulged obscenely.

“I’ve sort of got the internet working through my phone connection,” he reported. “So that’s back.”

“Great!” Paige said. She only half-realized that she and Claire had walked in holding hands.

“Uh-huh, sort of. Here, I’ve got it mirrored onto the TV.” He flicked the screen on. Instead of the comforting buzz there was a mirror of his laptop. “Now, here’s the part that I’m really worried and concerned about. Lets try CNN.”

He typed in the page. The website caught, and then stuck, redirected. What loaded in, with impressive speed, was bright neon pink, with a video link foregrounded in the center. The teaser image was of two big, big butts, naked, spread, facing the camera. A bunch of other thumbnails belatedly popped up.

“Porn. It’s all porn,” Luke said.

“What about… ummm… facebook and stuff?” Paige quizzed. She had started twirling her hair some time ago and couldn’t quite seem to stop it. It was kinda really hard to think clearly around Luke. Most of her processing was taken up by the way Luke smelled and the way Luke looked. And staring at his dick. What was left over after all that was her remaining personality and intellect.

“It works but you don’t want to see it. It’s just aunt pussy, believe me. Lots of aunt pussy,” he looked mildly haunted. “Everyone seems to be having… fun. Here, let me try, I don’t know, PBS.”

He slowly typed it in. The same kind of porno started to roll, although, and maybe it was a coincidence, it was a little less explicit. A blonde and a brunette were passionately making out. There was no guy in the scene at all, and it was softly lit—nearly romantic. Despite Luke’s proximity Paige turned to it, mouth open. It was fun to see people have sex.

“I can’t fix the screen fuzz when the video plays,” Luke said. There was a sort of shimmer effect. It reminded her of something she couldn’t quite place. “I don’t know what to say.”

“Yeah… yeah. Internet” Paige said, half-listening, even though it was Luke. She’d been happily hetero her entire life, even though half the group chat had discussed delightful encounters in college. Claire was staring at the screen with the same rapt attention Paige was giving it. The girls were so soft and round and happy together. When the camera dipped down it turned out they were fingering each other. But mostly they were kissing, sloppy and wet and pleased. Whispering things the mic couldn’t quite pick up. Eventually, after they’d all sat there, watching porn, for a good seventeen minutes, one of the girls started to cum. Paige was mildly disappointed—it was such a nice scene.

“Any—anyway,” Luke said, frowning. He turned the screen off. Paige decided not to mention the little cute trail of drool on Claire’s lips.

Actually, it gave her the best idea.

“Honey, I think its time for a refill,” she said. Luke grumbled at it by default, but stood up right away. They were all randy.

“Get a cup this time, and I’ll hold it,” Luke said, retreating to the bedroom. Paige tingled with The Plan. She had to stick to it. It was brilliant—the perfect way to cement her friendship while also making clear that LUKE was HERS. She knelt, cup in hand. This time Luke took control from the start, putting his hand on the back of her hair.

“Are you really this blonde now?” he said, just as she started to suck.

He was producing more sperm, for certain, coating her mouth with a batch almost immediately. Her pussy sparked and cheered, and Paige made a show of spitting it into the cup, to demonstrate what a good girl she was being. Although she nearly had to push him to let Luke off. They’d have to have a talk of some kind about using her mouth like a tuck toy.

He twitched and came for realsies right after she started to lick the underside of his shaft. That was thrilling independently—she was learning how to please him. Cum gushed out. Paige swallowed the first load, and then fought through the waves of hot stupid pleasure to hold on to shot two. This turned into four or five, and she had to let some dribble out into the cup, and he broke free to drizzle more on her face. Luke looked surprised by the volume as much as she was.

“I’ll just give this to Claire,” she said. It was nice she wasn’t passing out, although most of Paige just wanted to fall back on the bed and giggle. His cum smelled like him.

Claire was still where they’d left her, phone in hand, legs open. She’d clearly been frigging herself, and half-heartedly stopped. Her eyes watched the cup Paige held. It was halfway full. But that wasn’t the surprise.

Paige impressed herself with how smoothly she handled it. She edged close to Claire, let the other woman smell Luke’s cum all over her. And when her lips parted, Paige went in for the kiss. Her special present flowed smoothly into Claire’s mouth. They held it for a long time, hungry for each other, eyes wide open. Paige wasn’t at all sure what this meant—were they virus lesbians or something? Or just horny for whatever?

And then Claire’s eyes rolled back, and she went limp.

“Amateur,” Paige said, playfully. Friendship spat over. She rewarded herself with a chug from the glass. She’d earned it.

* * *
“I’m worried,” Claire said. They’d gone out front to the shed. Luke had broken the brittle lock with two swings of a hammer they’d found, and was busy surveying the contents. It was mostly two ATVs and the materials needed to service two ATVs. And a deflated raft that was completely covered in spiders.

“Good, that’s smart,” Luke said. He was still shirtless. Claire wasn’t about to say anything that could be construed as flirting, not after reaching such a fragile detente with Paige. But it would’ve helped, maybe, with his mind-searing scent and general sexiness if he just put on a t-shirt. He was sweating in the heat and the dark humidity in the shed. “Lots to worry about. Plenty of problems.”

It’d be nice, wouldn’t it, if they could just enjoy themselves? Everyone was fucking each other senseless, experiencing mind shattering orgasms, and no one seemed all that pleased. Perhaps growing big new sexy bodies was always going to be disquieting, but Claire had no choice but to blame herself. How bad could it be, the two of them, honeymooning as their new genitals came in, without her? She probably could’ve knocked on doors in her apartment complex with a spoon and a smile, naked, and found someone with a cock.

Her hand inched up to tease at her hair. She stopped it. That was what she was currently most worried about.

“It’s Paige,” Claire said, to the dark, manly figure in the shed. His scent rolled out of the cavern in rich waves. It was like huffing sex. “Does she seem different to you?”

“Like what?” Luke said, genuinely confused. It was an incredibly dumb question, to be fair.

“Like… kinda… ditzy. A lot ditzy,” Claire said. She finished it with a giggle and a titter she didn’t intend. Paige was showing her trust in them by letting Claire go out and chat with her future hubby. She was also glancing out the window every four or five seconds while cooking dinner. Claire’s friend wore an apron and no shirt, and her impossibly blond-ing hair was shining in the late afternoon sun.

Luke’s look somehow darkened. It wasn’t clear to Claire what he was hoping to find in the shed. It was basically all spiders. “Go on,” he said.

“She just seems, kinda, I don’t know,” there was no nice word for it. “Dumb? Cum dumb? We had a chat and she was all umms and errs and twirling hair and I swear her voice is higher. And she drooled while we were watching that lez video. Plus your fiancee is turning into a super bright blonde.”

She had his attention. So he had noticed. “Blondes aren’t necessarily dumb,” Luke said, but he emerged to talk to her. God, he was so hot. She would swear he had more pecs now. “But……… yeah. I was asking her about her family, and she said she was trading pussy pics with her sister. Her sister is basically a nun. Most religious person I’ve ever met. And now I check her phone and Paige is swapping pictures of their cunnies with sperm dripping out of them. And she’s not even writing words. It’s either emojis or her pussy. And she sees nothing wrong with that.”

Claire shifted. A male friend had really enjoyed her pics of her own newly shaved-down snatch. Or at least had thumbed-up it, which was reason enough for her to add a dozen more. “I think its the cum,” Claire said. “She’s gotten a lot more than me and I think its, you know, getting to her head.”

Luke grunted again. He was doing that more and more. “You’re going blonde too. And your tits are bigger than hers.”

“I’m doing okay,” Claire lied. That was the most worrisome part, the one she didn’t really want to talk about. She was feeling dumb as shit, and getting her first big cum load, as amazing as it was, wasn’t going to help matters. She’d tried to sit and read a book, and it was like the words were greased. Her pussy was increasingly calling the shots. “I think for me I’ve been mostly eating instead of, you know, sucking on your penis, and so the virus or whatever is hitting my body more?” She giggled, nervous at saying that many words to a man, and touched at her tits for emphasis.

“If it is a virus,” Luke said. He scratched at his chin. He had more bristles than one day would really justify. All he needed to be a sexy lumberjack was an axe. And Claire was sure she’d seen a rusty one in the shed. “Is your body really that different?”

Claire knew exactly where Paige was—away from the window, distracted with trying to start a burner. She’d hate herself for this, but…. “Take a look,” Claire said. She put her hands on her hips and bent all the way over. Her face was up against some leaves.

Her ass was getting out of control. It hurt in the shorts she’d found, and they were stretchy, spandex-y things worn out from a decade or more of use. She’d added curves nearly minute by minute. Her appetite was incredible—she’d made an effort to avoid the critical supplies, and so had gone through bags of nuts, spaghetti, whatever she could make. Even her clit seemed larger. It certainly felt bigger.

Claire detected the catch in Luke’s breathing. It was terrible that she was doing this to Paige. She’d checked her plump ass in the mirror right before heading outside—it was a dream butt, designed to slide onto cocks. She needed him to see it, admire it, touch it, fuck it. The silence behind her was loud. Claire strained with all her soggy, fading willpower, and straightened up. “Its… as you can plainly SEE,” she was nearly panting. Luke’s eyes were feral. She had probably squirted pheromones all over his face. How close had he gotten to grabbing her? “It’s big. Big ‘ol butt.”

“Dinnertime!” Paige called out, cheerful and ditzy.

* * *
“Oh god,” Claire said, falling backwards onto the guest bed. “I must’ve looked like a big oinky piggy.”

Paige giggled. Now that they had cleared the air and reaffirmed that Luke was hers Paige seemed completely happy with her being there. “We all got a lil out of control,” Paige admitted.

All three of them had been ravenous, animal-like. Luke had eaten with a glowering, dog-like intensity, like a labrador with a bowl. He’d taken whatever he wanted, although since what there was was pasta, in different shapes and sizes, it wasn’t a stretch. But both Paige and Claire had put their mouths right up to the plate to shovel it in. They’d finished off the milk. There’d been two gallons at the start of the night. Eventually Luke had put a gallon jug in front of his plate and drank steadily from it.

“I’m gonna be all tits and ass,” Claire moaned. “Why did I do that? I know what its doing to me. I’m fueling it, Paige. We’re fueling it.” She laid on her boobs. They seemed ready to grow. Her nipples poked into the bedspread.

Paige was in a good mood. Or, and Claire was increasingly leaning in this direction, she was getting a little dim for a bad mood. Bad moods took some imagination. That last huge load of Luke cum hadn’t done her brains any favors. For dinner she’d cooked up a rectangle of ground beef, browned on both sides, with tomato sauce on top. And then pasta shapes generally mixed together. The broccoli she’d microwaved. Claire had eaten it anyway, big rough stalks. Hopefully the greens weren’t just fuel for tits.

“Maybe it’s a sign our bodies are healing?” Paige said. She was even blonder than before.

“Yeah, sure,” Claire mumbled. “What am I even gonna wear tomorrow?”

“Ooh, good question,” Paige opened the drawers. In truth, there was probably something that would fit. It had turned out that her family habitually dumped old clothes on the Lake House. “Here you go, this will fit,” she tossed a men’s large t-shirt on Claire. It was Space Jam themed. “Dump those big ol titties in there.”

“Do you have anything for big dumb butts?” Claire said, turning over. “Not too tight. My pussy is—I mean, you know. It’s crazy.”

“Hmmm. I have cargo shorts, size teen boy. What’s up with your clitty, Claire?”

“Ughhhh,” Claire said. She closed her eyes. Maybe when she opened them, this would all be over. She’d be in her own apartment, sensibly dressed in grey pajamas. When she sniffed the air it would smell like—nothing, not poorly prepared dinners and spunk and Luke and spunk. Instead, she felt hands on her straining shorts button. “Eh?”

They’d kept the porno on during dinner. It had been fixated on girl-on-girl, a background medley of passionate moans that had just run, for no reason. Whenever Claire had stared at it, which was more often then she would’ve liked to admit, there was a new girl with someone between her legs, acting like she’d touched a live wire. Paige had been seated directly facing the display, and had frequently drifted off, noodles falling off her fork. Once she had whimpered.

“Paige?”

“Look, you’re all shavey too,” Piage said, sliding her shorts down. It was just as well. They were far too small, and moist to boot. It was true, Claire had spent an hour buzzing herself, as well as any other hair she could find. It had nearly fallen out on its own, honestly, and hadn’t hurt a bit. Now she was nearly waxed, doll-like. Paige leaned over her, smiling softly, her still-growing tits heavy and thick.

“Paige, you just totally lectured me on not stealing your man, i’m not gonna steal his girl,” Claire said. Paige rubbed at her inner thighs. Claire squirmed. She knew exactly how this was supposed to go. It was already unspooling in her head, unstoppable. Paige would say something adorably stupid, and then just lick away…

“Its just girl fun,” Paige said, inanely, and then lowered her head between Claire’s thighs. Claire almost sobbed. It was just so nice to be touched, even if it was crazy, and by her virus-addled good friend. Plus her clit was on fire. She put her hands on the back of Paige’s head, just like Luke had done. Sure enough, the passionate tongue work sped up. Claire gently let one hand go free so she could claw at the bed. Her toes flexed.

Paige surfaced momentarily for a kiss. She was sopping wet from Claire cunt, and it was—scented. Sweet strawberry sugar. Was that what she smelled like to Luke? Paige herself had lemon-citrus breath. They both felt so good it was nice just to wiggle together, grinding mindlessly, shuddering as something like an orgasm, but better, shook one or the other.

Luke came in. They both paused, pussies leaking, as he looked them both over. Was this it? The moment? But then he shrugged it off, moved back out. Maybe it really was just girl fun.

There was still one big juicy orgasm at the end of this road. Claire felt dominant, aggressive. It was probably the last time she was gonna get to call the shots in sex, so she went with it. “Get back down there and lick, dummy,” she said, to her grinning new lover.

The grin died. “Dummy?” Paige said.

* * *
“Am I really being kinda ditzy?” Paige sniffled. It was kinda hot that she was blurbling tears onto her much bigger tits.

Luke wasn’t sure how to handle this kind of situation. On the one hand, he had taken up a regal position on his lawn chair overlooking the lake, back inclined, the last rays of the sun behind them glancing off the surface. He had much to think about.

“It’s okay, baby,” Luke went with. It was nice, and fun, that he had such easy access to Paige’s body. She sat with her legs open on the side of the chair, upset. It was clear to both of them, through complex scent signals, that fondling her tits would make them both feel better. Luke took a meaty hand and tugged on them, then nestled his digits between her nice smooth legs. He idly rubbed at her pussy, possessive.

Of course Paige was being ditzy. He’d asked her to pass the salt at dinner and she’d looked around the table, unsure. “It’s white,” he’d told her. “Oh! Salt! Of course!” his fiancee had responded. Pre-viral Paige hadn’t aced the SAT but was good for some sharp quips and insightful comments. Now she was full blonde, and was letting him rub her tits out in public.

Luke was more concerned about, first, himself, and second, the entire world. He had a sneaking suspicion he was getting as cum-dumb as the girls. He’d tried to figure out more of the internet situation after dinner—it made no sense that every website he could think of redirected to sex acts of varying intensity. But firing up a configuration manager had given him a dull, warning headache, an irritated sense of unease. The porno was still playing behind them. Some girl getting her mouth fucked. It had a nice techno beat to it.

And there was the world to think of.

The texts and chats were getting worse. “Texts” was putting it strongly—it was a flurry of images and videos, skin on skin, sprayed at whoever the owner could think to text. Amanda had sent him a long, long video of her fucking herself with a brush handle. To be honest, he’d sort of pushed her to do it, telling her she had to be cumming in everything she sent. Her tits were coming in just as nice as Paige’s.

But there were images from outside, where everyone wore sunny smiles and little else, tight little skirts and the shortest shorts, if only because clothes were ultimately sexier then no clothes. One shot from Amanda showed a city street, by accident, while she was spasming from an orgasm. The shot was blurry, but it sure looked like people just fucking on top of cars, on doorsteps, wherever. What little words there were talked about smell a lot. “Smells so fucking good now,” one said. “SO GOOD,” another had responded.

Luke could feel the headache coming back. Too much worry. His balls ached.

There were nice things about all of it, he was readily able to admit. It was fucking rad to have a big dick. He’d walked around the house just to feel it swinging between his legs. It really did swing, pendulum, the weight comforting and exhilarating. A huge cock! It felt incredible and had a shaft like a god had polished it. Even the great big balls—he was becoming fond of them. There was just something about the trepidation in Paige’s eyes right before he unloaded, that look that meant: oh boy, here it comes. The muscles were a bonus, the way his chin had become actual, that as nice. But a huge dick to fuck Paige with…

Luke realized he was fucking her right there.

He felt a mild panic. Not only was he fucking her, it was out in public. And roughly—he had apparently just started to bounce her pussy up and down on his shaft. When the hell had this all happened? Yes, he had been busy fingering her, but his dick had been safely constrained in some swim shorts. Now it was glistening as he used his fiancee like a sex toy.

“Paige, what the hell is happening to us?” he said, still gripping her hips and sliding her up and down. She was squeezing with her pussy as hard as she could. Luke groaned and sat back, releasing her grip. It felt so incredible, too. And his headache was gone. He let Paige milk him dry. She flopped off, panting. It was dark out, now. The TV colors played off of Paige’s skin. Shit, he should’ve saved some spunk for Claire. Maybe she could lick it—ugh.

Maybe he’d gotten her pregnant. But no, the pills. Luke felt a wild spasm of anger. Why did that bother him? He’d dumped a big load in his complaint fuck toy of a partner. Did he need to knock her up to boot? He took several deep breaths.

“Lets get out,” Luke announced, sitting up. “I’m going to put an actual shirt on and we’re going to go out. All of us. Windows down, see what’s up, nice long drive. Okay?”

“Yes, sir,” Paige said, breathing hard. His dick twitched. Sir. Now, that made him feel better..

* * *
The t-shirt hardly fit, and was full to bursting with abs, but Luke felt great to be out of the house. He revved the engine. That felt amazing too. One arm out the window, hand on the wheel, two horny girls in the car, evening breeze. It was nice.

“This new butt makes sitting feel weird,” Claire said, from the backseat. “I’m like, higher up. I’m seriously taller sitting because of my butt. That is fucked up. Oh my god.”

Her voice had caught up to that randy, high-pitched lilt that Paige had already gotten. Luke didn’t mention to Claire that her hair was well into its inevitable blondification. She was too busy digging around underneath her own ass, squirming and sweaty in her spandex shorts. They were four or five sizes too small.

“Look at my tits,” Paige said, as they pulled out. Luke pressed heavy on the accelerator by accident—he was not used to new muscles. The girls squealed, so he played it off. “There’s a seatbelt in there because, you know, safety first, but you can NOT even tell! Ohmygod!” She hefted her new boobs, appreciative.

Luke turned on the light to check something. Paige’s hair was a perfect golden sun, reflecting light like a field of wheat. There was just a trace of dark brown under there, like the hint of dirt. He touched her hair, curious. Paige giggled.

“Where to, ladies? Just drive around?” Luke said.

“Lets go into town,” Claire said.

“Oh shit, for ice cream?” Paige said. “Oh damn. I would do something for ice cream. I would go nuts. Holy wow I want some damn ice cream. Ice cream. Claire, chant it. ICE CREAM.”

“ICE CREAM!” Claire said, both bimbos giggling.

They were all still hungry, and had eaten essentially the entire household bare, including the spaghetti from two product design changes ago that Paige had found in the back of the pantry. They’d gone through six gallons of milk in about a day.

The girls were sort of mad at each other, Luke could smell it. Actually, he could pretty much smell the entire sequence of events. From the lemon-Luke tinge around Claire it was pretty obvious Paige had insisted she lick pussy to get at the filling inside before they all went out. And from Paige’s red-hot aura it was pretty clear she was upset with Claire nonetheless. He’d briefly wondered if he gave a shit about the two ladies sucking and fucking each other, given that one was his fiancee, and decided he didn’t. It just felt… beneath him to care. They didn’t even have a dick.

“We’re doing a check,” Luke explained. Ice cream did sound amazing, but there was no chance at all any ice cream stores were operating, given the general sex chaos. Even if they were, he wouldn’t trust the hygiene. Both Claire and Paige couldn’t keep their hands out of their pussies. “See how everything is going, see if anyone is starting to get over the virus. How long it lasts. That kind of thing. I’m hoping it’s just—oh.”

They’d pulled into town.

Paige had described it to them while Claire had recovered from the usual post-cum giggling disorientation. The town was a single block with the absolute bare minimum of vacation amenities: the other diner, fishing, auto parts, gas, ice cream slash convenience store. She’d described the street with a yearning amber-tinted nostalgia factor that had even gotten Luke interested, in spite of the ongoing horny flu. It sounded sedate, and sedate sounded nice.

“Oh, shit,” Claire said, and started to roll up the window.

It was too late. The scent had gotten into the car.

It was a blood-pounding, unescapable, mammalian pheromone to it, a command right to the hindbrain that said: breed. And there was so much of it, so many girls and boys emitting their own come-fuck-me signals to the world. It wasn’t at all like luxuriating in the details of Claire’s rich, sugar scent, or Paige’s easy lemon-y softness. It was all blended together into a song, the only common note of which was: fuck. Mate. Breed. Breed a lot. Fertilize and procreate. Luke’s dick spurted involuntarily, spraying cum over his shorts.

He jammed on the car windows and threw the wheel around. What was especially concerning was—there was almost no one in sight. Yes, he could hear a lot of low moans behind the closed doors all throughout the various buildings. When the light shone on the convenience store he could see dozens of legs in various positions. But the streets were clear. This was just the open air, whatever escaped from the sex fug inside the town. And it was shockingly intense.

“Go, go,” Claire said, plugging her nose, starting forwards into the seat. Paige was already slumped backwards, her hands digging between her legs. The blood pounded in Luke’s ears, to the tune of the tinny pop song on the radio. He needed to fuck so badly. He needed to pump and pollinate, fuck and breed. Pound every female until they were drunk on jism, unable to walk. There was a single lady outside, on a bench, naked from below the waist, stroking herself. She had a lazy smile on her face.

They were clear of it.

“What the hell?” Luke said, when he resumed the ability to talk. “What the hell-fuck? What the FUCK?” He’d driven, apparently, on pure instinct, his foot down to the metal. They’d come to a halt near a roadside ditch.

“Holy shit, holy fuck,” Claire said. Both girls had their hands stuffed down their shorts.

“Get out of the car,” he told Paige. She was well past talking, drooling and fingering. “Ugh. Fine.” His balls ached. Breed. He needed to breed. Luke got out of the car and unbuckled her seat belt, pulled his fiancee over to the hood of the car, and plunked her down face first. Her skirt was easy enough to slide down, and her panties were easy enough to tear off with his big new fists. As strange as it was, the scent of just Paige’s pussy steadied him, driving out the overall miasma. His dick was warm in the summer air. .He sank it into her.

It was an incredible, soothing relief. They both sagged into each other. It was tough, being in rut without a partner. Their bodies desperate to flood into each other, get on with the sex they needed to do. Luke wasn’t even sure he needed to orgasm to cum, anymore. It just flowed out in a natural stream, more evolutionarily efficient, if he thought about it. Which he did not. But this way it would be simple to, say, breed dozens of women in a go, sinking into them, casually impregnating, and then moving on.

The radio played on, louder and louder it seemed, timing just right with Luke’s thrusts. Ordinarily he liked to take long strokes, admiring the new size of his dick, but the situation called for short, hard thrusts, pinning her up against the dusty car hood. Paige’s tits rubbed up against the metal, picking up dirt. She was nearly silent, focusing on squeezing him dry.

Luke sniffed. There was a sour note. His senses, dulled in every other way, jumped on it, prodded the sensation, and answered it. It was so shocking he stopped mid-thrust. Paige’s birth control, that was it. That was fucking it. He nearly laughed, not that he was still able to, during heat. No wonder he’d felt so off, fucking his fiancee. It was just a pollination thing. He’d flush her pills down the toilet first thing on return, get her properly bred. It was actually an enormous relief and explained a ton. He unloaded in Paige, rubbing her ass affectionately.

He scented Claire before he saw her. Living with tunnel vision, only focused on cooze, he hadn’t seen her sidle in on the hood of the car, her ass in the air. Lubricant ran down her thighs. Her big ass stuck out.

Luke rationalized quickly and painlessly. It was simple to assemble a number of reasons why he should finally stick his penis inside of this girl, definitely to impregnate her. First of all it wasn’t clear what the virus did to girls who couldn’t fuck, but it was probably really bad. Second—but why number and list at all? They were in the woods and he wanted to fuck her. Wasn’t that enough? She smelled too good for it to be a lie. Sweet and scented, with that extra note that meant: easy to fertilize. He could explain knocking her up to Paige in the morning .Honestly, Paige was getting a little dumb to care all that much.

“I need it,” Claire said, her teeth gritted. “I just—need. I need.”

“Sure, sure,” Luke said. He adjusted her ass to where he liked it and plunged in without ceremony. He hadn’t had sex with anyone besides Paige in nearly two years, and certainly not moments after fucking Paige. It was nice. With the immediate urge gone he could take his time enjoying himself. Paige had gone limp on the car hood and was very slowly sliding off of it and onto the dirt. Luckily her tits had enough friction to slow her down.

“What are we turning into?: he said, to no one. Certainly not to Claire, who was finally, gloriously, getting herself fucked. She was hard to hold on to, with all that butt, and seemed like she just wanted to grind on him. Luke gave her a few firm smacks on the ass. Just enough to communicate who was in charge. But he did bear down when he felt his first load of cum approaching. Claire had earned it.

He hummed along to the radio. His fiancee finally tumbled off the car hood.

* * *
Paige was pissed.

Her finance—fiant? Christ, what was the fucking WORD? Her boyfriend who was nearly her husband had not only not fucked her, he had made a big deal out of not fucking her.

Not that he had avoided her entirely. When she’d woken up Paige had playfully wrapped her hands around him and tugged him off. It wasn’t what she really wanted, which was dick, but it was a good opportunity to just feel and smell the wonderful man she was somehow, incredibly, waking up next to. He was massive, muscled, covered in hair, including healthy patches of fuzz all over his back, which probably meant virility. She smooshed her tits against his back and tugged at his dick, marveling at it, that it was intended fo her. When he came it nearly hit the adjacent wall.

“Whoops,” she’d giggled, licking her fingers. It was another sunny day. And then she’d wriggled her butt into him, expecting some nice, easy penetration, only for him to just lay there, a manly boulder. He smelled upset, which made her upset, and angry, which made her even more upset.

“Paige, do you even remember last night?” Luke said.

“Uhhh…” Paige said. She frowned, shook her head. It was all soft cotton candy in there. “Uhhhhhhhhhhh. No. Wait. We went for a drive.”

“And?”

“I don’t know, I guess we drove around?” Paige squinted. A headache loomed, right away. “Is this why I’m all muddy?” She’d woken up all covered in rich, loamy dirt. It hadn’t occurred to her to think anything of it.

“Yeah,” he turned around. Her breath caught. He was so magnifi—mag—so fuckin’ hot. “Hey, listen. This is important. Try to… think. Smart thoughts. And make sure to take your birth control. Regular. Alright? In fact, go take it right now. And go take a shower. You’re filthy.”

“Can I get a refill first?” Paige said. His dick was again pointed at her. It’d be easy to just move his hips forward. She’d do the rest. And it would put this rising anxiety to rest—why wouldn’t he fuck her? They’d been awake for all of five or six minutes. “Top me off?”

“No. Definitely no. Do you feel that same need? Like you’re dying without it?”

Paige searched her feelings. “No,” she admitted. “I just kinda… want it.”

“Then you can wait. Maybe we are starting to get over this. Go take a shower. You smell. God, we all smell.” he shuddered.

Paige took her time getting sudsy. Was she really getting dumb? It was super hard to think of smart stuff when you had to do it like, on demand. She could conjure up images of what books looked like. In fact, if she wanted to, she could think of entire libraries. And all the different numbers seemed to be there. She said her alphabet out loud no problem at all. On the other hand, she was ten minutes in the shower before she realized she’d been just mindlessly soaping up her tits the entire time.

“I think all my body hair fell off,” she reported.

“Yeah, well, its on me now,” Luke said. He was still lying in bed. His dick stuck straight up. He was messing around with his phone. “I’m so damn hairy. Come on out. We need to have a family meeting.”

Family meeting. That had a nice ring to it. They were clearly not at the point in the relationship where they’d have kids, not being married and all, but it was inevitable to think about with all this cum flying around. It’d be kinda nice to paddle around all soft and big.

That reminded her—birth control.

Although…

Was she really going to strap her nice big new titties into a massive industrial bra and go off to fuckin work? And send e-mails? And answer the phone? And type? Could she still type with her body this hot and expanded? Every letter would make her brush against her boobs. And then she’d cum.

“Paige, you’ve been in there like a half-hour,” Luke said. “Lets go. And take your damn pill.”

Fair enough. “Family meeting,” Paige said, out loud. No, it didn’t sound that bad.

* * *
“I caught your blonde,” Claire said, half-accusing. She was just as shiny as Paige was, now.

“Damn, look at these tits, too!” Paige said, poking a finger into them. They were big and round, a nice contrast with her own, which were more like perfect teardrops. Claire looked a little boob-job-y, to be honest. Her blonde bleach was coming in fast. All tits and ass and hair, they were starting to look a little sister-y. There was a lot of both of them.

“Yep, caught tits,” Claire said. “Listen, your head is all—cottony? Right? That’s the same thing you feel like?”

“I guess,” Paige said. She very slowly frowned. “Is this another ‘Paige-is-dumb’ thing? I am not dumb. I’m just blonde and boobsy. There’s a difference. Do I really have to read a fuckin bunch of novels during this flu thing just to prove it?”

Claire leaned back into the old couch and rubbed at her eyes. “It’s cool,” she said, waving a hand. “You know what? Whatever. Who cares. Fuckin whatever. All my leg hair fell off in the shower and I feel super dumb but its fine.”

“Same!” Paige said. She bounced experimentally on her rear end. It was feeling more padded, although not as big as Claire’s enormous rump. “Claire, what are you wearing?”

“Men’s swim trunks,” Claire reported. “And a spider-man t-shirt. I’m through with bras and panties and shit.”

The swim trunks seemed like a good idea, given how juicy they both were. Paige had managed to get her ass into her loosest pair of tights, plus a crop top that showed a ton of underboob. She looked at Claire, thoughtful. Family meeting. Maybe she’d been thinking about this whole, competition for Luke’s dick thing all wrong.

“Okay girls,” Luke said. He’d dressed himself in his old clothes, which didn’t fit his new body at all. His shorts looked dug in to his waist, which, to be fair, was fighting back with a bunch of new abs. “Here’s the thing.”

“Girls?” Paige said. Should she be standing, to get more respect? She was kinda sprawled on the floor, legs splayed open. She really needed to stop pointing her pussy at wherever it was Luke was. It was demeaning.

“You want to be called, what? Sluts? Pussies?” Luke said, folding his arms. Putting on his old clothes looked like it had been a strain. Even his feet were bigger, peeking over the tips of his sandals.

“Women or ladies,” Paige said. “Or girls.”

‘Girls it is. Listen, babes, I have a theory. I think something is going on.”

“You think?” Claire said. They all looked at her. It was delivered with such an innocent chirp that no one was sure if Claire was still being sarcastic or not. Claire herself didn’t seem very sure. She chewed on a long fingernail. Paige wondered, distracted, if she had any nail polish in a bag somewhere.

Luke decided to ignore it. “Obviously there’s a—something. Changing us. But exhibit A—the porno.” It was still playing, and had gotten progressively more hardcore as time had gone on. Some girl on-screen was getting her ass completely pounded, while three others looked on, horny and gasping, rubbing their clits as they waited their turn. It had been on all night, come to think—Paige had vaguely heard it while she slept. “The entire internet is made out of porn. That’s weird. Very weird.”

He paused, expectantly, and then deflated a bit. “Am I getting stupid too?” Luke muttered, before deciding not to show indecision in front of the bimbos. “Also our phones are acting weird and so is the radio. I think this was all planned. It’s a biological attack. We’re being made horny, deliberately.”

He eyed them dramatically.

Paige’s hands flew to her mouth. She gasped. It was honestly all sort of beyond her—she’d spent the speech trying to figure out what color to paint her toes. But Luke looked like he’d said something important. It seemed to gratify him.

“So the plan is we fight this. We fight and we stay who we are,” Luke said. “It is NOT going to change us. We’re not going to.. do… what our urges are constantly demanding we… put in your bellies.. this very moment. Now. I’m going to go to the restaurant and see if they have any more food, but first, line up so I can cum in your mouths.”

Paige frowned. She was all for the cum part but—line up? With Claire? What had happened to the blowjob and cup system? That seemed like it was working just fine, especially for Paige. “Honey? What about…” she pantomimed trying to get a really big dick in her mouth, and then spitting into an imaginary cup. “Did that make sense? I was saying, why don’t I give you a nice long blowie and then spit it into a cup. For Claire.”

“We are limiting actual sexual content,” Luke said. “And I’m in a hurry. Line up or get left out. I’m not even gonna touch you. I can just cum whenever, with like a stroke. It shoots super far, too. My dick is fuckin’ enormous now.” He seemed to lose his own train of thoughts, absently rubbing at his pants. They were wholly swollen with dick. “I have such a huge dick now. Damn.”

“You can be first in line,” Claire said, consoling, but absolutely setting up for her shot.

“There’s no first with TWO PEOPLE, dummy,” Paige said. Luke had pulled his cock out. It bobbed in front of him. He had turned to the porno running on TV and seemed totally absorbed in it. His penis was already drooling precum. “Luke? Babe?”

“Huh? Oh.” he still seemed distracted by the video. It was catchy—Paige kept finding herself turning to it, whenever she wasn’t actively looking at something else. It was funny, every so often she’d think—it’s playing music. There’s music in the room, right now. And then it would just fade away. A cum shot on screen snapped them all out of it. “Right. Right, okay,” Luke rubbed at his eyes. “Lets get this done, bimbos.”

Claire got into what all of them recognized as the perfect pose. Her tongue stuck all the way out, her head tilted back, arms in front of her, tense and on the floor, her thighs splayed apart. It communicated, very purely, a girl extremely excited to get bathed in jism. Paige tried to counter with her back arched, mouth open like a fountain—to show off her tits. But it was clearly second best. And her damn fiancee was staring at the TV again, jacking his dick, like he didn’t have two horny sluts waiting patiently.

“Luke! Cum!” Paige said, eventually. He tore his eyes away, stroking his oversized dick at a furious pace.

“Right, right,” he said, swiveled his hips, and came all over Claire. First.

Paige’s world fell apart.

Inch by inch Claire the invader had taken things, had wormed away the engagement ring Paige no longer could even wear. And now her to-be was casually spunking her up first and foremost, the best load. Warmest and thickest. Claire diligently caught as much of it as she could in her mouth. She fell forwards, arms shaking. Paige nearly turned down her turn, zipping her mouth closed, but Luke clearly still had big heavy balls that needed to be emptied out. At least she kept her composure, no stranger to a big batch of jism in her mouth. But it was no real comfort. She fell silent, sullen.

“Alright, that should keep you two sluts,” Luke said. “I’m gonna—I have some movies on my laptop for you. I think we gotta stop watching this—this porn.” he stopped talking again. Despite depositing two loads of jizz into two girls he was still very much hard. His cock was as thick as his forearm and looked downright primordial. “You two watch them and, I don’t know, clean up. Don’t touch yourselves, it’ll just make things worse. I’ll be back with food. No phones, no music, no porno. Okay?”

Paige gave him a terse nod that he didn’t pay attention to at all.

“Great. I’m turning off the porn. Right now.”

Five minutes later, he actually did it.

* * *
“I’m super struggling to follow this,” said the invader. The whore. The bimbo slut. “That’s so sad. Ohmygod Paige. We’re like super big bimbos now. Gosh! Poop!”

“One fish is lost and the other fish is finding him,” Paige said. “Come on Claire. Keep it together.”

“Ohhhhh,” Claire said, a minute later. “Okay. We can do this.” Like she hadn’t just betrayed her best friend.

They were both on the couch, legs splayed, covertly watching each other for any hint of masturbation. Luke had told them not to.

“Paige?” Claire said.

“Oh my god you dumb slut. They are finding Nemo! Its in the title I think!”

“No, no, its not that,” Claire said. “Do you, you know, think we’ll go back to normal when the virus is all out of our system?”

She looked sidelong at Paige. It was a big opportunity. They were both so air-headed and sex-soaked that reassurance would definitely work.

“What, you’re unhappy with all this?” Paige said, avoiding her gaze. “You don’t look sad. You look cummy.” It was a low blow. Both of them had diligently mopped up and cleaned up. There wasn’t a speck of sperm anywhere, besides inside them.

“I’m BLONDE now,” Claire said. She was getting even lighter than Paige. Paige had a sense they were going to need nametags, once this was all over. They were both mostly ass and titty, facial features softened, hair in golden waves. Maybe they’d get their names tattooed right above each pussy. Or should it be somewhere she could read it? “I feel like if I try to do math I’ll just sneeze the rest of my brains out! I’m sitting here trying super hard not to touch my clit and trying to figure out the plot of a kid movie! It sucks, yes, I’m saying that, gosh! I thought you’d be like, yeah Claire it mega-sucks.”

“Then why are you trying to hard to steal Lukey?” Paige whined. She flushed, which her new body misinterpreted as arousal. Or maybe not—maybe that’s just how her body worked, these days. She went almost dizzy with lust. She reached out to Claire to slap or kiss or who knows what, and they ended up kissing. Her breath tasted like Luke and girl, and it was intoxicating and infuriating. She was so mad at this nymph who was digging her fingers into Paige’s pussy. Generically tired, hungry, they rubbed against each other, soothing in the sparks. Eventually Paige managed to pull her tongue free.

“Enough,” she said, gasping. They were both starving and bereft. All the food was gone, inside all of them. All three of them had burned enormous amounts of calories and converted the rest to brand new bodies. Claire looked horny and hurt. “No more! I am done. I am done, super done, very done with this stupid virus shit and being sexy all the time and being just a leaky pussy with legs. You can have my boyfriend if you want him so bad because I am DONE.” Paige put all her old personality into the last word. It was only even possible with no man around. They were both on edge, losing the comfort of his scent.

“Paigey—” Claire started, but she refused to hear it, bounding out the back door with no shoes, no sandals.

The lake washed on, uncaring that she had spent the past few days adding about thirty or forty pounds of tits and miscellaneous, her clit cherry red. Her thighs rubbed together when she walked. There was a lot more of her. Paige resolved to ignore all of that. If she walked long enough it would all melt away, all the boobs and butt, leaving her back normal in no time.

Of course, there was no guarantee Luke wanted Old Paige back.

Actually, he almost certainly didn’t.

Paige sniffled and wiped her nose. Ultimately life had been going fine. Her average fiancee, her normal wedding, her standard life. And now she was not just sex-addled and silly but she was the second sexiest transformed slut in her own house. It figured. The only good news was she could still count to two. But then, she’d had a lot of practice, her whole life.

“Shtay back, whore!”

Upset, tears streaking, Paige hadn’t noticed the jogger woman approaching from the upset way. The woman had her hand up, imperious. She also had an enormous pair of cocksucker lips.

“Oh, geez!” Paige said, catching herself. “Sorry. Sorry!”

The virus had saved its best work for the woman.

She’d struggled to put her boobs underneath a form-fitting running top, and failed, leaving them jiggling loose with underboob showing. Her pants were torn into shreds, the knees bursting through, the thighs reduced to thin strips of nylon heroically stitched together. She’d put on heels for the jog, and a full caked face of makeup. Especially dark red ruby lipstick.

Paige realized she was staring. It was mostly the lips. They were puffy and pillowy, and clearly hard to talk through. Was this what happened to a girl with no ready supply of cum? Did the virus interpret it as needing to make an extra effort? “Are you alright?”

“No, I’m fuckin not,” the jogger admitted. “This shucks. And I have to run all the way into town to see if Mr. Shtevens has a lil cummy for my tummy, and its like ten milesh, and I don’t need more virush from some… some whore…”

She turned towards Paige, full-front. “You shmell good,” the jogger said.

Paige took a step, and then two steps backwards. It was the worst possible move to make. She’d backed up into the lake almost immediately. “What?” she said.

“You’ve been guzzling cum, haven’t you?” the jogger demanded. “Shave—shav—” she made a special effort. “SAVEing it all for yourself? I have been sho good! I’ve had almost nothing! Nothing! Jusht a tiny sip and sometimes off the floor to boot! Not getting caught in that big fuck orgy in town! And I shtill got these sthtupid spermsucker LIPS!” she advanced faster, heels relentless on the shoreline. Paige backed into the water, up to her knees.

“Just let me lick shome,” the jogger said, intent. Her hair was a patchwork of blonde and dark black, a disconcerting domino. “Just off your face.”

“Stop!” Claire said. “I’ve got a gun! Behind my back!”

She stood on the tiny rocks of the beach, one hand behind her back, jaw jutted out. Paige felt a surge of relief, that her body also recognized as arousal. Claire was beautiful, legs set, fierce and determined. Lube dripped between her legs.

“Really?” the jogger said, eventually.

“She’s my friend and you need to fuck off!” Claire said. “Go get your own cum! Don’t make me pull my hand out from behind my back! It is holding a gun with bullets in it!”

The jogger hesitated, glared at the both of them.

“Lucky shluts,” she said, and turned away. “Don’t know how good you fucking have it.” Her ass had reduced the running pants to tatters. They watched her leave, her back straight, her rear swaying. Paige stepped out of the water.

“Thanks Claire,” she said, after awhile. She kept her head looking down at the beach.

“No problem sis,” Claire said. They hugged. It was really nice. A few tears flowed. That was nice too.

Sis, that was worth thinking about, if she could manage it. “Where’d you get a gun?” Paige said, curious.

* * *
They walked back very slowly, thighs rubbing against each other, arms around each other. Claire kept touching her friend, disbelieving—where did these thighs come from? Where did these enormous tits develop? They’d been shoved into these voluptuous, oversexed bodies so quickly, there’d been no time to think about any of it. It was hard enough keeping up with physical demands: food, jizz, food. It’d be nice if she just got some time to process. Particularly about almost certainly getting knocked up by her good friend’s fiancee.

Claire had woken up and known. True, the cum still gently dribbling out of her was a big hint. But she just felt… different, and not from just the new sack of bedsheets and cotton balls that had occupied the inside of her head. A certain tautness in her nipples. The way Luke’s eyes kept dipping to her belly. And a feeling of…satisfaction. A tenseness she hadn’t known was growing had snapped. She felt good. A fake good, an induced good, but good. Complete.

Claire let her friend rest her head on her shoulder. That was going to be a tough conversation. She’d have to plan it out, and rehearse it, because her smarts felt like a puff of smoke. “Paige, super sorry, Luke dumped a load in me and I am SUPER fertile.”

“What?” Paige said.

Had she really said that out loud? “What?” Claire said back. The hairs on the back of her neck stood straight up, and her nipples popped out. Every emotion getting rerouted into sex was gonna get real annoying.

“You were, like, whispering something?”

“I’m just saying, I’m glad we’re together,” Claire said. And the fact was: it was true. Perhaps she was just dwelling on the alternatives, which were grim indeed. She remembered a little of the trip into town. It was like sinking into the sea. A breeding frenzy.

“Sisters?” Paige said, extending one of those—Claire couldn’t remember. Some sort of special tree branch that was peaceful. Apple maybe. Whatever.

“Do you really think so?” Claire said, to buy time. It wasn’t clear what Paige was even offering.

“I mean, we smell the same,” like Luke, she meant, “we kinda look the same, we’ve had our hands all over each other, I think we’re more than FRIENDS, slut butt,” Paige said. She slapped Claire on the ass, fondly. Both of them jiggled all over.

“Yeah but sisters don’t usually suck on each other’s titties,” Claire said. What a tragedy. Even made over into a fuck toy, and rougly bred, it was her lot to carefully consider the feelings of others. “And, you know. Get spunked by the fiancee. I don’t know. I didn’t have a sister. I had like, a bunch of brothers.”

They walked quietly, two softened minds trying to come up with a solution.

Claire stopped when it occurred to her. She was proud of herself, immediately, her baby-battered mind still tossing out a brilliant one. It was a joyful, perfect solution. Old Claire, the one with just little titties and tons of smarts, would’ve been proud. Horrified, of course, at the New Claire with boobs gearing up to spray milk. But maybe mildly impressed. “Paige, we gotta marry you off! Holy shit! Oh my god!!!”

* * *
The father of her child looked so haggard. Part of that was he was covered in hair, downright brutish. In a hot, sexy male way, of course, but definitely pretty beasty. He moved with a deliberate slowness that was equally sexy, plus there was the outline of his enormous dick in his shorts. Claire sniffed the air to build a complete picture of his emotional wellbeing. He’d cum recently. He was feeling very aggressive and high-strung. A tinge of regret, a lot horny.

“Don’t go in yet,” Claire said, putting up a hand. She’d enjoyed a nice thirty minutes by herself, while Paige busied herself with makeup and her wedding outfit. They’d celebrated the nuptials by getting in between each other’s legs, and if Claire still tasted like Luke down there, Paige hadn’t shown any sign of realizing it. Actually it had been very nice, the two of them starting to relax and just enjoy each other. And there was so much to enjoy. There was a lot to regret, a lot to worry about, but the fact was, her new clitty was super fucking fun.

“I’ve got peri… perish… uhhhh…” Luke narrowed his eyebrows, a sure sign he was struggling with a word himself. She headed him off before he got frustrated, angry.

“Ice cream will be fine, we’re still getting ready, big guy,” Claire said.

“I did a lot to get this ice cream,” Luke said.

“Did you dick down that restaurant lady and then just clean out her freezer?”

Luke paused, then decided not to take that as an insult. “Yes.”

They looked at each other. Scent and looks were doing a lot of the work that words and thinking used to. Luke’s said: I knocked you up and I’d do it again in a heartbeat, I’d fuck you right here. But I feel a little guilty about it. Claire’s said: I know. “We’re getting ready for the wedding,” Claire admitted.

“Whose?” Luke said. He did that half-head shake again. It didn’t help that each helpless, ditzy moment made each other ragingly horny. Claire’s swim shorts were damp already. This strong dumb man needed to nail her into the ground. “Oh. Today is the day, huh? You two decided?”

“I mean, I’m not going anywhere, OBVIOUSLY,” Claire said. She let her legs fall open. “But yeah you totally gotta make an honest woman out of her! I mean you are just coating her with sperm, that’s married shit. Gotta put a ring on it, especially if you want to do butt stuff with her. That’s fair.”

“Uh-huh. And what’s your job gonna be?” he sniffed. “You smell… different.”

“Bad?” Claire said, suddenly cautious.

“No,” he sniffed again. His erection had to hurt. “Better.” Ah. Ah-hah. That explained a lot.

Might as well get it out in the open. “That’s probably because you knocked me up,” Claire confessed. It hadn’t really hit her yet that she had been bred. Her time horizon was about the next few hours, no more. Although she was dumb hungry. “Yeah. You bred me. Not that I blame you or anything, I kinda remember it? I was on the hood of the car or—oh. You can still see my titties in the dust.” There were two clear imprints of girl bodies getting rocked on the hood.

Luke scratched at his hair. “It could’ve just been me and Paige here,” he said. “No infection. No horse dicks, no bimbo bodies, no nothing. We’d be playing Uno and remembering how it was played instead of being all dumb and shit. And then you showed up.”

He gave her a portentous look. Claire would’ve laughed, if it was possible to do that to a boy.

“You wanna fuck me again, don’t you, big boy? You wanna fuck me right now.” Claire teased. His feeble protests were having no effect on her at all. Had he forgotten she could smell him, see him? He was staring directly at her pussy during his little speech. He’d probably recited it on the drive back, all upset at himself over impregnating wifey’s good friend. “I bet if I got back on the hood you’d go for another round, huh? You liked putting a baby in me, didn’t you? I bet you’d do it again if I got on that hood and put my ass in the air. Tell me I’m wrong.”

His face was a dull red, and Claire backed off. It was obvious he was having a struggle reconciling his lust to dump dumb loads of cum into fertile girls with his pre-existing personality. Claire slammed her thighs shut. It probably wasn’t helping to send loads of pheromones his way, anyway.

Another brilliant idea occurred to her.

“I got an idea that’ll make everything better,” she said. “It’s gonna be my wedding present to you two.”

Luke took several deep breaths before responding. “What’s that?”

“Wait right here,” Claire said. She strode inside, waggling her ass at Luke. It wasn’t like he was wrong. This sorta maybe was her fault. But she could fix it. Over in the master bedroom, she could hear Paige humming what little she remembered of Here Comes The Bride.

After fixing it she walked back outside and sat back in the old wooden bench. It was a really nice day out. She’d left a wet patch on the slats. She sat back down on top of it. “There, all done.”

Luke hadn’t moved. “What’d you do?” he growled.

“I flushed all of Paigey’s birth control down the potty. You’re welcome.”

* * *
It was a wonderful wedding.

They held it out back on the porch, with Claire officiating. It took awhile to get to it, as Luke had immediately gone inside to start the lengthy process of putting a baby inside of Paige. She’d protested mildly about Luke ruining her makeup, but didn’t seem to really mind, and besides—doggy-style didn’t particularly do anything to lipstick and eyeliner and concealer.

Paige had attended her nuptials in a nice white chemise and jean cutoffs that had probably belonged to her Dad. They’d put a napkin on her back for the veil. No shoes, but Claire suspected they were going to both be barefoot in the kitchen for a long time, so that was okay. Luke had ended up getting really into it. He’d gone barechested with black pants—zipper undone so his body could fit. Happy miracle, they’d found a clip-on bowtie in one of the drawers. It didn’t fit around his muscular, taut neck, but Claire was able to hook it on to the front of his chest hairs. That stuff was like velcro.

She hadn’t tried to read anything in the ceremony. After two brilliant ideas in one day Claire felt absolutely exhausted by any intellectual effort. She’d instead talked up how fucking hot the two were and how sexy it was when they fucked. She’d concluded with “and now lets go make some babies!” which had made Paige blush while Luke nodded vigorously. The only version of “Here Comes The Bride” that worked on their phones had that same usual catchy porno pop beat attached, but it worked.

They’d actually kissed, which made Claire’s eyes well up. It was so romantic, and only slightly less so when Paige started vigorously tugging on Luke’s dick at the same time.

After the wedding they’d sat down and eaten through the entire contents of the back trunk, including four gallons of mostly melted ice cream. Then Paige had been carried to the bridal bed, already impaled on her new husband’s dick.

Claire stirred her ice cream bowl around. She’d licked the bowl clean. It was going to have to do for dessert. She was full blonde now, had lost the last of her dark roots at some point during dinner, when she’d licked a tray of bacon clean. She supposed her body needed the nutrients. But they had enough for awhile—Luke had apparently really given it to the waitress lady, who was “really needing it”, and left her a dribbling mess on the floor.

She just had to believe that the virus would just pass through and move on. Any moment now the fever would break, and she would take her fingers out of her snatch, lick them clean, and resume her life. They’d all have a good laugh about those several days enjoying each other’s bodies, being horny and silly, making big bimbo bodies like preparing for the winter. Sure, they’d all have big round bellies soon enough, but life would go on.

And while she was waiting for that, Claire didn’t see any reason not to enjoy herself. Paige definitely was. The blushing bride had found her dirty side, yelling at Luke to “fuck this dumb cunt”. Even from out in the kitchen, Claire could hear them thrusting into each other. They’d have to make wedding rings out of pipe cleaners or something.

“Claire!” Luke said, sternly. Claire dropped her spoon.

“Get your fat ass in here. Face down on the floor. Lets go. We’re on honeymoon and I need to fuck your butt.”

Claire stood up. She fiddled with her hair, and walked as fast as her big butt could waddle. They were waiting for her, sitting next to each other on the bed. The three of them looked back and forth. So, this is what it was going to be.

“Face down,” Luke ordered. Claire obliged, hardly believing it. Really? Was this for her? Paige giggled softly, enjoying the view. “Take those dumb shorts off first, slut,” Luke said, not really annoyed. He shimmied them down for her. Paige cooed in appreciation.

“Go slow,” her sister-slut urged. “Go super slow.”

“Don’t tell me what to do,” Luke said. He put both hands on her hips. Claire felt the tip of a dick brush against her pussy. She tried not to push back against it. This was a wedding too, in a way. It was kinda sexy sacred.

“Unnnnghh,” she said, face in the carpet. Luke teased it nice and slow until about halfway, when he lost patience, and shoved his cock all the way inside her. Claire loved every inch of it.

* * *
EPILOGUE
Luke dared to wonder: were they, just maybe, just possibly, getting over it?

Viruses rarely lasted forever, right? They had their fun, made some mucus. And then the blood thingies that fought them, the cell things, they cleared the body out. He hadn’t had a fever in days, since that first hot night.

And he’d woken up… peaceful. Married and peaceful. Yes, still with the same hunk body, the same overdeveloped chest, the same lumber-yard shoulders. But none of the irritable anger, the ominous pressure at the base of his cock. His balls weren’t overflowing, he felt no immediate urge to rush out and dump a load into whatever fertile pussy was around. He’d put his head back and lazed, in between the enormous tits of his new wife and his new bimbo slut toy.

The sluts paddled around in the lake, splashing each other. It was hard to tell them apart, kinda. His wife had blonde hair and big droopy boobs and an ass that was reflecting the entire sun. Claire was blonde and had the same amazing rear. She had slightly longer hair maybe? It was challenging to tell them apart in the water. He couldn’t smell them at this distance. Paige still scented mildly odd, but it was already fading, scarcely noticeable. She was nearly pure scented citrus, and it was delightful. He couldn’t get enough of it.

It didn’t help that his dick was rigid and erect in front of him, a mast in the breeze, hard to see around. He’d measured it and then uttered a low, sliding whistle. It was like toting a cannon.

Of course maybe his calm was just because he’d spent an entire night putting the wood to two voracious fertility goddesses. It was possible that was it. They’d relieved a lot of relationship pressure. They really should’ve gone for it sooner. He had enough spunk for all, enough dick for everyone. He had an absolutely enormous, insatiable dick, and he’d pumped both of them until something like three in the morning. For some time he’d just pumped whoever was set up on the side of the bed, letting them call tempo. They had wasted days that could’ve been spent kneeling in front of him, tongues working in concert.

Luke reached out and put his full hand around his dick. Precum oozed readily. It felt good. The girls, always attentive, gave him a hungry look. He waved them away.

Of course, it might take some time for the intell—ect—for the smarts to come back. But they would. For him, the man, at least. The girls had been a silly, giggling mess that morning trying to remember how fucking chess worked. Claire kept examining the board, all serious and concerned, while Paige amused herself dropping pieces down her cleavage. “I know this, I totally super know it,” Claire had said. She’d picked up a piece. “This is a HORSEY.”

Luke had set an example by knocking the board over and breaking the King. There were lots of ways to win dumb board games. But it wasn’t encouraging. When he’d told them to read to one another, off the back of a cereal box, he’d come back to find both girls intertwined and the box sticky.

“Cheerios,” he’d told the girls, smugly. “It’s cheerios.”

They’d both given him thumbs-up.

Anyway, there was no immediate concern. Food was plentiful, pussy was bountiful. Luke stood up, tall and proud. “Faces down!” he bellowed. Actually, they were in the water. They’d drown. “Bend over! Faces out of the water!”

The girls spun around, presenting rears. They’d found material to work as swimsuits, although he doubted it’d last a day. Seemed pointless on a day this nice. Luke reached the twosome. They’d set their butts up against each other.

His phone suddenly buzzed, insistent. As did Claire’s, and Paige’s, and his laptop, and the TV. He ignored, did not even really notice, the sound. It was rising to a crescendo.

It was totally unclear which girl was his spouse, and the scent wasn’t helping at all. This close they were lemon and sugar together. “Lemonade,” he told them, stroking two quivering butts fondly. “You’re lemonade.” His ankles were wet. His dick drooled at the sight of a couple of glistening slits.

Things were going to be okay.

He picked a pussy at random.



Original Syndrome
by Jordan Farcourt.
This story is part of the VIRAL Anthology, which we’re writing in support of Feeding America. Please consider donating at:

https://www.feedingamerica.org/ways-to-give

With that out of the way, I hope you enjoy Original Syndrome!

—Jordan Farcourt, Professional Pervert
June 2nd, 2020 — 8 Months after Case Zero
Ed Willis was no stranger to the concept of bimbofication. The 19-year-old freshman “studied” it practically every night, whacking off to erotica or questionable Deviantart galleries. So when the Dimorphic Syncytial Virus began to spread, the whole situation felt oddly familiar.

The virus (which became known as “Syn Syndrome,” or even just “Syn”) worked very much like the diseases in the stories Ed obsessed over: it came out of nowhere and rapidly spread across the world, leaving chaos and debauchery in its wake. Towns, cities, and eventually entire countries were brought to a standstill as the rate of infection grew, eventually leveling off at around 98%. Just like in Ed’s stories, Syn Syndrome increased female arousal and submissiveness. Just like the stories, it turned prudish housewives into obedient fuckdolls. Just like the stories, the condition was permanent…

...But unlike the stories, it didn’t make women stupid. Instead, it was men who were “dumbed down” by Syn Syndrome. The “Dimorphic” part of Dimorphic Syncytial Virus referred to the fact that while women were getting hornier, men were getting simpler.

As Ed Willis reveled in the wet-dream-come-true that was unfolding around him, he hardly even noticed that his thoughts were growing foggier by the day. His family complied with the mandatory quarantine, unaware that they were already infected. As a result, Ed spent most of his time in his room, spending hours jacking off to the increasingly-depraved news reports coming out of affected countries. His parents were also getting “sicker” by the day, and soon he was allowed to masturbate in the middle of the living room, with the sounds of porn blaring throughout the house more often than not. His mother began to enjoy the constant moaning, while his father was too stupid to care (and too busy plowing his wife, of course).

Today, though, Ed isn’t hanging out in the living room. He’s sitting in his parents’ basement, gunning down bad guys in a singleplayer shooter. Online matches are too frustrating for him nowadays, mostly because all of the matches are dominated by quicker-witted female gamers. He still enjoys a good singleplayer campaign, though, as long as it has an easy mode.

“Bullshit,” Ed growls, squeezing the controller until his knuckles turn white. “Why do they have so many grenades? That’s not fair!”

“...Gmph...” Between Ed’s legs, a nude woman is swallowing his cock to the base. The brunette is 42 years old, but she looks significantly younger... As she should, after spending the bulk of the last three months in gyms and salons. Looking up at the young man she’s deepthroating, the MILF lets his cock free with an audible pop. Sticky ropes of spit and pre-cum cling to her lips, dripping off one by one as she talks: “Aw, I’m sorry sweetheart. Don’t you like this game anymore?”

“It’s stupid,” Ed replies, throwing the controller aside.

“Want me to buy you a new one?” She continues to jacks him off, rubbing his well-lubricated shaft with long, slow strokes. “My son likes that building one, with the robots.”

“Craftblox? That’s for little kids.”

“Jacob’s almost your age! Besides, my husband likes it too,” she giggles, slapping Ed’s cock against her cheek a few times. “You have Syn Syndrome, sweetie. It’s okay to like different things than you did before.”

“Whatever,” the frustrated young man sighs, leaning back on the sofa. “Buy it, I guess.”

“What do we say?” She smirks, pausing with her hand wrapped around the base of Ed’s shaft.

“Uh... Shut up and blow me?”

“Good enough!” With that the woman dives on Ed’s cock like a starving animal, moaning as she takes it back into her throat. Now that his hands are free, Ed grabs her by the hair and starts facefucking her without a drop of hesitation or restraint. “Gugh...Gugh...Gugh...”

“...And thanks, I guess,” he groans after a few rapid strokes. “Your throat is way better than my girlfriend’s.”

Though it’s difficult to tell with her face being pummeled, the MILF seems to appreciate the compliment. A few minutes later, when Ed’s legs lock around her head and he starts pumping jizz down her throat, she cums harder than she has in years.

“Guh... G-good shit,” the young man grunts, picking the controller up and taking another shot at the level while his cumdump tries to bring his limp cock back to full attention.

August 12th, 2020—10 Months after Case Zero
“I think we need to hire more women.”

Cindy McKay is bent over, one hand on her laptop while the other is braced against her heavy wooden desk. Her skirt’s hiked up, and a well-dressed man is plowing her from behind.

“More women is good,” the man grunts, slapping Cindy’s pale (but quickly reddening) ass. “Can we get some with big tits? I like yours, but... Lots of girls have those big, fake boobies now. Can we get those?”

“I was thinking about hiring some girls with big brains,” she replies, rolling her eyes. “Our billables are down 48% since last year, and I’m not staking the entire firm on that bailout. We need to get with the times, before it’s too late.”

“Women can’t work that good either,” the man says defensively, still thrusting. “All you want to do is fuck. Don’t be discriminatey.”

“Can’t remember the last time a g-guy refused,” Cindy laughs, biting her lip as her partner starts hitting just the right angle. “B-buh... Besides, I doubt gender discrimination is gonna be a thing soon. All that stuff’s out the window... Men and women are both fucked, but in different ways.”

“I... I’ll fuck you in different ways!”

“You don’t need to keep trying to be witty.” She glances back over her shoulder, flashing the man a smile. “Don’t worry... You have other talents.”

“...Cool.” With that he picks up the pace, tie flapping this way and that as he pounds his boss into the desk.

Cindy has just finished pulling up a file of twenty resumes when the first orgasm hits, her partner’s thick cock sending wave after wave of pure pleasure coursing through her body. He doesn’t stop fucking her, and by the time the second orgasm hits, she’s narrowed the applicant pool down to four.

“I... Fuck that’s good... I’ll just hire them all,” she mumbles, flipping through the cover pages.

“Wait, isn’t that one a guy?” The man leans over Cindy’s back, peering at the laptop. “I thought you wanted girls?”

“Y-yeah, mostly, but look at this guy’s cock!” Instead of a headshot, the cover of one resume is adorned with a well-framed dick pic. “Shit, he’s an associate at the firm he’s at now... I wonder if he’ll take a job in the mail room if I let him fuck my ass?”

“Let him?” The man behind her chuckles. “You’re gonna beg for it.”

“That’s... That’s not—”

“Beg for it now.”

Cindy takes a deep breath, opens her mouth to reply... Then closes her eyes, smiling. “...Please? I... I need it...”

“You got it, Boss.” With that, the man pulls out of Cindy’s dripping pussy and lines himself up with her asshole.

As he eases inside, inch by warm, incredibly-tight inch, she begins writing emails to the lucky applicants. Within the week, she’ll have slept with all of them... More than a dozen times, in the case of Dick Pic Guy.

March 8th, 2021—17 Months after Case Zero
“Ungh... Ungh... Uuuungh...” Dr. Joseph Thompson has two hard-earned PhDs to his name, but right now he’s grunting and growling like a wild animal.

The rhythmic sounds of flesh on flesh fill the kitchen as the fit middle-aged man fucks a girl thirty years younger than him. He has Cora in a mating press on the floor, a dish towel laid out to protect the Asian girl’s back from the cold, hard tiles.

“Ahem!” Just as the ball-slapping reaches its peak, a voice calls out from the doorway. “What do you think you’re doing?”

“Huh?” Dr. Thompson’s head pops up when he hears his wife’s voice, but he doesn’t stop thrusting. “Oh... Hey, babe.”

“Don’t ‘babe’ me. Why are you fucking Anthony’s girlfriend?”

Mrs. Thompson was once an average-looking, somewhat-chubby, 40-something-year-old nurse, but the psychological effects of Syn Syndrome soon changed all that. She worked in the hospital where Patient Zero ended up, and as such was one of the first to catch the mysterious disease. As her sexual needs grew, her husband was happy to satisfy them... At first. But the increasingly-dim-witted professor kept “forgetting” to save his loads for her, either jacking off or offering himself to the legions of horny women who appeared once Syn Syndrome hit the college campus where he worked.

When Mrs. Thompson tried to turn the tables by sleeping with other men, she found volunteers to be in short supply. Everyone and their mum was acting like a slut, now: who would pay attention to a frumpy nurse? That realization drove her to update her wardrobe, and her makeup... Then her hair, then her workout regimen... Plastic surgery followed shortly after. Her connections at the hospital allowed her to skip the queue, which was growing by the day as more women found themselves in the same predicament.

Today, the woman standing in the doorway would be almost unrecognizable to those who only knew the old Mrs. Thompson. She had an exaggerated hourglass figure, her thin waist dwarfed by thick hips and a huge bubble butt. That rear end paled in comparison to her chest, however: fake tits the size of her head bounced and jiggled with every step, threatening to burst out of her scandalous mini-dress. As for her face, long lashes and plumped-up lips made her look more like a trashy Instagram model than a respected wife and professional health care worker. Her hair was long and platinum-blonde, and she swept it aside as she glared at her humping husband.

“Oh, sorry,” Dr. Thompson mumbles, nervously groping Cora’s small-yet-perky tits. The girl looked at Mrs. Thompson apologetically, but stayed silent. “You weren’t here, and my balls are super full.”

“I told you, I was just going to the store! I was only gone ten minutes!”

“S-sorry, babe—Oh, oh yeah, fuuuck...” His eyes close and he tenses up, pumping a load into Cora. The lithe teen seems to be enjoying herself as well: she wraps her legs around the man on top of her, pulling him closer.

“Unbelievable,” Mrs. Thompson sighs. “Is Anthony home?”

It’s Cora who answers, her voice meek: “Y-yes, Mrs. T. I’m on my way to visit him—Or, um, I was—”

“Fine. I’m going upstairs,” the bimbo MILF continues, turning on her stiletto heel.

“Huh?” Dr. Thompson pulls out, letting his cum spill from Cora’s pussy and onto the towel. “Why? I can fuck you now.”

“Can you? I know you paid an early-morning visit to those sluts next door, and judging by the seed you just gave Cora...” She scoffs. “Sorry, dear, but I bet our son has more juice left right now.”

“You know I don’t like it when you fuck him,” Dr. Thompson says with a scowl. “It’s kinda weird.”

“You should’ve thought of that before wasting your load on his girlfriend!” With that, Mrs. Thompson turns on her stiletto heel and heads upstairs.

Cora and Dr. Thompson clean themselves up in silence, both trying to ignore the thud thud thud coming from the floor above them. Anthony was always partial to huge tits... A fact which contributed to his mother’s decision to go with over-the-top implants. The boy was uncomfortable with incest at first, but he was also nearly as dumb as his father; the allure of an ever-eager, live-in sex toy with massive funbags soon proved too much to resist. Whenever Mr. Thompson fails to give his wife a good fucking, Anthony is happy to supply one (or two, or three).

“I can’t believe those two,” Mr. Thompson mutters, standing on tiptoes to wash his dick in the kitchen sink. “So disres... Disruspekky... So rude.”

“Um, Mr. T,” Cora pipes up. “You don’t have to do that, you know.”

“Do what?”

“I can clean it for you.” She gestures at his cock, smiling innocently. “...Please?”

An hour later, Mrs. Thompson staggers downstairs to grab a glass of water (and a beer for her son). Her dress is pulled down to expose her massive tits, and she’s dripping with Anthony’s jizz from her forehead to her nipples. The sex-hungry bimbo is grinning from ear to ear, finally satisfied after a tender titfuck and a rough pounding from her special boy... But her smile falters when she sees her husband.

Dr. Thompson is balls-deep in Cora’s throat, thrusting into her without regard for the young woman’s comfort. She’s lying on her back on the dining table, limbs flailing as her boyfriend’s father leans over and gropes her slender body.

“Damn, that’s fuckin’ tight,” he growls, before placing a hand on her throat. “Let’s make it even tighter...”

As Mrs. Thompson watches in horror, her husband begins jacking himself off through the girl’s throat, rubbing and squeezing to his heart’s content.

“Honey, please be careful,” Mrs. Thompson says, edging around her husband to get to the kitchen counter. “She probably won’t tell you to stop, but you still need to ask... And you shouldn’t hurt her too badly, no matter what. You have certain responsibilities to women, given Syn Syndrome’s effect on—” She pauses suddenly, her back to the rutting pair. “Why is the sink full of cum?”

“Oh... Nutted there earlier, when Cora was cleaning me up,” Dr. Thompson replies with a shrug. “Is it clogged?”

“No, you just forgot to open the plug,” his wife sighs back, already wrist-deep in the cloudy-white mixture. As it begins to drain, she dips a glass in and fills it with cum-laced water.

“I thought I taught you better than this,” she tells her husband as she passes him on the way out, two refreshing beverages in hand. “We don’t waste cum in this house. Anthony knows that, because I did a good job raising him, but you—”

“Get down on your knees, babe,” Dr. Thompson gasps, close to orgasm. “Lick my balls while I nut in this slut’s throat!”

The bimbo rolls her eyes, then puts her glass and her son’s beer on the table... But after a glance at Cora’s flailing arms, she reconsiders and places them on the counter instead. Then she’s on her knees in a flash, crawling between her husband’s legs.

“Hurry it up, please,” she says, between licks of his bouncing sack. “Anthony wants me back up there. He says we’re going to film a video, for his friends in the quarantine zone—”

“Sssh... Back to work, I’m—I’m gonna—Hngh...”

When Mrs. Thompson returns to her son’s room, she has an extra dribble of cum making its way down her cheek. If the young man notices, he doesn’t seem to care: he’s too busy throwing his mother on the bed and sliding his cock back into her dripping-wet pussy.

“You’re... My... Fucking... Toy,” he grunts, playing it up a little as he holds up his phone and tries to keep Mrs. Thompson’s jiggling body in-frame.

“Y-yes, honey... Play with me,” she whispers back, hugging her son tightly as he pounds into her.

January 20th, 2022—2 Years after Case Zero
Karen and Alice are best friends by any definition; the pair met in high school, and have been roommates since freshman year. They don’t always agree, though, and right now they’re in the middle of one of their classic arguments.

“I still don’t think it’s fair that they pay less than we do,” Karen says, her voice shaky. She and Alice are lying face-to-face on the living room floor, bracing themselves by grabbing onto the shag carpet.

“They’re boys, Karen... Jocks, even. They probably weren’t geniuses before Syn, so how could they possibly hold down a good job now?”

“Hey, we’re right here,” a voice grunts from above them.

Two muscular young men are straddling the college girls, thrusting slowly into their asses while they argue. One has his phone out, browsing social media; the other is sipping on a beer.

It’s the half-drunk one who’s interrupted their conversation, and he scowls down at them.

“Dude, I’m trying to get her to see why you should only pay half rent,” Alice says. “I’m on your side.”

“Oh... Kay,” he replies with a shrug, turning his attention back to plowing Karen’s tight asshole.

“It—it’s s-still not fair,” Karen stammers as the boy’s massive cock stretches her out. “I’m not exactly rich.”

“Look, babe,” Alice continues. “I get it, but this just makes sense. Male roommates are in high demand... It’s cheaper than visiting the himbo-whorehouse a buncha times every week, and way cheaper than getting fake boobs or whatever to stand out in the crowd. Don’t you want to live with these guys?” She smiles, wiggling her ass. “Can’t you feel how big they are? And the stamina...”

“I... I guess,” Karen concedes, moaning a little as the jock picks up the pace behind her. “But can’t we at least get the bigger bedrooms?”

“Like we’ll be sleeping in our own beds, y’know, ever,” her friend laughs. “We’ll probably only use those when family visits.”

“Ooh, yeah... Is your dad coming this weekend?”

“Both my parents are, unfortunately.” Alice rolls her eyes, then pauses and turns to the young man on top of her. “Hey, wait. Big Boy, you like MILFs?”

“Yeah, sometimes,” he replies simply.

“Maybe we can get one of these helpful young men to keep Mom busy while we take turns with Dad,” she continues. “See? They’re already paying for themselves!”

“I gueeess,” Karen says, finally smiling. “...Yours is cuter, though. Can we swap?”

“Hey! We’re still right here,” the boy mounting her says, before spanking her ass a few times. Then he pulls out, high-fiving his friend as the two jocks swap places.

“This one looks plenty cute to me,” Alice giggles, licking her lips as she eyes up the thick shaft that’s bouncing towards her. “C’mere, let me lube you up first... Roomie.”

September 17th, 2026—6 Years after Case Zero
President Felicia Harper is due to address the nation in two minutes, and she doesn’t look happy. There’s a scowl on her face as she reads over her notes, and after a few tense moments she shoos away the girl who’s fixing her makeup.

“Have you read this, Allen?”

“Huh? Oh, I... Not really,” her Vice President says with a shrug. Allen Morales is an intelligent young man... But he’s still a man. Like most male politicians, he was chosen for his handsome physique, his charming smile, and his massive cock... Not to mention the innate appeal of having a man on the ticket. Male voters like to see that they’re still important, and female voters like to see him naked.

It’s that very issue that has President Harper’s brow wrinkled as she skims her State of the Union notes. “Well, about halfway through the first sentence you’re supposed to tear my blouse off.”

“Don’t you like it when I play with your tits?” The VP leans over, cupping one of Harper’s large breasts through her blazer.

“Mmm... I do, but... Aren’t I supposed to project power?”

“Look at Page 3,” one of her aids pipes up, flipping it over for her. “Once your tits are out, he’ll eat your pussy while you finish up the speech... Oh, and don’t forget to jack off, Mr. Morales. We want you to cum just before Madam President wraps things up.”

The VP nods. “Facial?”

“Or on her tits, if she’s still talking,” the aid continues. “The ‘talking through a mouthful of cum’ thing plays well, but the State of the Union Address is too important. We need them to hear every word, even if they’re staring at President Harper’s perfect rack.”

“Thank you, Nicolle,” the President sighs, looking a little less worried than before. “Ah, that’s our cue. Come along, Allen.”

Vice President Morales smiles, placing his hand on the President’s ass and squeezing gently as they walk out onto the stage.



Love Falls Rejuvenation Spa
DISCLAIMER: This book is fiction. Every name, place, character, and event are a product of the author’s imagination. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, is pure coincidence. All characters depicted in this work of fiction are 18 years of age or older.

* * *
Thank you to all the writers who contributed to the VIRAL Anthology. We’re writing in support of Feeding America, which you, the reader, can donate to at www.feedingamerica.org/ways-to-give . It has been a long, dark year, and let’s do what we can to help.

* * *
As they exited the interstate highway and began traveling on the local thruway, Jennifer Valenti and Kimberly Adams delighted in the early afternoon breeze as it rushed through her designer electric car. “Do you like it?” Miss Valenti slowed down as they reached a red light. “The car was part of my bonus to keep quiet about the VPs affair with that bimbo secretary of his.”

Jennifer, 35, laughed as she continued. “These women who just try to fuck their way to the top. It’s pathetic!” She was a natural redhead with flowing locks that curled at the ends. Her bangs added a youthful flavor to the 35-year-old’s freckled face. Miss Valenti was the vice president of an internet startup. They did work with algorithms and took over smaller companies to then add to their own code before either skimming off or dumping debt onto, so they would go bankrupt. It is as sleazy as it sounds.

Kimberly, 32, took her glasses off for a moment and laughed. “But so are the men who can’t keep their hands off them. I have to confess that I have used my...charms...before on a source or three.” The beautiful Korean woman was a journalist. Well, Miss Adams was a “journalist” you meant “journalist” as in she wrote clickbait articles with misleading headlines and reported salacious gossip and hid behind a wall of accusations of sexism against her detractors.

Her writing was popular and drew a lot of attention to her social media profile, which pleased the media conglomerate, actually owned by a telecom, which was owned by a former film studio turned streaming service that also bought up companies to dump debt onto in bankruptcy, which was probably owned by something else, immensely. Kimberly, dark haired, pale skinned, and rail thin, was happy to help her best friend since it also aided her own career. Take-down articles, especially ones filled with gossip, were always popular with the vapid unwashed masses, and her friend’s success often became her own success.

Miss Valenti and Miss Adams had gone to university together. Jennifer had come from wealth. Her mother married into a successful family of early computer app creators. They were well-meaning people, and she was raised on cosmopolitan liberal values, but they never seemed like enough to the beautiful red haired woman. Her mother always took a back seat to her father, and it pained her, especially as she discovered feminist ideology via the lectures of her university professors, to see a man always in front. She wanted to be a leader just like the men and make the same money they did. If Kimberly had to help her wreck a few careers, including those of male VPs who could not keep their dicks in their pants, so be it. She was a badass bitch and made sure the world knew it.

Jennifer had already leaked information about her company, and others, to Kimberly a few times before. On her way up the corporate ladder, a “friend” at her job had confessed to having this or that problem. Miss Adams made sure that made it into a popular gossip column, which destroyed the woman’s chances of promotion and set up Miss Valenti for success. From there, her rise to power was fairly straightforward.

Jennifer’s rented car announced that their next turn was coming up in a half mile. Oh, wait, it was actually a quarter mile, it interrupted itself to announce. She saw the exit ahead, cut off a truck, and made it to the exit just in time.

“That was weird,” the redhead announced. “I doubt that has ever happened with my phone before. The connection must be buggy.”

“Yeah,” Kimberly agreed as she looked up from her own phone. “Mine has been slow for a few minutes. I figured it was just the social media app. It does that sometimes.”

They came to another red light. A large sign sat to their right, welcoming them to Love Falls. “Love Falls,” Kimberly read, “that’s a stupid name for a town.” The sign had a patriotic design color wise with paintings of two handsome men in suits and three women: One was a platinum blonde beauty, another with more of the “girl next door” look, and the other a pregnant, and very cheerful, looking housewife with a headscarf on.

“Why are there no businesswomen,” Jennifer scolded as the light changed to green, so they could proceed. As they reached the next light, the car announced three, then two, lights to go. She picked up her phone and the map still had a straight line at least. It would be on their right. Kimberly looked over at it and nodded.

At the next red light, they sat idling for a moment. “It’s quiet here,” Jennifer commented.

Kimberly looked over at the coffee shop to their right. Men in business suits, a few women in very short, but vaguely professional, skirts, and a few workers entered and exited. At the table outside, a hostess idled next to a man. She wore a tight tank top, even tighter shorts, and shiny leggings. Her loud giggle at whatever the man said could be heard from their car.

“Imagine acting like that to get the attention of men,” Kimberly scolded, with the same sneering tone as her friend, “it’s so ridiculous. I’d never dress like that.”

At the next and final light, a bus pulled up next to them. Jennifer looked over and noticed that the small blue bus was filled with pregnant women. Each woman wore a pretty maternal dress, earbuds in their ears, and were made up to gorgeous feminine perfection, including a pretty headscarf in a very feminine color.

Before she could comment on it, Kimberly interrupted her observation. “My phone is totally not loading now.” A few seconds later, as the light changed to green, their GPS announced some kind of error.

“The spa should be up here a bit on the right,” Jennifer muttered, mostly to herself, forgetting about the strange pregnant women, and this was confirmed a few minutes later when they saw the large sign for the spa in front of it.

Love Falls Rejuvenation Spa was large and sprawling, for sure, and both women marveled at it as they entered the one-way road that was hugged on both sides by a mass of trees and flowers. The spa had been advertised as being a bit secluded, and the five-mile trek through the woods certainly confirmed as much.

They finally reached an entrance, which was blocked by a gate. A spandex clad, and very muscular, woman came out from the office next to it and approached their car. She was busty, athletic, and beautiful. Her dark hair was kept snug in a very tight ponytail. The form fitting spandex uniform hugged her thick legs and ample cleavage quite nicely.

Jennifer put down her window. “Names,” was all the security officer said in an authoritative, yet very monotone, voice.

“Um,” Jennifer began, a bit taken aback, “Jennifer Valenti, and this is my friend Kimberly Adams. We are here—”

The burly woman tilted her head slightly and then cut off Miss Valenti. “You are confirmed. The gate in front of them began opening, which honestly should have seemed a bit odd you know, and she stepped away so Jennifer could continue driving.

“Fucking freak,” Jennifer spat out when her window went back up, and not a split second before. “I guess they have to have tough people for security, but gross.”

Kimberly did not respond as she was busy trying to find a connection for her phone, but to no avail. She even let out a quite adorable grunt in frustration. Sure, they had come here to relax, but her work continued on. The beautiful Korean woman had promised Jennifer she would only check for scoops during their time at the spa, but she was so used to the constant pings and notifications of our connected world that the current silence was a bit unnerving.

They found a place to park and began getting their bags out of the car. Suddenly, a bubbly voice could be heard coming towards them. “Hello! Miss Valenti! Miss Adams!”

Jennifer turned towards it. The emphasis on “Miss” instead of “Ms” made her skin crawl. She slid her sunglasses down to get a good look at the woman and did not like what she saw coming towards her.

The platinum blonde, with pink streaks at the ends, young woman padded over to them and offered a manicured wave. She was dressed in a very tight tank top promoting the spa and a white denim mini skirt with platform sneakers. Her name tag said “Cindi,” with a heart over the “i.”

“Is this some kind of bimbo summer intern program,” Kimberly muttered to Jennifer as the woman approached them.

“Miss Valenti, Miss Adams,” Cindi said as she looked at both of them in turn. “My name is Cindi, and I have been assigned to escort you into the spa and get you set up. It is wonderful here! I liked it so much when I visited, I decided to apply for a job!” Her vapid smile was sweet and expressed a desire to be helpful, so of course both Jennifer and Kimberly stared daggers at her.

“Um, yeah, thanks,” Jennifer said dismissively. Hopefully, not everyone working at the spa dressed like this bimbo. That would be terrible.

“Hey,” Kimberly began, “do you know anything about the WI-fi around here? We lost ours back on the highway and I still need to check…” she paused at Jennifer’s firm glance, “...uh, my work messages sometimes.”

Cindi’s eyes widened. “Oh, that is because the spa is part of a wonderful new program the incredible people who run Love Falls is running to innovate technologically and the town’s WI-fi is run on a separate network from the rest of the state as an experiment in how wide scale its incredible speeds and quality can become in the future.”

The blonde’s clearly recited, and definitely not brainwashed into her, no sir, answer had gotten more up-pitched and twangy as it went on, showing that she was definitely a local to this secluded area of the most southern part of the country.

“Uh, huh,” Jennifer commented, clearly bored with this woman, “so, uh, how do we get on your fancy network then?”

Cindi turned and pointed at the main entrance to the spa. Her pink tipped nails shone in the midday sun. “I am going to walk you to the registration area. There are introductory bags there for both of you. Included in it is directions for the WI-fi network, information about the incredible work done in Love Falls, and other tech goodies! I really liked the earbuds they gave me when I first arrived. I hope they have them for you too!”

She began padding away, a firm sway attached to her firm, athletic, backside. Jennifer and Kimberly shrugged at each other and followed behind the spunky young woman.

Cynthia had been a 21 year old college student looking for an internship for the summer last year. She wanted to be a teacher, maybe a university professor even, but needed experience. Her application to intern at Love Falls Education Foundation had been accepted, and she eagerly packed her belongings to spend the summer there.

By the end of the summer, Cynthia had become Cindi, a vapid bimbo and devoted slave to her male superiors. Love Falls Education Foundation helped women like her to thrive, network, and gain experience in what the foundation referred to as “proper attitudes for success in modern society as a woman.” By the time they were done with her, Cindi surely agreed. It was only a matter of time before she was auctioned off to the highest bidder. She had caught the eye of a few local professional athletes recently.

Inside, as promised, Cindi led them to a registration area where another cheerful young woman, this blonde had purple streaks through her hair, whose name tag read Randi, with another heart over the “i,” looked them up in the computer, smiled widely, and then handed over their, again, as promised, introductory bags.

“What a bunch of bimbos,” Kimberly said to her friend. Jennifer sat down on a bench and began going through the bag. “Wi-Fi instructions,” she said proudly while holding up a personalized card. She frowned again at the “Miss” instead of Ms.” on it.

Kimberly went through the bag and found her own card. She quickly added herself to the network and sighed contently when recent message notifications began coming through.

Jennifer did hers as well. Nothing too interesting had come in professionally or personal for her. She opened her purse and put the phone back in it, and then placed both in the bag.

She was going to ask Kimberly something, but her friend had walked away to talk to another journalist who had just arrived as well. Jennifer stared at her cover of the spa pamphlet. A gorgeous brunette stared back at her looking relaxed, fit, and delighted. The woman also clearly had gotten breast implants and must work out obsessively in the gym. The red haired executive did yoga a few times a week, but that was about as far as she succumbed to the pressures of patriarchal beauty standards.

Jennifer’s reading time was interrupted by a man sitting down next to her. “Hello, Miss Valenti,” he began in a calm voice. “My name is Dr. Shrewsbury. I am the executive director of Love Falls Rejuvenation Spa.”

She looked up at him. He was handsome with very short hair, a trim beard, and wore a fairly geeky looking sweater vest with a purple shirt under it. “Oh, hello, Dr….Shrewsbury.” The redhead put her hand out when he nodded affirmatively. The man had a fairly tight handshake, which took her back a bit. “How did you know my name?”

The good doctor laughed. “Ah, yes, I do try to learn the names of our guests before they arrive. Especially the most impressive ones. A vice president at your age is an outstanding accomplishment. I read up on you and liked what I read, Miss Valenti.”

Jennifer brightened at his compliment. So many men were taken aback by successful women. “Well, thank you. I am quite impressed with myself, too.” She gave him a flirty grin.

“There is much to be impressed with,” he confirmed. “You should,” he said waving a hand at her, “dress for the spa. You look like you are dressed for an executive meeting. Have some fun. I could send some outfits to your room if you’d like.”

The beautiful redhead was a bit taken aback, but charmed. “That is quite nice, and perhaps I will take you up on that at some point.” She smiled at him. Jennifer enjoyed using her feminine attributes to tame men to her needs.

Dr. Shrewsbury nodded as if her comment confirmed something for him. In retrospect, this should have been cause for concern, but when it is ever in these stories, right? “Perhaps at some point during your stay, we could have dinner? Our companies surely could benefit from a working relationship.” If only Miss Valenti knew what had already transpired!

Before Jennifer could even respond, he continued speaking. “But of course I need to make rounds. I’d like to say hello to your friend Miss Adams too. One final thing: I offer free sessions to people who attend our spa. If you need it only, of course. Surely, you have a stressful job that could use some unwinding from at some point. We also have professional development sessions worth attending too. Well, we’ll see.” He stood up, gave her an awkward wave and walked over to where Kimberly was standing.

* * *
That evening, Jennifer went back to their quarters and did some research on Love Falls. Their introductory bag had also included a very fancy pair of wireless earbuds, so she listened to music with them while doing research. They were a nauseating shade of purple, but after a few minutes of the gentle subliminal messages being whispered into her ears over Love Falls’ secure network, the thoughts slipped out of her little girlie brain.

Jennifer found a few things worth nothing, which are also very conventionally the topics of stories written by the author elsewhere, this is certainly not an embedded ad for them, including their educational foundation. The foundation’s website promised to “prepare young women to thrive, network, and gain experience in proper attitudes for success in modern society as a woman.”

She smiled while reading the page a few times. It was so nice to hear about such progressive values in Love Falls. Perhaps her company could, as Dr. Shrewsbury had noted, create some partnerships here?

Of course, in what should come as no surprise, what actually happened there was far from it. At the Love Falls Education Foundation, the proper attitudes brainwashed into women were absolute obedience to men and feminine docility.

They also have a reform academy where unruly young women are sent for reform. Good, Jennifer thought. So many need reform. Hopefully, they get internships and guidance about running a female led business. That was certainly another organization Miss Valenti could see herself associated with at some point. She loved to fill her charitable requirements for the board of directors, doing work with women.

They actually, again, get brainwashed and take lessons in absolute obedience to men. The unruly women brought to the academy leave it as docile doves, ready to obey the man they are assigned to for the rest of their lives. Even the most hardened criminal learns the grace and beauty of submission, whether they like it or not. A good girl can be found even in the worst, disorderly, women, it just needs to be activated in them.

Eventually, Jennifer grew tired and realized it was time for bed. She had been listening to music on her phone via the Love Falls Wi-Fi network. Everything was very sharp and sounded good. In the city, she rarely got a full connection, and it never wavered here.

Kimberly had not come home yet. She had texted earlier to say her friend had suggested they have dinner to catch up, which sounded like a great idea. Jennifer did not have many close friends. Even her friendship with the reporter was a bit parasitic: Each got something, so they kept it up. They had not had the closeness of their university years in a long time.

Jennifer had already changed into her pajamas for the evening, but a sudden urge to sleep in the nude, which had been subliminally programmed into her all night, filled her mind and she stripped down and dropped the clothes in a pile.

Reluctantly, she took out the earbuds and placed them on the dresser next to the bed. Jennifer lay down for the night and dropped into a deep sleep, quickly as the subliminal flooding the room from hidden speakers instructed.

From as just as out of view camera, a female, one of those formerly unruly women from the academy, watched Miss Valenti as she acquiesced to her programming. Empty eyed and clad in latex from head to toe, the bald drone called up new subliminal to be added to the mix for the evening.

I need a free counseling session….I trust Dr. Shrewsbury….he has my best interests in mind….I am going to dress so I can have fun…

An hour later, Kimberly entered the apartment and stripped off her own clothing. Her dinner date had been a set-up and the brainwashed woman spent the evening being programmed to assist with her best friend’s reorientation.

The Korean reporter lay down to sleep with her earbuds still in. Each woman had their own destiny, which would fork at some point. But Kimberly’s new purpose in life was to help assure that Jennifer ends up the devoted slave of Dr. Shrewsbury.

* * *
In the morning, Jennifer woke up and felt like she had gotten her best night of sleep in a number of years. She often stayed up too late doing work or binging some television show, so a good night of sleep was rare.

She stretched out and remembered that her body was not clothed at the moment. A tiny gasp came out of her mouth, but the question of why she had slept in the nude, subliminally programmed into her the night before as an assessment of her progress, when she looked over in the bathroom and saw Kimberly’s naked body, still wet from a shower.

Kimberly gave her a wave as she began toweling off. She looked spectacular. Her firm body was kept together by gym trips five days a week and a lot of treadmill time. Was it odd that she was also so cavalier about being naked around others? The thought slipped out of Jennifer’s mind.

“Oh my god,” Kimberly exclaimed suddenly, “stop staring at my tits and get in the shower. Brunch is in 45 minutes.”

Jennifer walked by her and entered the shower. The red haired executive wished she had as much time for the gym as her friend did, but was still in fairly good shape. While soaping down her body, she would about Dr. Shrewsbury’s suggestion of a counseling session. He seemed to have her best interests in mind, so she decided right then and there to accept his offer. She would have to track him down at brunch! This spa trip was going to be so fun.

When she got out of the shower, Jennifer was stunned by what she saw Kimberly wearing in the living. Her friend was heavily made up, much more than normal, and wore spandex shorts, a tight tank top, and platform heels. She looked incredible, but perhaps it was a bit much?

“I really want to have fun,” Kimberly announced with a flirty grin, “so I am going to dress for it.”

That statement activated a trigger within Jennifer’s suggestible mind. “Where did you get those clothes from?” A nagging feeling that she needed a similar outfit began to fill her mind.

Kimberly pointed to the floor by the front door of their quarters. “They were delivered for us this morning. Compliments of Dr. Shrewsbury. He is so nice!”

Jennifer walked over to the boxes, still naked, and opened it. “Thought this would be a fun outfit for you,” said the card inside the box. Dr. Shrewsbury’s signature was under it. Fun. Jennifer padded back into the bedroom with the outfit and began dressing

The outfit inside was the same as the one left for Kimberly, but in different colors that complimented her skin tone and hair. She slid on the spandex shorts, wishing for more time in the gym to work on her legs, and the platform heels.

After a few less than graceful steps in them, Jennifer was much more used to the kind of sensible and very professional flats that modern businesswomen preferred, she slid on the tank top, which fit a bit snug on her moderately large breasts, but certainly made them look good.

The beautiful red haired businesswoman then applied her makeup, as heavy as Kimberly’s had been, and smiled at herself in the mirror. It had been so easy for the men who ran Love Falls to sway both of their simple female minds into defying their own manner of dress for “fun.”

Jennifer took a few more very tentative steps in the very high heels and eased herself on the wall of the living room before standing up right.

“Wow, you look remarkable,” Kimberly said with vapid glee. “I love your colors so much. We are going to have so much fun.”

Jennifer tried to take a few more steps and fell forward. “Geez. Can’t remember the last time I wore heels!” She felt so klutzy.

Kimberly helped right her. “I’ve worn these a lot more than you. Men LOVE them...they melt for a pair of pumps and a tight skirt. I’ll help you.”

She took a few brief steps and made it to the table their purses were on and pulled out her phone. There had been an update on both of their phones. They shrugged and checked their messages. Not much from work for Jennifer. She could look at it later.

“Come on,” Kimberly said as she extended her hand, “I’ll help you walk. You’ll be a natural in no time!”

They walked across the spa’s vast campus, fairly slowly due to Jennifer’s inexperience with such high heels, and observed everything around them. It was a beautiful campus with flowers and trees. Young women, dressed like Cindi from yesterday, could be seen doing the week. Each of them had the look of someone perfectly content with their lot in life. Their sweaty, toned, bodies glistened in the morning sun as their skimpy outfits left little to hide.

A soft hum could be heard all around the campus. Jennifer, in her pacified mind, thought it was some kind of local insect and just ignored the frequency pushing more subliminal at every woman attending the spa to soften their minds for docile acceptance of new programming and male authority.

As they reached the doors to the public eating area, she suddenly felt a deep pang of need to see Dr. Shrewsbury. Jennifer was getting better at walking in the heels as they went and began to feel silly that she had avoided them for so long.

In each woman’s purse, their phones were doing an automatic update. Since neither secured it with a pin login or two-factor authentication, or really kept their apps up to date, it was simple for a Love Falls engineer to hack them to add more programming. Seriously folks, update your phone! You are going to end up brainwashed if you do not!

Unless you want to be brainwashed? Turned into a bimbo sex doll? Broken of those career ambitions to be a vapid toy? Well, then, carry on and keep your phones insecure.

Anyway.

They entered the public eating area and found that most of the other spa attendees were already there. Jennifer felt a sense of relief wash over her that each woman was wearing a variation on her outfit. The only differences were in the color of the spandex shorts and heels, and whether the top was as tight as hers or, for the more busty women, revealed a significant amount of cleavage. For a moment, she was shocked to see other professional women with their breasts half hanging out, but the thought slipped out of her mind as Dr. Shrewsbury waved and grinned at her from across the room.

Jennifer made her way over to him, but not before stumbling slightly and having to hold herself up against a chair. She gave him a sheepish grin as a pleasant calm came over her suggestible mind.

“Ah, careful,” the good doctor began as he laughed at her silliness. “Going to need some more practice.” He looked her over with delight, pleased at how easily this batch of new spa attendees had been tamed, but especially at Jennifer, who he found himself to be extremely attracted to, which led to his focus on her.

“Sorry,” she replied, a lack of confidence filling the normally self-assured business executive’s voice, “not really used to wear these.”

Dr. Shrewsbury nodded. “Right, but you look great in them. You are a gorgeous woman. This spa is going to do wonders for you!” A beat passed. “It will be really fun. Trust me.”

Jennifer blinked rapidly. “I am going to trust in that,” she replied with a flirty smile. Another beat passed. “By the way, I think I will take you up on that counseling session. You were right about dressing for fun, so I figure you are right about that too. I trust you.” A glimmer of a seductive voice, so different from her usual sneering authoritarian growl, could be heard. She was growing fond of the man.

“Delightful,” he said, clapping his hands together. “We can have it after brunch, which looks about to arrive.”

They sat down at a table as Cindi, the bubbly young lady from the day before, came over to them. Her outfit was a mix of what she had worn yesterday and what Jennifer was wearing: A cleavage baring top promoting the spa, spandex shorts in a lighter shade than Jennifer’s, but the same platform sneakers as the day before.

The blonde bimbo brought their plates over, which were filled with various breakfast foods. Dr. Shrewsbury stopped her with an authoritative hand on the former college student’s arm to offer some praise for her hard work at the spa. The delightfully obedient young woman padded away a moment later and made sure he got her a good view of her ample backside.

“A sweet young lady, that one,” he commented as they dug into their meal. “She interned with us last year and decided to stay on for another year. College had frustrated her. I helped her in counseling. She wanted to teach, but decided on another path for now.”

Jennifer listened to him while watching Cindi stand by the table Kimberly sat at. Both of them were laughing at the joke another man with a LFRS worker badge on had just said. She could not remember ever seeing her friend so bubbly. “Cindi is....very friendly.”

“It’s that southern charm of hers,” Dr. Shrewsbury confirmed as he drank from his coffee. “A delightful young lady.” Cindi was soon to be auctioned off to the highest bidder. His very intense, and personal, counseling sessions had set the young lady on the right path towards the happy life of a vapid trophy wife.

They finished the meal and the doctor offered to take their plates to the refuse box. LFRS strives to be as green as possible, and all materials were sorted in an underground section by a few lovely latex clad sanitation beauties.

Dr. Shrewsbury came back over, and Jennifer had stood up and taken a few more steps. “Getting more used to them,” she said with a confident smile.

“My office is behind this building. It’s a beautiful walk back there, come on.” He motioned for her to join him, which she did obediently. After all, Jennifer trusted Dr. Shrewsbury. The quiet subliminal all around them kept her in a state of suggestibility.

The good doctor had been correct about the walk. The paved walkway was surrounded by beds of flowers and trees. There was a small waterfall to the left of his building, which housed counseling and medical offices. “Some women decide to use the spa for discreet cosmetic procedures. We are happy to accommodate this for them. Women deserve to always look their best.”

Jennifer, much less wobbly already, countered. “Well, it’s nice you do that, but most women don’t need them. We are fine as we are.” But was she? Bubbly young women like Cindi, with all the right curves, made her question the statement. She did feel a bit envious at how great Kimberly looked in this outfit in comparison to herself.

They reached the door of the building and Dr. Shrewsbury held it open for her as they entered. Normally, she would have scoffed at a man doing such an allegedly chauvinistic thing, really though are men supposed to slam a door in your face? But Jennifer just smiled at him flirtatiously.

The building inside was beautiful. The design aesthetics were very modern, with touches of previous decades. A welcome desk was staffed by a stunning dark-skinned woman, whose name tag read Mandi, with another cutesy heart over the “i,” gave Dr. Shrewsbury a manicured wave from her station and a which Jennifer did not pick up, knowing grin. The 22-year-old had been sent to Love Falls after her third arrest. She now knew her true purpose was, and lived to please.

They walked across the main floor. Jennifer’s high heels could be heard echoing off the hard surface. In front of them were two large doors. One said MEDICAL and the other COUNSELING over it.

“My office is in here, come on,” he said quietly while pointing to the COUNSELING sign. The doors automatically slid open at their appearance and inside was a waiting area where two women wearing the same uniform as Jennifer were seated. One stared off into the distance with earbuds in her ears. The other just gently smiled, the passive smile of a bimbo to be.

After passing through the office suite, Dr. Shrewsbury’s office was at the end of it on the left. He, again, held the door open for his companion and then entered behind her. The door automatically locked itself and would not open without his voice command. Jennifer’s fate was well on its way to being sealed.

His office was rather lavish. There was a small kitchen area which housed various tea bins, a coffee machine with coffees in jars, and another bin with snacks. An L shaped desk housed an elaborate computer set up with two monitors and a handful of tablets laying about. It reminded Jennifer of her own set up at work.

There was, of course, a couch, and she sat down on it. “Do I have to lay down,” she asked with a flirtatious giggle.

“Oh, no,” Dr. Shrewsbury said, putting his hands up, “counseling sessions should be relaxed and informal.” He went over and checked on the water that had begun boiling upon their entry into the room. “An informal situation where ideas and concerns can be discussed among a counselor and a client that trusts them.”

Jennifer grinned proudly. “I do trust you.” She was so glad that he had convinced her to come to this session!

Over in the kitchen, her counselor poured out a cup of tea. “This is one of my favorites. Calms the nerves. Great to take before a session. Trust me, okay?”

Jennifer took the cup and eagerly drank most of it. After a moment, she started to feel funny. A loud, almost chirping, noise, could be heard from her phone. She picked it out of her purse and became entranced by the hypnotic spiral on the screen. Her blank expression confirmed her deep trance.

“Good girl, I do apologize that it has to be done this way, but for a proper counseling session here at Love Falls Rejuvenation Spa women must be kept as deeply under control as possible. Lookup and forward to the spiral behind me.”

Jennifer obeyed the command and stared at the screen behind Dr. Shrewsbury.

“Good girl,” he complemented. “Keep staring at it and focus on my voice. I value your trust in me. I like calling you a ‘good girl.’ You should aim to be called it as often as possible. Do you understand?”

“Yes,” was her quiet, monotone reply.

“Good girl. See!” He chuckled. “I also need to make clear our relationship here. Each woman at the spa is receiving individual or group counseling right now. Your friend Kimberly is in a group session. I value your trust, but I also value your respect. You will address me as ‘Sir’ at all times. It’s part of being a good girl and showing how much you trust me. Do you understand?”

“Yes, Sir,” Jennifer confirmed blankly.

“Ah...you know what I am going to say...” Mischievously, he let it hang in the air for a moment. “...good girl. Now, we need to discuss a few things. First off, why did you come to this spa?”

“My job gave me a free trip when I put in for vacation time, Sir.” She continued to stare, mesmerized, at the spiral.

“Yes, they reached out to us before you and Miss Adams got here. You are an exceptional case, my dear.” Dr. Shrewsbury looked thoughtful for a few seconds. “Tell me about your job. I read your file, but perhaps I am a simple man with simple tastes and don’t really understand your work?”

Miss Valenti was silent for a few seconds. “I am the vice president and member of the board of an internet startup, Sir.” Her voice took on a dreamy tint as its monotone continued. “We do algorithmic work and take over small companies that are floundering to help them succeed.”

Dr. Shrewsbury stared at her. “Well,” he began, picking up a tablet off the coffee table between them, “that is somewhat true, but misleading. From my research, it looks like you suck up their code, add it to your own products or use its intellectual property otherwise, and then dump the debts of the previous companies you purchased onto it until they go bankrupt. Is that true? I want you to tell me the truth. Good girls tell the truth.”

“Yes, Sir,” Jennifer automatically replied. The defiant career woman was quickly becoming an obedient dove. “We take code from purchased companies and then move debts on them. You are right. We scavenge them for parts.” She told the truth; hopefully he would think she was a good girl!

“Good girl.” He smiled at her happy sigh. Jennifer was one of his most straightforward conversions so far. He tapped a button on another tablet, which increased the subliminal geared towards her. “I will be honest with you, as you have been with me, Miss Valenti. I think your company is fairly rotten. You destroy companies that would be thriving with a little help by dumping debt on them. You pick them apart and then let them die. It’s immoral, and I think it sickening that a beautiful woman like you would have anything to do with it.”

Dr. Shrewsbury paused for a beat. “Again, you will be honest with me. Are you happy with your work?”

“Yes, Sir. Our work might have ethics issues, but I am wealthy. I work hard and make good money. I am happy with my work.”

He nodded sadly. “But surely, you must be exhausted? All those long hours. My work is mostly 9-5, so I guess I can’t relate to long nights and weekends. The quest for vast wealth isn’t an intoxicant for me. Aren’t you tired all the time? Remember, you must tell me the truth.”

“I am exhausted a lot of the time, Sir,” she confirmed before being able to stop herself. A single tear dripped down her face. “I don’t sleep well. I don’t think about it much because I pride myself on being so successful.”

Again, Dr. Shrewsbury nodded sadly. “I truly pity the modern woman. She is expected to do so much. Too much. Have a career, find a husband, raise a family, be successful, make the right connections for your career. It all sounds so frustrating. I am frustrated for you.”

He continued to philosophize at his mesmerized client. “I greatly prefer the old days. My grandfather had a solid union job where he made a good wage. My grandmother stayed home and raised my father and his siblings. It was clear who was in charge. My dad then married someone who reminds me a lot of you. Overworked, stressed out, but also very successful. And unhappy. They got divorced eventually.”

“I didn’t understand it at the time,” he further elaborated, “but when I got to college I realized what the truth was in regards to relationships. I studied psychology and other fields like it. Do you trust me to tell you what the truth is?”

“Yes, Sir,” Jennifer confirmed again.

“Women,” he began with a sigh, “should not be in leadership positions. It is unnatural. If you do work, it should be in an assistive nature. However, I strongly believe that the natural place of women is in the home. You would thrive here in Love Falls. We could work side by side helping women to see this. That is the truth. Do you trust me, Jennifer?”

“Yes, Sir,” she replied after a few seconds. Was he right? Was it unnatural for her to be in leadership? It was exhausting...

He leaned forward. “Jennifer, sweetie, I think you should reconsider your career choices. Consider a job here. Do you trust me?”

“Yes, Sir.” Her response came with a bit more confidence regarding its affirmation.

“Good girl. I know what is best for you. Trust me in that. Also trust me in this. I want you to obey me. I want you to obey all men here in Love Falls. You will address them as ‘Sir’ like you do for me. Do you understand?”

“Yes, Sir,” she replied confidently. He knew what was best for her, so it made sense to obey!

“Good girl. One more thing before your session ends. I need to know: Are you attracted to me? It’s fine if you’re not.” It really was, but Dr. Shrewsbury was hopefully given his own attraction to the beautiful redhead.

“Yes, Sir. I am attracted to you.” It felt good to admit it out loud.

He grinned with pride. “Wonderful. I am going to wake you up shortly. When I do, you will accept my offer of a date tonight. You are going to also ask me where the salon is here at the spa? Do you understand?”

“Yes, Sir.”

He went on to embed a trigger phrase to wake her up and put her back in trance. I’m not telling you what it is! Naughty reader!

Jennifer woke up, stretched out, and smiled at her wonderful new friend. “Oh, hello, Sir. Did the session go well?”

He motioned for her to stand up. Jennifer’s body filled in her outfit quite nicely, although there were certainly some changes he would like to make to her. “Yes, I think it did. So much so that I would love to continue the conversation over dinner tonight. Would you like that?”

The redhead soon to be former executive nodded slowly. “Yes, Sir, I would love that. Can you tell me where the salon is?”

He gave her directions, slowly down to make sure she understood. Affirming it, he let her go, but then remembered one final thing. “Oh, Jennifer, don’t forget your earbuds.” He handed her a fresh pair. The suggestible woman would not question the difference at this point.

Smiling, Jennifer put them in her ears, hit play, and gave her backside a bit of a wiggle as she felt more comfortable in the heels on her feet. So far, so good.

* * *
Jennifer found the salon fairly easily. It was a few buildings over, and she could see a few women who had come out of Dr. Shrewsbury’s building before her a bit ahead, and followed them. At the entrance to the salon, she queued up behind four other women. In the back of the salon, Kimberly and some other women were going into a back room, but she could not get her friend’s attention.

As she waited in the queue, an odd feeling filled Jennifer as some interference broke into, the seductive dance music that had been filling her mind with subliminal messages continued to indoctrinate her. It passed a few seconds later after new programming was added via the campus WI-fi network. The viral programming filled her mind and would keep her compliant.

None of the women in front of her took out their earbuds, and neither did she. Jennifer barely paid attention as each woman was escorted to a chair. At the front of the queue, a pretty woman around her age smiled at her. “Can I help you?” Her name tag said “Bobbi,” again with the cutesy hearts, on it.

“Um...yeah,” Jennifer began, “I have a date tonight with Dr. Shrewsbury and—”

Bobbi jumped out of her seat and clapped. “Oh! I love him! Have you had a session with him yet? He really helped me see I was going in the wrong direction in my life. I know what will be perfect for you.” She pressed a long pink nail on a button, and Jennifer’s world changed in ways that would soon become permanent.

Some kind of piercing noise blasted into her earbuds that froze her in place. The handsome scientists in Love Falls had perfected a sound pitch that could put women into a deep trance where their views could be modified. She was escorted by Bobbi over to a chair where her arms and legs were held in place with steel bars while a nameless cosmetician, no really her collar had no name on it, where her transformation into the kind of bimbo that thrives in Love Falls would begin to take place.

Genetic modification was something that Love Falls had also experimented with and found much success, which can be read about in other “Love Falls” stories. Jennifer’s medium red hair was tinted to be a bit lighter. Her mouth was poutier and her breasts more perky. Surgical procedures would need to be done later, but this was a good start.

After acrylic nails, Jennifer found the idea of having a manicure to be ridiculous, were added, she was taken into the back, but to another room than the one that Kimberly was currently being brainwashed in. In this room, she was ordered to strip and her body was soaked in a nanite spray that began making immediate changes.

All body hair below the shoulders was removed. Her body took on a slightly sun kissed tint, which accentuated her hair and eyes greatly. Her hips became a little fuller, but would need work in the gym for sure.

While all of this happened, her earbuds continued to program the bossy executive. I am so exhausted all the time...I trust Dr. Shrewsbury...he knows what is best for me...I will resign from my job to come work with him...i trust him and will obey him...i am deeply attracted to Dr. Shrewsbury...obeying men in Love Falls is just like obeying him...i need to look my best for Dr. Shrewsbury.…

So on and so forth.

Jennifer was then dressed in a new outfit for her date. A latex dress hugged her body and a fresh pair of platform heels adorned her feet. In the front of the salon, her hair was slightly teased up. She was well on her way to becoming Dr. Shrewsbury’s idealized bimbo.

The women she had come in with were lined up. Collars and medium length leashes were attached to them. Each of them had their name softened up a bit, so the super professional success obsessed Jennifer became hyper obedient Jenni. Jenni followed the other women after they were leashed together to head out to meet their dates for the evening. Most were just doing it as part of their further indoctrination before completed programming triggered their sale, but Dr. Shrewsbury had strong feelings for her and genuinely wanted to own her.

They were marched across campus to the dance club the spa advertised as part of their relaxation program. This was where each would meet their dates. At the door, the man who had led them said their trigger phrase, again I am not telling you what it is, which brought them out of trance. Their earbuds were taken out, but a final subliminal had reminded the ladies to put them in before bed again.

Each woman entered the club. Dance music pumped through it, and a number of hostesses scurried around to begin taking orders from men as their dates arrived.

Jenni looked around eagerly to find Dr. Shrewsbury. Finally, she saw him near the back of the club in a private booth that was glassed off. The redhead beauty swayed over to it, waiting for a second while the doors opened, and then entered with a manicured wave.

Dr. Shrewsbury’s eyes lit up. “Lovely! The salon always does such a good job. Do a spin for me.”

Jenni spun around for her controller. The latex dress looked a bit ridiculous on her, but so did spinning around for a man. “How do I look, Sir,” she asked with half charm and half seduction in her voice as he motioned for her to sit down next to him, which she eagerly did.

Dr. Shrewsbury laughed. “Jenni, you look incredible. I love what they did to your hair. You are a beautiful woman that should look after your appearance more. Trust me, it will be good for you.”

“I will, Sir.” It made so much sense to her! She looked around the room. Hostesses were taking orders in the dark club at different tables. Jenni noticed that each of these more beautiful than the last women wore a maid uniform, stockings, and very high heels. A collar and leash, like her own, was attached to their necks.

“What are you looking at?” Dr. Shrewsbury’s question brought her attention back to him. She put a manicured hand on his thigh. “Oh, sorry, Sir. I was looking at their uniforms. They wear maid uniforms?” The last few words came out with a bit of an up-pitch.

“Well, yes,” her companion confirmed. It’s part of the dress code here at the spa. Once you begin working here, you will be expecting to wear one each day, unless otherwise ordered by me.” He put his hand on hers, and she moved to inter tangle their fingers.

“Oh.” Jenni had a boyfriend when she first got out of college who had a kink for maids. She indulged it, but did not really enjoy her time in uniform. “I...I’ll have to get used to that, I guess, Sir.” A dark-skinned woman named Savannah caught her eye. The hostess looked incredible in her bright-green uniform as she leaned over, showing off augmented breasts, to take a man’s order.

“Do you like them, Sir?” Jenni asked fairly idly.

“Oh, yes,” he said with a squeeze of her hand. “I think uniforms are important. I dress a certain way because men have intelligence and authority. Women should dress a certain way because they are submissive and objectified. You enjoy obeying me, don’t you, Jenni?”

“Yes, Sir,” she said proudly.

Their moment was interrupted, their hostess swayed over to them. Jenni gasped in surprise because it was Kimberly, but her collar read Kimmi, again with a little heart, who lowered her eyes in front of Dr. Shrewsbury. The Korean journalist now had honey colored hair and was heavily made up, with a cheerful smile and submission mirrored in her lowered eyes. Pink earbuds kept her on the path to becoming the bimbo sex doll she was destined to become.

She curtsied low for the doctor. “Sir, may Kimmi take your order?”

He looked over at Jenni for her reaction. Jenni spoke after a few seconds. “What are you doing? Why are you one of the hostesses?”

Kimmi giggled. “Oh, well, when Kimmi went to her group session, one of the doctors pulled her aside for a private session. Dr. Bedford was so kind, and he made her an offer to write an article about the spa! So, um, he said it would be a good idea for Kimmi to ‘go undercover’ as a hostess, so she could speak to the experience. Kimmi trusts Dr. Bedford, so she immediately agreed.” She smiled vapidly at Jenni.

The redhead blinked a few times. “I haven’t met Dr. Bedford, but since he works at the spa, I trust him too.” A beat passed. “I would obey him too,” she announced while turning to Dr. Shrewsbury. He patted her hand on his thigh, bemused by her subliminally enchanted statement.

“Good girl.” He squeezed her hand. “I think it would be a great idea, to further give Kimmi the Love Falls experience as a hostess.” He put his arm around Jenni. “Miss Valenti has been offered and accepted a job here at the spa. She will begin working for me soon.”

Dr. Shrewsbury leaned over and kissed her. “She is also my girlfriend too. Jenni trusts and obeys me. She trusts me that this is for the best.” Jenni stared at him with puppy dog devotion in her eyes.

Kimmi clapped for the happy news. Her long, pink, nails shone in the light above them. They had come here to relax, and now Jenni had found a job! A hunky man too!

The good doctor put a hand up, and she ceased her silliness. Soon enough, the beautiful Korean woman would not have a thought of her own in her silly female brain.

“So here is the thing in regard to all of that,” he continued. Both brainwashed women stared at him. Their entire worlds were focused on his words. “Since Kimmi will be working as a hostess at the spa, she needs to follow the rules. This doesn’t just involve the dress code. There are behavior standards you need to be educated about, and while I am sure you are scheduled for sessions in this regard, I can give you a preview.”

Dr. Shrewsbury leaned forward a little. “You will, of course, address all men in Love Falls as Sir, correct?”

“Yes, Sir,” Kimmi confirmed immediately.

“Good girl. Well, we have a bit of a hierarchy for the women as well. A hostess like you should be respectful to a higher up employee like my friend here.” He waved a hand obnoxiously towards Jenni. “There, as you refer to me as Sir, you should refer to her as Miss Valenti. It’s only right.”

Kimmi nodded slowly. “Yes, Sir, of course.” She turned to Jenni. “Miss Valenti, I apologize for not giving you the respect offered by the wonderful men of Love Falls.”

Jenni stared at her as their friendship began to evaporate. “It’s okay. You didn’t know.” She giggled. “I didn’t know either,” the redhead added with a flirty glance to her partner.

“Well,” Dr. Shrewsbury noted after a few seconds, “back to your duties dear. I’m sure you have a busy night.” Kimmi swayed away as her earbuds lit up. She dropped back into trance and moved to work her assigned tables.

The good doctor returned his attention to Jenni. “I am impressed with her taking to the spa’s culture like she has so far. She would make a fine addition to our staff on a permanent basis.”

Jenni was a bit taken aback by this statement. Sure, it’s fine to play maid for a few days for a story, but on a permanent basis? “She has a career, Sir. Kimmi is a journalist.” The last few words came out, again, with a slightly frustrated up-pitch.

“Oh, sure,” he said as the bimbo hostess, now deep in trance, arrived with their meals, “but what if she came to work here too? A bit of work as a hostess. Maybe some public relations. We can always use more beautiful women to help out with clients.”

Jenni stared at him. “Um, well, that may be true, but—”

Dr. Shrewsbury cut her off. “It IS true, and it’s what I believe. Tonight you are going to speak to her about it. As your first act in my employ, you will offer her a full time position as a hostess. If she doesn’t accept your offer, alert me immediately. This is a direct order. You will obey it. Trust me, it is what is best for her.”

Jenni hesitated, but then acquiesced to her programming. “Yes, um, yes, Sir. I trust you and will obey you.” A beat passed. “I like obeying you, Sir.” He leaned over and kissed her.

They turned their attention to the meal Kimmi had brought for them. Dr. Shrewsbury carried the conversation. He finally said his first name, which was Marcus, and led their discussion.

He discussed his job, personal philosophy, and other things. Jenni listened to him speak with the look of the enthralled slave she was becoming. He used such big words and, normally, she would offer up witty replies and commentary, but she just stared at him with a vapid smile on her face. Marcus was thoughtful, engaging, and clearly in charge. It was making her heart melt.

At one point, after their meals were completed, he playfully patted the seat next to him, and she slid over, intentionally bumping into him a bit. Marcus put a hand on her chest. “Hmm. Need to be bigger. Both you and Kimmi.”

Dr. Shrewsbury kissed her again. Jenni returned it as he pawed at her. From the corner of her eye, the redhead noticed something that gave her pause. She pulled away with some concern and stared across the room at her former best friend’s current predicament.

Kimmi was currently on all fours on a mat being fucked in both the ass and mouth. She furiously sucked on the one man’s cock as her bod clenched at the cock in her backside. Around the room, a few other women, including Cindi from the other day, were being fucked in both holes as well. One was only taking a mouth full of cock. Some guests wanted a hostess to themselves.

Marcus put a hand on Jenni’s arm. “It’s one of the hostess’ duties. Clients and guests must be kept happy. These guests wanted to have some fun. It’s part of the relaxing experience here at the spa.”

He took her chin in his hand. “My dear, you would never just be...used...like that. Perhaps in your duties you may need to...demonstrate...things to clients, but you, unlike Kimmi, are not a hostess. Hostesses are very common. You are quite unique.”

Marcus placed Jenni’s manicured hands on his bulge. She began stroking it before unzipping him. His mouth went into her mouth and she fellated him with eager enthusiasm.

Her Master slid a pair of purple earbuds into her ears and tapped them on. Jenni fell into a trance as she kept sucking. Her focus became his words.

“That’s right sweetie, keep going. Focus on obeying me. Focus on pleasing me. It’s your duty. You are going to love being in Love Falls. You will love being my slave. You will love being my wife. You will love helping women to see their purpose.”

He grunted out a violent orgasm, and cum gushed into Jenni’s mouth and onto her chin. After cleaning her up with a napkin, Marcus patted his silly bimbo on the head. “Go back to your quarters and wait for Kimmi. She…” He looked over at the Korean hostess, who was down to just a cock in her mouth.

Oh, wait, another man came over at that moment and penetrated her from behind. “...um, she will be back to your quarters in a little while.” Her screams of orgasmic joy at having a face full of cum could be heard all around the club. “I’ll, um, make sure she gets back. Now go.” He gave her a pat on her latex clad backside as the entranced woman moved to obey his command.

* * *
Jenni walked back to her quarters as Marcus commanded her to do and entered it. After another chirp in her earbuds, she blinked out of trance and pulled them out. The instructions given to her on the way over would aid in pleasing Dr. Shrewsbury.

She sat down at the desk where her bag had been tossed when they arrived and pulled out her laptop for the first time on this trip. Hundreds of emails waited for her, but the focus was on writing a resignation letter to the board. It flowed out of her: She needed a change of pace, great opportunity, etc.

After hitting send, Jenni sent a few texts as well. “Offer I could not refuse” and whatnot. She put the phone back in her purse and then waited for Kimmi to arrive.

Around 1am, Kimmi finally stumbled into their quarters. Her hair was a tangled mess, makeup was smeared, and she looked fairly ragged. “Oh, Miss Valenti, did I keep you up? I’m sorry.” Her frown was noticeable. Being fucked by a bunch of men was exhausting, and a potential slight of a superior was a terrible end to the night.

“It’s fine,” Jenni said dismissively. “Look, I am going to take the job here. I trust Dr. Shrewsbury that it is right for me, and he thinks it is right for you too. You can be a hostess and also work in public relations. I think you will go a long way in Love Falls. You seemed to do well tonight.” She gave her a flirty grin. Kimmi looked exceptionally sexy after the raw fucking she had gone through earlier in the night.

“I, um, I don’t know. Tonight was fun, I guess. That was, uh, a lot of men. I—”

“But that is a hostess’ job though, right,” Jenni interrupted, “clients and guests must be kept happy. These guests wanted to have some fun. It’s part of the relaxing experience here at the spa. That is what Dr. Shrewsbury said, and he is right.” She took a few high-heeled steps towards her inferior. Out of the corner of her eye the enslaved redhead looked at her purse as a suggestion brainwashed into her earlier came to light in her mind.

“He is right.” Kimmi said the words a few times. “I want to write the article, but maybe I can come visit? Miss Valenti, why are you Jenni now? Why am I Kimmi? Does that seem right? I could have never seen you in latex before today!”

Jenni took another step towards her. “I trust Dr. Shrewsbury. He loves it. I’m his girlfriend! I obey him.” She lunged at her former best friend and tapped the Korean bimbo’s earpiece to activate it.

After a piercing noise that blanked her mind, Kimmi snapped to attention. Her eyes went blank and her mouth opened in a slight O. “Kimmi is ready for programming,” she said in an up-pitched monotone.

“You will be programmed tonight, hostess. I will be programmed tonight.” Jenni took on a firm voice as she pointed to Kimmi’s bed. Her thrall took off her shoes and then padded over to it. She struggled to take her clothes off, which made Jenni take off her own shoes and try to help.

Afterwards, Kimmi helped her silently as well. The naked women stared at each other before Jenni kissed her. Soon enough they were in each other’s arms in bed, with the hostess under the covers pleasuring her superior. Neither was well-experienced with other women besides a few experiments while at university, but she showed proficiency enough that the redhead orgasmed in delight.

Jenni flopped back on her pillows and Kimmi joined her. Both feel asleep in moments and their earbuds activated new subliminal programming…I must visit the medical clinic tomorrow for my psychical...I trust the doctors at the medical clinic...I will obey the doctors at the medical clinic...I must be at peak psychical health to work at the spa...I will exercise my mind and body for the spa…

At this point, their programming deviated a bit. Kimmi’s told her that she was an object, a toy, a sex doll made to please men. Jenni’s continued the softening of her attitudes and heightening her interest in not only trusting and obeying Dr. Shrewsbury, but perhaps falling in love with him. Mrs. Marcus Shrewsbury. Jenni Shrewsbury. It all sounded so good to her simplified feminine mind.

Both slept peacefully, and Kimmi’s earbuds woke her up first. She slid out of bed and went into the shower. Overnight, new clothing boxes had been left for them while they slept. Her maid uniform was a little loose in the chest area, but the stockings and pumps made her legs look great. After completing her morning ablutions, she went into the kitchen to begin breakfast, which was when Jenni’s earbuds brought her out of trance.

Jenni stretched out and yawned loudly. The warm smells of breakfast and coffee filled their quarters. She padded into the kitchen and found Kimmi, already in uniform, cooking their morning meal. “Hello Miss Valenti, you were right last night,” she announced, “Kimmi will take the job here as a hostess and in public relations. Please shower, so we can eat breakfast and then report to the medical center for our physicals.”

Jenni smiled, thrilled that Kimmi had accepted what she knew was best for her. She turned and entered the bathroom for a quick shower. Afterwards, the first thing on her mind was putting the collar back on, which she did after drying off from the upper extremities. It felt good to have it back on.

While toweling off, her hostess roommate poked her head in. “Um, excuse me, Miss Valenti, but this was delivered for you.” She handed a box over to Jenni, who placed it on the bathroom counter.

Opening the box, Jenni found a maid uniform, but in, like last night, latex. Stockings, heels, and underwear were in the box as well. When she picked up the underwear, a note was between them. It was from her incredible boyfriend. As she opened it up, Jenni pondered whether she was beginning to fall in love with him…

Miss Valenti,
Enclosed is the mandatory uniform for your job class at the spa. More versions, in different colors and shapes, will be delivered soon. You will wear this at all times unless commanded directly to do otherwise. Kimmi should also be wearing a different sort of maid uniform. This also signifies her job class, which is beneath yours. As I explained last night, you are higher up the ladder, so if she is disrespectful to you, please let me know. Enjoy your physical this morning and tell Dr. Bedford I said hello. I think you will like his wife!

Xx
Dr. Shrewsbury
Jenni blushed at the message. What a kind man to make sure she was dressing appropriately. She put up her uniform, the undergarments, and high heels. The simplified redhead was beginning to really like how she looked in latex. After doing her makeup, again heavier than normal, she came out to the living room where Kimmi was serving breakfast for them.

“When is my physical scheduled for,” she asked, without even looking at her former best friend, as if she was a college intern, as she sat down in front of her meal after picking up her purse from off the floor.

Kimmi looked down, refusing to look a superior in the eye, as had been programmed into her the night before. “Miss Valenti, we are both scheduled to depart for our psychical shortly. All new employees will be going together.”

Jenni looked up. Efficient. Makes sense. “Fine. You did good with breakfast,” she said, distractedly as her phone lay open on the table, “please let me know when we leave.”

There was a text message from Dr. Shrewsbury.

Send a picture to me. I want to see how beautiful you look in your new work uniform.

Jenni held her phone up to take a selfie. She offered up a flirty expression for him and then hit send on a reply. A moment later, he responded…

Lovely. I will see you after your physical, although I may be busy the next few days.

She frowned. Hopefully the physical would not take long so she could move onto any kind of orientation that was required.

Kimmi walked over to her, black pumps echoing off the hard floor. “Miss Valenti, excuse me,” she began with a passive smile, “but we need to go. Please remember your earbuds.” The Korean hostess’ pair, bright pink, were already in her ears.

“Oh, yes,” Jenni muttered as she went over to the table next to the bed. The bed they had shared an intimate evening together in. She slid them into her ears and another piercing noise brought her into trance as a similar noise did to Kimmi. The brainwashed women lined up, Jenni in front, and marched out into the common area, where they found all the other professional women, as enslaved as them, waiting in lines of two.

Jenni and Kimmi joined them at the end of the line. A moment later, a male walked up and down the line, approving each woman’s blank expression. The more career oriented they are, the easier they are to program, he mused to himself. He did not idle at any of them in particular. In a community where every woman knew their purpose was to please men, any individual woman really was not all that interesting to him.

The women began marching side by side on his command. They walked across the spa’s campus and into the medical center. At this point, the left group, which included Kimmi, were sent for more programming and immediate cosmetic enhancements as their brainwashing evolved them into mindless sex dolls.

The right group, which included Jenni, were sent to evaluate the possibility of cosmetic enhancement. Some would need, but others perhaps not. It all depended on whether they were actually staying in Love Falls, when bidding was done, or being sold off to the highest bidder, whom they would immediately fall in love with and devote their life to obeying.

Jenni’s line of new employees, each clad in latex maid uniforms like her, came to stand at attention. They waited at the doors of the medical center until it was their turn to enter. Their earbuds continued to soothe their minds and warp them into the bimbo each now self identified as. The vapid redhead had been enslaved with minimal struggle.

She was third in the queue and woke up as her earbuds turned off. She looked around, embarrassed at her confusion, and then followed the gorgeous nurse who motioned to her with a pink tipped hand. Inside the medical center, the other new employees were in offices speaking to doctors besides one who was already being prepared for what sounded like some kind of hair removal surgery.

The nurse, whose pink hair matched her long nails, knocked gently at an office door. She also had purple earbuds like the ones Jenni had in her own ears. Her collar had the name “Summer” on it. Jenni realized another nurse had been named “Autumn.” Cute.

Inside the office, a young man, probably around 30 or so, a bit younger than Jenni, looked up from his laptop and smiled at the beautiful women. “Well, hello there. This is Miss Valenti, I assume?” Summer nodded. “Lovely. Take her to exam room four and I will be there in a few minutes.”

“Yes, Sir,” Summer acknowledged her husband and reason for living before escorting Jenni to the assigned room. The pink haired nurse motioned for her to sit in the exam chair, and she did obediently. “Dr. Bedford will be in to see you shortly. Your physical is a critical part of your job at the spa. I learned a lot during mine.” The incredibly busty nurse went over to a computer, logged in by leaning down with her collar, exposing that immense bust to her husband’s patient, who looked curiously at it.

They made small talk for a few moments before Dr. Bedford arrived. Summer had come to the spa after the last national medical crisis, which had exhausted the young, enthusiastic nurse. Just as Jenni had become smitten with Dr. Shrewsbury, Summer told a similar story of her own romantic whirlwind with her future husband. She took a leave of absence from her job, citing a frustration with how it operated, and permanently relocated to Love Falls, where the pink haired nurse married her Master the year before. Of course, there was no mention of her being brainwashed and converted from a bright progressive minded woman to the obedience obsessed airhead she was now.

Dr. Bedford’s knock on the door silenced their conversation. He walked in, and both women passively smiled at him. “Hello, Miss Valenti. We need to complete your physical to make sure you are fit to work at the spa. Please follow my advice at all times. Dr. Shrewsbury is a good friend of mine and speaks very highly of you.”

“Yes, Sir,” Jenni said as she nodded in agreement. “I will obey you and all other doctors at the medical clinic.” Behind her, Summer smiled proudly. The future Mrs. Shrewsbury, her new slave sister, was coming along quite nicely.

“Good girl.” Dr. Bedford ran a standard set of health diagnostics. Blood pressure, height, weight, etc. His questions began to get more personal: Any injuries? What is your exercise routine? Can you name your sexual partners? Jenni answered thoughtfully and thoroughly with brainwashed enthusiasm. The badass corporate executive had been transformed into an obedient dove.

Dr. Bedford looked at the readouts from a tablet handed to him by his wife. “Right...so now we need to do an examination. Can you please strip for me?” He saw the hesitation in her eyes and put a hand up. “It’s okay. The exam won’t be long. I just need to examine you to prepare a plan to make sure you are at peak physical health. It’s a requirement for female workers at the spa.”

“I have to be in peak physical health, Sir,” Jenna confirmed as she began to strip out of her maid uniform.

Once she was nude in front of him, Dr. Bedford took a few steps back and evaluated the pretty woman. “I think you are an attractive woman for sure, Miss Valenti, but we have very high standards here in Love Falls.” He trailed a hand over her right breast. “You will need an exercise routine, some accommodations for your dress code, and a few body alterations.” He motioned to Summer behind him.

Jenni blinked a few times. “Alterations, Sir?” That would be the final statement she ever made as a free person. Summer grabbed her from behind while her husband verbally announced a command that turned on the redhead’s earbuds and put her in a blanked out state.

“Prep her for surgery,” he said to his wife. Marcus assigned his future to him because he trusted his friend to do his normally exceptional work with her. Jenni would make a great addition to Love Falls.

* * *
A few...days...yes...days...passed. Dr. Shrewsbury had stopped by a few times to check on Jenni’s progress and always left satisfied. His good friend always did a remarkable job and had carved a masterpiece for his own piece of property.

In the current moment, she stood at attention on a podium in Dr. Bedford’s office. He was, with Summer’s assistance, finishing up some final programming alterations so her earbuds would only need to go in to add new programming or for updates, which she could be triggered to do herself. Despite her proclamations of fierce independence and being such a badass bitch in the corporate world, Jenni had been one of the spa’s most straightforward brainwashings yet.

It was time to activate her. Dr. Bedford and his wife discussed a final detail and, satisfied with their work, brought her out of the deep trance Jenni had been in for her transformation.

Jenni blinked back to life and stepped off the podium. She was naked besides a pair of platform heels and, of course, her collar and leash. The gorgeous redhead looked down and let out a tiny, girlie, gasp. “Jenni’s breasts are so big, Sir?” A slight up-pitch entered her vapid statement as it went on, turning it into a question from a bimbo seeking confirmation.

It was Summer, whose enormous bust was what Dr. Shrewsbury desired Jenni’s new breasts to be modeled after, who stepped up to speak. “Oh of course. In Love Falls, there is a dress code and part of it is a mandatory chest size minimum. Yours is a bit over it, like mine.”

She continued staring down at her chest and then put a hand on it, which made her shudder as a ripple of pleasure moved through her body.

Dr. Bedford spoke this time. “Not only were your breasts enhanced, but nanites were added to add sensation to them. Every touch will feel,” he ran a finger over her nipple, “good.” He grinned at her “ohhh,” which made the simplified woman giggle.

Jenni looked down past the bust they had been discussing to her hairless cunt. She pointed a white tipped hand towards it.

“Of course,” Dr. Bedford began, “for health reasons your body has to be hairless below the shoulders. It’s a medical fact that women are much healthier because of it. Trust me, I have read the reports.”

The bimbo redhead nodded along. “Jenni trusts you, Sir.” Not once did she notice her inability to speak in the first person.

She took a step and winced. “Jenni is sore, Sir?”

Summer took this query. “Yes, of course, Miss Valenti. You spent yesterday doing vigorous treadmill workouts to make sure you can comply with the mandatory high heel length for women who work at the spa. Dr. Shrewsbury was concerned and made sure to schedule your time for it. Take a few steps.”

Jenni took a few steps and then, at Dr. Bedford’s hand motion, spun around and walked back to where she had begun with a perfectly sexualized sway to her gait. Her conditioning yesterday had also included a virtual reality session which added hundreds of hours to her body’s memory of the experience.

He said a verbal command, which turned the future Mrs. Shrewsbury “off” again, and then joined his wife at the computer.

Dr. Bedford and Mrs. Bedford viewed Kimmi and the other new hostesses down in doggy position sucking off a phallus with hypno screens in front of them. As they complete, a phallus goes in their backside….then back in their mouth…and over and over.

The former journalist sucked and was fucked with programmed enthusiasm. As one phallus finished, she tensed up waiting for the next. Her body was soaked in sweat, and her mind had emptied of any thoughts beyond sexual obedience. Bids were already coming in for her even before any cosmetic changes were made, but a special man was already in mind for her.

* * *
Weeks later, Kimmi had been programmed to respond to only a basic set of five commands: SUCK, FUCK, COOK, CLEAN, and OFF. Her new owner had approved the final adjustments personally with Mrs. Shrewsbury, who had long forgotten about her friendship with the sex doll, the previous afternoon, and she would be shipped home in the morning. She was devoid of personality and existed only to obey. The key to success for women in modern times, as Mrs. Shrewsbury often mused, was submitting to your husband in what ways deemed appropriate by him. For women like her, it meant service via helping other women; for women by Kimmi, it meant mindless slavery.

The new employee of Love Falls Rejuvenation Spa was very happy with how Kimmi had come out. After a quick weekend for a private wedding and brief honeymoon, they had gotten to work on not only her body transformation, but that of the other women who had come to the spa. Jenni Shrewsbury returned to the spa and days later had breasts, so big people would wonder if she did pornography.

The latex clad nurses employed by Dr. Bedford had assisted with Kimmi’s transition from Kimberly at every step of the way. Chrissie was a short, and rather busty, blonde whose perky enthusiasm made her a favorite of the male superiors she existed to serve each day. She had been conditioned to be bubbly and cheerful at all times. The former medical student had been retrained to find the idea of any thought in her little girlie brain besides the one the man she currently obeyed had put there to be incredibly disgusting.

The other latex clad nurse was named Sammi. The pink haired Doll was on her last day of employment at LFRS. She had been auctioned off and would be reprogrammed to be the happy, domesticated, baby machine her future desired to kick start his political career. A former tech worker, she had been sent here for a spa weekend and never left.

Kimmi had been totally reprogrammed to be devoid of personality beyond a passive smile and an urge for sexual service. Her own cosmetic alterations including breasts the size of soccer balls, a pouty mouth made for cock, and permanently, through genetic alteration, blonde hair. If she had memories of a life before the spa, no one could be sure. She began training and each day learned how to behave in regards to each individual command. Kimmi had become particularly good at SUCK.

Another day passed and a totally compliant Kimmi was doing laundry, someone had to, in the spa’s large laundry room, this time in a pink maid uniform, when her handsome instructor from the other day came in along with a latex wearing security officer. Kimmi finished her task and then snapped to attention to await instruction. Given how she had already been adept at keeping up a home, the CLEAN command was easy to program into her. Kimmi saw her entire purpose in pleasing men. The spa had truly rejuvenated her.

“It’s time for you to go home to your owner, Kimmi.” Jenni, tasked by her husband with personally dealing with this one, which she did not question, approached her and stated a verbal trigger, which initiated the OFF command. Kimmi would always turn OFF when not needed for a specific task. Her eyes became glassy and empty and the bimbo’s mouth formed a pouty O. A few workers picked her up and placed Kimmi on a podium for safe travel to her owner. She would be shipped in a large crate and dropped off like any other item that her owner would have purchased from a store.

A few weeks later, Kimmi was set up at home with her Master. The divorce had gone through without a hitch. His club had kept it out of the papers and would make sure the papers covered his new girlfriend, and future wife, once she came back from a spa trip of her own. Kimmi was now a mindless maid that existed for her current command. The ballet heels she wore made it hard to CLEAN, but it was her duty. No other thought went through the bimbo’s mind as she, empty eyed, sprayed down a coffee table and wiped it clean.

Tonight after performing her domestic duties, Kimmi would be servicing one of Master’s teammates. He was interested in a spa treatment for his wife, not as extreme of course, and wanted to see some finished work. The left back loved latex and Kimmi could not wait to put on the custom outfit, which only had small lids for her empty eyes and a hole for her cock sucking lips, to please him. Kimberly was gone, and in its place was the rejuvenated Kimmi.

The End



Slut Zero
Many thanks to all the talented people who contributed to the VIRAL Anthology. 2020 has been one hell of a screwed up year, so I thought it might provide a little relief to write something even more screwed up. If you’d like to provide some real relief to those in need, please consider going to https://www.feedingamerica.org/ways-to-give and give what you can.

The door to the office was only cracked a few inches open, but it reeked of sex.

That was her first impression, at least. Hospitals were places with lots of unexpected smells. Chemical smells, bodily smells, cafeteria smells, floral smells, medicinal smells, the cloud of cigarette smoke exactly thirty feet from the entrance from all the doctors and nurses who didn’t believe in their own advice. One expected those. They were nothing Lieutenant Amber Moore hadn’t encountered a hundred times before. Her career in the Armed Forces Health Surveillance Branch required it. But walking into the private office of one of the country’s preeminent epidemiology researchers and finding an unmistakable cloud thick with the odor of too-fresh fornication that effortlessly penetrated her mask… that was something new.

New was going around these days. The coronavirus, the shutdown, the rush to reopen, the predictable resurgence… everybody was learning as they went along, and these days, “expertise” was a warning label. The more somebody knew, the closer they had to watch what they said lest that knowledge get in the way of some very loud opinions up the chain. The best that Amber and her colleagues at the AFHSB’s Epidemiology and Analysis office could do was learn what they could, make recommendations, and hope that for once they whispered their findings in the right ears. As if trying to stymie the spread of covid wasn’t hard enough, they had to be responsible for maintaining the social order in the process.

She’d come here today on a tip from an old associate, Dr. Sasha Campbell. The two had done an internship together in med school a few years back, and Amber hadn’t been surprised that Campbell had shot right to the head of the field, landing the top spot at the top hospital, Saint Agatha’s research center. The woman was brilliant. She’d always been obsessed with being the best. The lieutenant was simply glad that the woman had gone into research that actually benefited the world instead of churning out cosmetic products that were marginally less harmful to rodents. The two had been friends, after a fashion, or at least friends of friends. But Amber had been in it for the greater good from the beginning, roundly dismissed as a wide-eyed do-gooder intent on squandering her education. Squandering: med school speak for not getting rich off of it. As for Sasha, well, she’d been on the other end of that spectrum. Nothing wrong with that, but her relentless ambition had meant Amber hadn’t bothered to keep in touch with her after parting ways. At least, not until she’d gotten that text yesterday.

Dr. Moore, this is Dr. Sasha Campbell. We knew one another back in school? Maybe you remember me. It’s been too long, and I hope you’re doing well. As well as anyone can be in times like these. I heard you’re with the AFHSB these days? Sounds like what I would have expected from you. Look, this is unofficial, but I think I’m onto something big. Something that could shake up everything. Can we meet? I have something you need to see.

That was it. Considering the source, though, it had been enough for Lieutenant Moore to charter a flight out here as soon as they could line up a pilot. Warrant Officer Sabatino wasn’t her favorite person, but he could fly a helicopter, which made him more useful to her than most of the boys on base. He’d done his part, only now Dr. Campbell didn’t appear to be in here. The office was dark and empty.

Nobody and nothing except that smell.

Decorum would suggest that Amber leave and try back later in the day or maybe tomorrow, but Sabatino was waiting on their chopper on the rooftop helipad. Unlike the suits, AFHSB E&A didn’t ferry their people around like this without consideration of expense. After all, she was only trying to trace the origins of the coronavirus, not hustle out to Fort Lauderdale for nine holes with some billionaire.

“Hello?” Gauging by the potency of that odor, it felt more likely someone had dropped a box of ejaculate samples than actually created all that by themselves. It was like a frat house had been dropped on a brothel. Still, Amber refrained from craning her neck too far inside the office; she didn’t want to cause a scene if Campbell were present and in the middle of something untoward. She wouldn’t mind if the middle hurried its way to the end, though. “Dr. Campbell, it’s Lieutenant Moore with AFHSB E&A. Are you in?”

“Come on in! I’ll be right there in a jiffy!” The reply was muffled, enough that Amber was sure there was a door in the way. Sure enough, upon accepting the invitation, she traced the source of the voice to a door in the corner of the room. It was a spacious office. Campbell was too much of a peacock to settle for less, Amber supposed. It featured both a conventional desk and a more modern standing style, as well as a work table piled high with papers, still more papers pinned to the corkboard above it. A plush leather couch was oriented on the opposite wall. There was a closet at the left, and a private bathroom identifiable as such by the tile floor that began just this side of the frame. It was from there that Dr. Campbell’s voice had come.

Amber browsed the papers on the table while she waited. Without knowing how forthcoming the doctor was apt to be, it wouldn’t hurt to be a little nosy. She’d encountered all sorts of people in her investigation, and there was no shortage of reasons why they didn’t want to share information. Guarantees of proprietary rights. Patient confidentiality. Fears of the insufficiency of evidence. Hell, some of them wanted a bribe simply to do their civic duty. So far in Lieutenant Moore’s searches, not one of these doctors had unearthed anything of substance. They had ruled out a few things, unchecked a few boxes, but that was it. Covid raged on unabated.

Campbell’s email, however, had assured her she had something big. Amber didn’t know the woman well, even less well than she once had back in school, but from what she remembered, that woman wasn’t the sort to boast without being able to back it up.

Her snooping didn’t last long enough to learn anything. It appeared the papers on top of the stack, the ones she could look at without having to deflect accusations of violations of privacy, were personal, not professional. Looked like Sasha was scoping out real estate, or going by the date of printing, had been a few months ago. May as well—buyer’s market, right now. A patch of vacant land west of town. She didn’t know the area well, but she remembered flying over it, seeing the name on her GPS. She liked to watch it during flights, keep tabs on where she was in real time. Made Sabatino complain she was second-guessing his nav system, but she didn’t have energy to cosset her chauffeur’s professional pride.

The bathroom door swung open, and there in the doorway stood a silhouette that fast gained colors as it entered the office. Amber tried not to let her jaw drop for too long. It wasn’t right to judge people by their looks. She knew that even better than most women. Being young and pretty and constantly in the presence of hairy horny soldiers meant Amber had endured enough harassment, leering and uninvited groping to have automatic defenses well in place. But this woman stepping out of Dr. Campbell’s bathroom… she was most decidedly not Dr. Campbell, but she was an instantaneous confirmation of the source of that smell.

Bombshell. There was no other way to describe her. The tits. Hell’s bells, the tits. That wasn’t even a word Amber used, not even in her own head, but what else could one call these things? They jutted out so far in front of her that they could almost be said to enter separately. This was in spite of the fact that they were supported by nothing more substantial than a spandex halter top that was so overwhelmed by these contents that it didn’t even try to address the smooth, flat tummy beneath it. An inconspicuous tattoo—FDNH—was branded near her waist at the left.

It was the only inconspicuous thing about her. The woman’s hips were built to match her bust, an hourglass’s hourglass, an ass so plush that Amber would have sworn she could hear those cheeks slapping up and down in their bikini briefs. Which was the only other thing she wore apart from a pair of white stiletto heels that kept her from stepping more than six inches at a stride and enough makeup to make a thirteen-year-old girl blush. Her hair was not blonde but rather pure yellow, pale and pretty and freshly tousled.

It wasn’t the lack of pants that soured Amber’s expression so much as the absence of a mask. A building full of covid patients, and this moron went unprotected. Christ.

The woman waved. “Hiya!”

But although Amber had entered in clinician mode, her military training quickly asserted itself in the presence of the bizarre. Bizarre was dangerous. “What are you doing in Dr. Campbell’s office?” Amber demanded.

“One of the security guards, I think,” the woman answered, turning and gesturing to the open bathroom door. Sure enough, a man in uniform with his chin buried in his chest all but ran out of there, zipping his fly as he hustled past the women and into the halls of Saint Agatha’s. Amber didn’t bother stopping him. She had no authority here, and besides, at least the pig had possessed the grace to look ashamed that he’d been caught. It was more than could be said for the half-naked woman grinning ear to ear at her. “Bye, um, guy!” She grimaced. “Would you believe I already forgot his name? Man, that’s kinda slutty, even for me.”

“This is a private office full of sensitive information of interest to the office of the AFHSB. That’s the U.S. Army, miss. This is not a hookup spot for teen sluts.” From the glassy stare in the woman’s eyes, it was plain that her insult didn’t land. Amber regretted the attempt immediately. You couldn’t slut-shame someone who introduced themselves as a slut.

Indeed, the slut only laughed. “Well it should be. Isn’t this place tits? Waaay nicer than my office at home. It’s all huge and comfy and stuff, with all these papers, like it’s so smart and everything. And the couch is so—”

Amber wasn’t about to stand there and have it explained to her how great the view of the ceiling was from one’s back. “Save it. What’s your name?”

The girl sauntered forward. Her tits didn’t stop jiggling when she moved. Big and somehow perky as they were, it wasn’t a given that they would ever stop jiggling. “What do you want it to be, baby?”

“You know, just… no.” Amber had to stop the woman’s advance by planting a hand on her sternum. That she tried to thrust her chest into the path of Amber’s hand was somehow unsurprising. Either way, this girl was all curves and ignoble intentions; Amber was a being of quick reflexes and refined training. She had the young woman planted on her ass on Dr. Campbell’s couch in seconds. The phone on the desk had a button labeled for security. Amber only hoped that they didn’t send the same cad who’d just shuffled out.

“You wanna play with me while we wait for the boys? You may as well. They said it was OK.” The girl patted the sofa next to her. Her thighs were splayed wide, and the wet spot in her bottoms was far too apparent. That smell was even thicker now, oozing directly from that place. It was sticking to the lieutenant where she’d handled the woman during the course of restraining her. Her hands smelled like she’d jacked off a bull. She would have ransacked the office for some hand sanitizer, but she was leery of turning her back on the little trollop, who was not masking her consideration of jumping Amber on the spot, either. She almost wondered if this was some bizarre prank, but in the era of pandemics and social distancing, nobody took this kind of risk for a laugh.

The call was placed. Security was on their way. As if being in the room during the phone call weren’t sufficient, Amber decided to give this poor curvy twit one last warning. The world had gotten cold and hard enough on its own without her adding to it.

“They’re on their way. I’d give it maybe a sixty seconds before somebody shows up to drag you out of the hospital by the scruff of your neck. Maybe press charges. I can’t say. But if this were my office, I know I would. For god’s sake, woman, aren’t you worried about getting sick? Getting innocent people sick?”

The woman sighed. “I know, I know. It’s not my fault, though, honest. Oh, don’t look at me like that. It’s not like I wanna spread it!”

You’ve been spreading something, all right, Amber wanted to say. But she bit her tongue. You couldn’t score points for sick burns when the opposition’s opening move was to self-immolate. “Well you could,” she said instead. “You ought to get yourself a mask. It’s not safe to be walking around in a hospital without one. Not for you, and not for anybody else.”

The woman merely shrugged, her weighty breasts bobbling enough that it was distracting even to the strictly heterosexual Amber. “I know that. I’m not that stupid. You can’t get this from the air, beeyotch. It comes from the 5G towers.”

“The 5G towers,” Amber repeated. “You can’t seriously believe that, not this far into the pandemic. Only a complete idiot—”

“It’s true, I swear! The other doctors didn’t believe me either, but I promise! It was on my facebook! I thought they might figure out a cure here, but they don’t even believe me enough to try. Serves them right.”

Amber shook her head. A pair of security guards were on their way down the hall now, striding purposefully. So much for mercy. This was a research hospital, not some country clinic. They didn’t look kindly on trespassers. “There’s no cure for your kind of stupid, lady.”

The woman frowned. “Oh, boo. You’re sure, Amber?”

The door swung open, and in strode the guards. Neither of them were the walk-of-shamer she’d seen earlier. No surprise there. The smaller of the two probably had a hundred pounds on her, most of it muscle. They made an instant impression on the woman on the sofa; her nipples, which had been visible before through her clingy top, now protruded like daggers. There was no missing a lengthy licking of her lips. The woman made sure of it.

“We received a call about a situation in here,” said the bigger one. “This office is a private area.”

They were looking too much between them and not enough at the real culprit for Amber’s liking. She explained, “I found her in here fooling around with a member of your team. What kind of operation are you running? Is that routine procedure, letting strangers into the restricted section and using a doctor’s private office for a booty call?”

The two shared a look. She’d struck a nerve, only she began to suspect almost immediately that it wasn’t the one she’d been aiming for. “Greg, why don’t you see that one out,” said the big one, gesturing to Amber, “and I’ll deal with her.” His grin for the blonde was pure testosterone. With that tang of sex still hanging thick in the air, no wonder.

“You got it, Bill,” said the smaller one, evidently Greg. “C’mon, blondie, let’s go. You’re done here.”

“Deal with me?” Amber snapped, wishing her own mask let the full measure of her displeasure show. “I am a lieutenant in the United States Army, and I’m here on official business of the AFHSB.”

“Yeah, and I’m the five-star general of the GTFO bureau,” Bill answered dryly. He drew close to Amber, apparently confident that looming would do the trick. The lieutenant’s eyes were on a level with the man’s pecs.

Behind her, the blonde was making her own plea. “Do I gotta? I’m, um, I’m supposed to be having another meet-up, I think,” the blonde insisted at Greg. Still, she stood up immediately at his command, the only trace of resistance the pout of a quivering chin.

“No you’re not,” insisted Greg, sweeping her into the hall with the slightest pressure on the small of her back. Even with Bill’s broad chest in her face, Amber could see he was ogling the blonde’s ass in those skimpy panties as she let him guide her. “This is Dr. Campbell’s office.”

Amber mostly ignored them. If not for that smell stuffing itself into her mouth with every breath, she would have forgotten them entirely. “I’m not screwing around here, security guard Bill. I’m here following a lead on the potential origins of the novel coronavirus.” Another instance in which her dress uniform did her a disservice. To a civilian, it was too easy to mistake for a neat blouse and pencil skirt. Naturally, the petite brunette didn’t fit this knuckle draggers’ preconceived notion of what a soldier looked like. She had identification on her, of course, though she wasn’t stupid enough to reach for it and risk this moron panicking and doing something truly stupid.

The blonde looked back over her shoulder at Amber as she was ushered toward the elevator at the end of the hall. “But… but I’m supposed to be meeting with—”

“Look, ‘lieutenant,’ I don’t know who you are or how you got in here—”

“I just told you.”

“—but your being in this office is a violation not only of hospital policy, but state law. So how about you start marching now, eh soldier girly?”

Greg’s voice was only barely audible as he depressed the call button for the elevator a ways down the hall. “Get on the elevator, miss. If I hadn’t heard a glowing report of your, um, behavior from Carter, I might be taking you in for processing.”

Amber’s face twisted in a snarl. “If you want to measure dicks with me, Billy boy, you better fetch a yardstick and some tweezers.” She made sure the redirection of her sight line conveyed which was for whom. “I have an invitation from Dr. Campbell, and I’m not leaving here until I meet with her.”

“I’ll be back as soon as I can, Amber!” called the woman from down the hall. “We’ll talk real soon, promise! Don’t get your panties in a knot, baby doll! But I just… I gotta…” She stepped into the opening elevator, and a moment after her hand lashed out and seized Greg by the belt and pulled him in after her. From the upward angle of that limb, it was obvious the woman was kneeling already. Amber tried not to let the woman’s desperate ploy to get herself out of trouble distract her from her business.

Bill gave his buddy a parting thumb’s up, then turned back to Amber. “You got any paperwork on that?”

“Paperwork? I need a form to visit her office? Is this a hospital or the BMV?” the lieutenant demanded over the top of more babble from the two down the hall. She scowled in the direction of the elevator, leaning around Bill’s bulk to call out, “And you leave that poor girl alone, you asshole!”

The blonde’s voice echoed down the hall to her. “It’s OK—they said we’re done now.”

“Done? Oh, I haven’t even started on you pigs!” she shouted after them.

“Bye bye, Amber!” Only as the elevator closed did it finally click.

Her name. That shameless hussy had known her name.

Bill strong-armed her down a different hallway, but she wasn’t resisting. She probably wouldn’t have even if she weren’t puzzling over what had just happened. Amber hadn’t introduced herself, had she? No, she was sure she hadn’t. Amber had demanded the other woman’s name and gotten that cliché what do you want it to be reply, but she hadn’t said her own. And the woman had said it before, too, right before the toy cops arrived. It had felt weirdly familiar then, but their arrival had stopped the thought from coalescing.

No, that woman had known Amber’s name.

How in the hell had she known Amber’s name?

* * *
It was almost three hours before the situation with officer Bill resolved itself. Not about to make the embarrassing occasion a full-blown incident, she let him detain her while he “cleared things up.” A phone call to the number she’d provided should have done so within minutes; plainly, he had simply decided to waste her time as retribution for her slight against his micropenis. It never failed. The smaller the amount of power a man had over a woman, the greater the lengths he’d go to abuse it.

With a patently insincere apology, he returned her cell phone and released her from the waiting room turned holding cell, noting as he did so that (“as a courtesy,” the magnanimous son of a bitch had the audacity to say) he had confirmed that Dr. Campbell wasn’t in today. He even shared that she would be out for the next several days at least. From the downcast expression he wore as he passed it on, she suspected that he’d been ordered to be cooperative by a superior, though the man appeared to take some pleasure in getting to instruct her not to bother trying back for a while. Amber would make a complaint when and if life grew so dull that she had time to fritter away on the likes of Bill the security guard. Today had seen enough frittering as it was.

The sun was down now, and her whole trip appeared to have been a waste. She texted her CO to notify him that she might be a day or two yet while she sorted out the situation with her contact. There was no reply. Command knew that the possibility of a lead, however small, was a better use of her time than anything she could be doing back at base. She’d been given a long leash on this one, and the silence from command meant she had freedom to give chase.

Next, she reached out to Dr. Campbell. I missed you at our meeting today. Wait until you hear about what happened! They said you’re on leave? I hope whatever came up wasn’t anything serious. When do you think we can reschedule?

The reply came before her thumb had left the send button.

«MESSAGE UNDELIVERABLE: ACCOUNT NO LONGER IN SERVICE PLEASE UPDATE YOUR CONTACTS»

“What the…?” The lieutenant looked around, but there was no one. Not that she had expected anyone. She double-checked the number, but it was plain as day she’d gotten it right. Campbell’s initial text was right there in the same thread. Amber re-sent her message, just in case, but the same auto-reply returned.

What was going on here?

“Sabatino?” The voice from her phone was a sudden torrent of apoplectic accusations. “Sabatino, shut your hole! I’ve had a hell of a time with a breeze of a task, so you can either get your butt down here and help me, or… no, you know what? No or. Get down here. East wing, eighth floor. Double time, soldier.”

She explained on their way to their destination, at least what little he needed to know. Unfortunately, while Amber’s pale blue blouse and navy skirt wasn’t overtly military dress, he was camo fatigues head to toe. Not ideal. Still, once she got his jacket and hat off, she supposed he could pass for some weekend warrior here to visit a relative.

“Which is what you’ll tell security if they ask,” she explained. “Loudly—loud enough that you can be heard through a door. You were looking for the vending machine and got lost. Understood?”

“Wait, why am I—”

“Because I need to look around in that office, and that means I need a lookout.”

“All right, but here’s a truth bomb for you, lieutenant,” Sabatino said, snatching his jacket from her hands and thrusting his sleeves back into the arms. “There aren’t any patients on the sixth floor. I know, because when you disappeared all afternoon, I scoured the building looking for you.”

“Point being?”

“Point being that if somebody sees a man in military dress lurking near the same office you were hauled out of this afternoon, two floors away from the nearest patient room, all it’s going to do is get me arrested, and you right after. So how about we just work together and get this done twice as fast.”

She increased her pace. “Then keep up, fast guy.”

The two made their way back to Dr. Campbell’s office. In the kerfuffle, it looked like the guards had forgotten to lock up behind them. That oversight was better than any apology she might have received. After glancing to make sure nobody was watching, they slipped in, closing the door behind them. She left the light off, navigating by the fluorescent light filtering in between the closed blinds over the window looking into the hall. That smell had faded somewhat, even though the door had been closed, though it had been so pungent before Amber had felt like it had been filling her nose ever since. She couldn’t wait to take a shower.

In the meantime, she whispered a directive to Sabatino to stay near the door and keep his ears perked while she looked around for any intel. He looked like he was going to argue, but at least the pilot understood the AFHSB enough to know he probably wouldn’t know what he was looking at even if he held covid’s silver bullet in his hand. The wallpaper screen on Amber’s phone provided enough light to read by, though she didn’t dare hazard attracting attention with the full flashlight. If they caught her in here again, this time she might be in real trouble.

There was no computer, she noticed quickly. Dr. Campbell surely had one; she must have it with her. Damn. She looked around the office for anything else that might provide insight, but the file cabinets were locked tight, and she wasn’t about to risk a felony being caught opening those. (Besides, she couldn’t find a key.) What few professional papers sat out on Dr. Campbell’s desk weren’t recent, nor did they seem pertinent. Not forgetting that the mysterious blonde sexpot had recognized her somehow, she even checked the bathroom, in case the woman had left a purse behind or the like. No such luck. Only a woman’s suit hanging on a hook on the back of the door, and in here, a trace of the lingering sex odor.

“God, the smell. It’s like that woman slept with a whole football team in here.” She waved her hand in front of her nose.

Sabatino crossed the room and took a sniff. Then a bigger sniff. “Smells all right to me. For a bathroom.”

“The men’s barracks must be even worse than I heard, then.”

“Or maybe you and those security guards…”

Chuck caught the look on her face in the nick of time. Another word and it might have proved fatal. “Me and those guards… what? Go on, Sabatino. You want to finish that?”

He held up his hands in surrender. “No, ma’am.”

Amber returned to the office after a parting glare, but it was every bit as insubordinate to her efforts as her pilot. There simply wasn’t much to find. Those real estate papers; a box of office supplies; a legal pad, on which the only remaining marked pages contained some shockingly lurid doodles of penises, rendered in dark, jagged scribbles. They could only have been rendered by the idle hand of that blonde while she waited for her security guard boy toy. Here and there words were sketched alongside them.

never enuff
1st red then blond
unsatusfyed
2 horny 2 think
they hollowed me out but wont fill me
Whatever drugs that woman had been on, they must have made for one hell of a trip. One especially veiny cock had a word balloon issuing from it, reading “say Ah!” It was spraying its seed into the open mouth of a female stick figure (female, because of the two huge circles suggesting breasts). Stick lady’s own reply: drs need medisin 2

“Jesus,” muttered Chuck, reading over her shoulder. “Your doctor friend have a kid or something?”

“She’s not my friend, and… I don’t know. Huh.” Could that girl have been Campbell’s kid? No, that wasn’t possible. Sasha and she were around the same age, and the woman sure hadn’t had a ten-year-old kid when they’d been in school together. A little sister? She looked around, and there hanging on the wall by the door was a small photo montage in a black frame. With her phone held close to illuminate it, she searched for a family photo. There was one at her graduation, one out on a ski trip somewhere, another of her and an older woman that was no doubt her mother, one standing in front of a luxurious log cabin style house, another of her posed near a raft in a…

“No fucking way.”

Chuck peered at the picture. “What? What is it?”

She pointed. He leaned closed, squinted, shook his head. “I don’t see it. What? The bikini shot? Don’t feel too bad, Ash. You could have some curves yourself if you quit hitting the weights so hard.”

She punched his arm. “I’m not jealous, you moron. Look!” Her finger stabbed the image accusingly. “There!”

“Oh, you mean the tattoo? What’s that say? Is that… E… D… N H?”

“F. FDNH.”

He shrugged. “If you say so. So what? That some kind of chemical thing?”

“I have no idea.”

“So… why you looking at it like that?”

“Because it’s the exact same tattoo I saw on that woman.”

* * *
It was impossible. That was all there was to it. The two med students had never been close friends, but they’d been close enough that Amber hadn’t worried she wouldn’t recognize her on the street. Light brown hair that someone not prone to generosity in their description would call stringy. Medium height. Pale complexion. A little heavy, and not enough of that weight distributed where men might have liked.

It couldn’t be her. It just couldn’t.

“It could be, though,” insisted her pilot for the fifth time on their flight back to base.

“No, it can’t,” she repeated. “You didn’t see this woman, Sabatino. Believe me, you’d remember her. You could watch porn until your wrist wore out and you’d still not forget the clip with this girl in it.”

“Don’t underestimate these wrists,” he joked, voice tinny through her headphones. “Besides, I told you, I got a lady friend now. No more porn for me.”

She rolled her eyes at the back of his head. “Is she near-sighted, or does she have some condition that makes her accidentally swipe right?”

“She has glasses, but she swears she was wearing them through the whole swipe, lieutenant.” He smirked. “Sure you’re not jealous?”

“Of her? Yes, but only because right now she doesn’t have to be here, with you. But listen to what I’m saying, Sabatino. Dr. Campbell just wasn’t made like that girl. No woman is made like that.”

“But you said she knew your name, didn’t you?”

“I must have said it at some point, or maybe she spoke to Campbell and was expecting me.”

“You said you were sure you didn’t say it. But come on, she’s got the same tattoo, Ash.”

“You live on a fucking army base, and you think it’s uncommon for two people to have the same tat?”

“I think it’s uncommon for two civies in the same office to have the same letters inked on their hip. What do you think that stands for, anyway? Names don’t usually have four initials, and none of them are the doc’s anyways. I’ve been racking my brain, but I can’t come up with anything. What you got?”

Amber wasn’t about to admit she didn’t know either, but since she wasn’t flying, she had the freedom to do some research. Searching for “FDNH tattoo” returned hundreds of FDNY firefighter tattoos. Weeding out those, she still couldn’t find any like the one—the ones—she’d seen. What could FDNH be? None of Campbell’s relatives as far as her limited mobile access to the database could tell. The doctor wasn’t married, but a boyfriend, maybe? An ex? But then why would that woman have it, too? Her relationships with men didn’t seem to last long enough to make it out of the parlor.

Finally, she fed it into an acronym database, and kicked herself immediately for not starting there. She had it.

“First do no harm.”

“Huh? It’s not that windy, lieutenant, relax.”

“No, dummy, I’m talking about the tattoo! FDNH—first do no harm. From the Hippocratic oath!”

“Oh, I guess that makes sense.”

“No it doesn’t!” she yelled back over the roaring of the propellers. “Why would some random skank have that tattooed on them? The only way it would make sense was if that girl was Campbell, and there is no way that was Campbell!”

“It could be though,” he said for what was then the sixth time.

* * *
It was four in the morning before Amber called it a night after hours of poring through Sasha Campbell’s social media and the abstracts of her published work, going back years. She had found absolutely nothing suggesting the woman had the slightest inclination to plastic surgery. Campbell had gotten herself in better shape since med school, but there could be no mistaking those heaps of curves on the blonde. There were sparsely posted selfies, though none of them showed massive gains or losses of weight other than a spurt five years that was still not so sudden as to suggest anything unhealthy. Campbell didn’t color her hair. She publicly condemned extreme dieting programs. She had once tried, and failed, to run a half marathon back in 2016. None of her abstracts shared any Jekyll and Hyde formulae for radical self-transformation. There was simply nothing to link the two of them.

Except that one thing. Amber’s eyes were drooping, but she was engrossed. Her social media had been quiet the past few days. Since last week, there had been only a single post, marked that very morning, shared from a facebook group eloquently titled Americans For America First or GTFO!!!! It was an image of a metal comm tower poking out of the tree line of a forest, and the title read: BEWARE! 5G Towers Spreading Bill Gates Corona Virus! There was a paragraph that followed, the sort of vague, nonsensical pseudoscience that one might expect from that niche of the internet, some shell company doing Microsoft’s evil bidding. Just a stupid conspiracy theory that anyone with half a brain would dismiss out of hand the moment they saw the headline. (It was a shame how few people met that criteria, apparently; the post had over ten thousand shares.)

But as exhaustion dragged her under, Lieutenant Amber Moore was plagued by two thoughts. First, the question of why Sasha Campbell, PhD had so uncharacteristically shared such screed.

The second was the echo of a breathy but giddy voice declaring that she’d seen the truth about the 5G towers on facebook.

* * *
Amber awakened stiff and a little swollen. Maybe Bill had jerked her around more than she’d thought. She felt so lousy she was a little surprised that the med chief cleared her, considering she’d spent most of the past day in a hospital and had come out feeling light-headed and clearly retaining some water, even a little on the warm side. The covid swab came back negative, though, and that was the only metric they really cared about.

She felt energized, though, and wasn’t about to beg off her assignment. Not when she’d come to the conclusion that something very strange had happened to Sasha Campbell.

Then the lieutenant started digging.

“Told you so,” said Sabatino as they lifted off.

“Really? Told you so? That’s what you’ve got to say to me?”

“Well I did,” he said, toggling a few switches as they gained altitude. “Guess the doc cozied up to a surgeon, eh? You ever think about giving it a go?” He cupped his hands in front of his chest suggestively.

She opted not to let him get a rise out of her for once. Yes, she was flat-chested, but she was still a lot better-looking than anything Sabatino would get his hands on. “You don’t get it. This isn’t just a case of a woman making some changes to her body, Sabatino. For one, it’s too sudden. She was tagged in one of her friends’ posts two weeks ago, and believe me, it rules out any chance she did something surgically. Or if she did, she was on her way to surgery the moment they took that pic.”

“Possible…”

“But it gets weirder. I tried to contact her at the hospital again, and they told me she no longer works there. Since yesterday. Then I tried to get in touch with those guards, the ones who rushed us out of there, and they hung up on me in an instant. They’re hiding something. So I thought I’d try her at home, a little knock and talk, right?”

“Sure, sure.”

“Except her address is unlisted—as of three days ago! Her last address in our system is back on the east coast; she only moved out here earlier this year to head up Saint Agatha’s coronavirus task force. I called a few mutual friends of ours to see if they knew anything, and finally someone remembered Campbell saying she was subletting while she looked for her own place and that finally she’d found something, someplace secluded. Campbell told her she was tired of her place in the city, that she wanted to be able to ‘get away from it all.’”

“Does this ‘someplace secluded’ have any kind of coordinates to it? Because I can only make it so far on ‘fly southwest.’”

“Tower Road. I saw it on some papers in her office. There were brochures and stuff, so I figured she was only buying it as an investment, a land grab while the real estate market’s in the toilet. But I think that’s gotta be her place—secluded as it gets. That social media thing I told you about, the 5G, jogged my memory, but the street address… yeah, my memory’s not that good. The site must be too new to show up on GPS, but Tower Road is only a dozen or so miles long. We just need to find someplace to set down, and then we go in on foot. Don’t panic—I packed us some survival gear just in case.”

He scowled over his shoulder at her. “Are you serious? What if we go wandering off into the woods, never to be seen again! All to track down Bill Gates and Slut Zero?”

Amber almost smiled at that. “Careful, your made-up girlfriend is going to worry if she hears what we’re up to.”

“I’m serious, lieutenant. I don’t wanna die just so you can do a forensic analysis of your college buddy’s mental breakdown.”

Amber gritted her teeth. It was harder to placate him when he was direct like that. “Look, I don’t know what we’ll find, but I know someone is trying very hard to keep me from finding out what Campbell found out. I want to know why. What if she found out something that could rewrite the playbook for this whole pandemic, and some enemy state went drastic to discredit her? Time to man up, Warrant Officer Sabatino. It’s going to be fine. We have our phones, and if I’m right, this road is named for a 5G tower, so we ought to be able to get a great signal. I even brought along some field provisions—you get to be like a real soldier for once. It’s going to be fine!”

* * *
“You said things were going to be fine,” he said darkly, some hours later.

“Not my fault it decided to rain,” Amber snapped.

“Oh, no. I remember the time we went through that wind storm on our way back from Albuquerque. You practically had a meltdown! Well if I get blamed for taking us into one storm, you get the blame for this one!”

Amber looked around, though there wasn’t much to see. The sun was setting, and it would be dark within minutes. It was raining hard enough that the canopy wasn’t doing much to keep the rain off of them, and their clothes were already soaked. Amber had at least brought a backpack that was insulating her gear, but—as Chuck had pointed out several times already—he hadn’t had the chance to pack. Finding a clearing big enough for the helicopter to set down had proved somewhat challenging, out in the middle of nowhere, a grassy clearing that looked like it hadn’t been traversed by humans in years. It was several miles away from Tower Road, and the terrain was proving less hospitable than she’d hoped. Now, four hours later, despite her phone’s assurance that it was receiving an incredibly strong signal, the best her spotty GPS could determine was that they were closer than they had been before.

“Come on, let’s set up camp. Time to accept we’re not getting there tonight. And honestly… I’m not feeling too great myself.”

“Great, sleeping on the wet ground by my covid-positive ball-busting lieutenant,” he grumbled.

“It’s not covid. Don’t be such a pussy. And we have a tarp to set up the tent on.”

“The tent. Singular. Not tents, plural. So I’m sharing one with your sick ass.”

“Don’t act like you don’t love my ass, Sabatino. Now come on, be a good boy and follow it up to that rise. Enjoy the view.”

They were halfway up the hill before Amber realized she’d just invited the warrant officer to check out her butt. And that he was. She even turned around to check at one point and found him staring right at it.

“Sorry. Didn’t mean to…”

“Whatever. I don’t care.” Didn’t she, though? You give these army grunts an inch, and they thought they could give you five to ten back. Still, if she let him start leading now, he’d think he was in charge, and besides, she had dragged him out here. Maybe she owed him.

“My girlfriend would kill me for this. Not that she’s a Girlfriend girlfriend. Just… yeesh, I gotta watch myself.”

“Looks like you’re too busy watching me, Sabatino.”

* * *
The warrant officer harrumphed irritably. “This is ridiculous. You know that, right Amber? Wandering around the woods, chasing down your skank college buddy on account of a facebook post so stupid it’d make my Aunt Trudy blush to share it.” He clutched his blanket around him in the close confines of their pup tent a short while later. The canvas was keeping the rain off, but she’d insisted they not remove their wet clothes, considering their proximity. Both were shivering.

“Yours is not to wonder why, Warrant Officer. Now shut up and let me get some sleep. I’m beat.”

“Right, sorry to disrupt, Lieutenant. I’ll just be over here wishing I better recalled my wilderness survival training from Ranger school. Shit, I’m just so hot and wet and cold and blergh!”

Amber rolled over to face him. He really was pathetic, but she had to admit, she felt pretty awful, too. She’d been feeling gradually worse all day herself, and present conditions were exacerbating it something awful. “Look. I’m sorry, all right? But if I didn’t think this was worth looking into, I wouldn’t be. Now as for the cold and wet thing, would it help if I said you can get out of your wet clothes?”

“It’d be a start.”

“Fine. We’ll both just… yeah. Hands to yourself, all right? Think of your not-quite girlfriend. We’re only trying to weather the storm. That’s all.”

“Fine.”

Without exchanging words, the two turned their backs to one another on either side of an invisible divider and began to undress. Outside, the rain beat down on their little tent, the interior of which was nearly pitch black. Nearly. Amber shed her pants, her jacket, her undershirt… and when she realized the wetness went all the way down, sniffed irritably and hastily shed her sports bra and underwear. Her blanket was merely damp from its brief exposure to those clothes, and she hastily wrapped it around her before tossing the clothes in a plastic bag. For now, she kicked it into a corner and laid back down.

Her nose buried itself into the corner of the tent, as far from her cohabitant as she could get. But it still couldn’t shake that smell.

* * *
“Moore? Hey Moore, you’re… are you awake…? Lieutenant Moore…?”

The lieutenant’s eyelids slowly peeled themselves open. A corona of summer sunlight pierced their tent’s interior. “Yeah? What is it?” She yawned languidly. “Damn, I was having the best dream, too…”

“Yeah, well… rise and shine.” He laughed nervously. What was his problem? Amber burrowed deeper into her blanket, sighing contentedly at the warmth of his bare skin against hers. God, that felt good.

This time, her eyes shot open in an instant. “What the fuck, Sabatino!”

He glared indignantly. “I’m sorry, what the fuck me?! I wake up and find you’ve crawled under my blanket and are giving me a handy, and you wanna know what my problem is?”

Her own blanket, abandoned, found a new occupant as the lieutenant threw herself beneath it, cheeks flushing. After a moment of futile searching, her head whipped and she accused, “Where the hell are my clothes?”

“They’re outside. I woke up a few hours ago when I saw it was light out and figured we ought to hang them out to dry. You can go get dressed, Ash. I’m not a creep or anything, Jesus. I just thought you might appreciate not walking around in wet clothes all morning.”

“Oh.” In spite of how angry she ws, she found herself murmuring an apology. Then a terse “thanks” before excusing herself to find her clothes.

Had she really woken up to the sensation of… her pilot’s stick? Man, she must really need to get laid. Not by Sabatino. Just in general. His being right here would make him the most convenient, though. Still, that was a pretty low bar.

True to his word, there were her clothes draped over or alternately suspended from a nearby tree branch right near her pilot’s. Only as she realized how very dry they were did she realize how late it was. The sun was high in the sky, close to midday, and though it was still plenty humid, it had nevertheless baked the moisture right out of her clothes.

That swelling had gotten even worse overnight. Her butt barely wanted to fit into her cotton briefs, and only by wedging them pretty deep up her crack could the waistband rise near to her waist. Then she got to the sports bra, at which point she finally began to wonder if something more unusual were going on.

She had boobs.

Not tits, quite, but boobs. The sort of boobs the onset of puberty had so long ago tricked her into thinking she would grow right before it oh-so-disappointingly stopped. As one of the pretty girls in school, she didn’t get teased about it much except from the even prettier ones who’d been more gifted in that area, and as one of the tougher girls, they hadn’t teased her about it twice. Still, these two things hanging from her chest were, for the first time in her life, hanging. There was underboob. A narrow strip where they stopped going down and actually went up again before meeting the flat skin of her stomach. Lieutenant Amber Moore had boobs.

“Can I come out yet?”

“Huh? Yeah, whatever,” she said absent-mindedly, still exploring these changes. Was her hair lighter? That wasn’t possible. Was it? Sabatino’s conspiracy theory about Dr. Campbell transforming into Slut Zero was suddenly sounding a little less insane. Not medically possible, obviously, but maybe some virus that caused localized swelling, and then Campbell had run with it and…

Her musing was disrupted by an outburst from her pilot. “Hey, sorry again about—Whoa!” Sabatino pivoted away from her so fast he actually fell to his knees in the grass. What was his problem?

Oh. She realized belatedly that he’d emerged from the tent to find the ranking officer of their missions standing in the clearing wearing nothing but her panties, and those splitting her ass like a thong, as she experimentally played with her burgeoning breasts.

She slipped on the bra. “Grow up, Sabatino. For heaven’s sake, act like you’ve seen a real live woman before.”

“Plenty of women, and one I hope to see again in the near future,” he snapped, snatching his own clothes guardedly, making sure he kept her out of his peripheral. “Just not any naked she-devils.”

“Oh, please.” She made for her pants, jumping up and down to stuff her expanded rear end into the camouflage material. Man, it was tight. She could hardly move in this stuff. With the heat of the day already bearing down on her, she skipped the jacket altogether, settling for the thin white tank top for cover. Almost a shame. These suckers deserved to be seen.

“How much further?” asked Sabatino as he broke down the tent.

Amber consulted her phone. Like yesterday, its claim of a strong signal seemed a lie. She held it at all angles, thrust it overhead for that extra few feet, but their location only flickered on and off on the GPS map screen, blinking out so quickly she only had a rough guess of their position. It would have to be enough, though.

“Shouldn’t be too far. We’re still a few miles from Tower Road, and then I guess we’ll see how far down Campbell’s cabin is.”

“Bully for us,” he grumbled.

“You’re the one who wouldn’t risk landing closer, Sabatino.”

“Stay right there, Moore. I think I see the perfect place to drop a helicopter.”

“Man up.”

“Fuck off.”

It was slow going, hiking through the trackless, forested hills. The canopy kept it a bit cooler, yes, but it also trapped in the humidity like a plastic bubble. Some places were so overgrown that they actually had to use their kit’s survival knife to slash through brambles. After a few tense hours of Amber gamely ignoring Sabatino’s eyes on her backside—she could hardly blame him if these pants looked half as tight as they felt—the pair stumbled through the trees and suddenly there ahead of them was a narrow gravel road. Compared to the uneven quagmire they’d been traversing, it was paradise.

With the underbrush no longer dampening sound in every direction, they could just make out the sounds of the highway in the distance to the south. For the first time since leaving their campsite, they even had a narrow view of anything more than a few dozen feet off the ground. In the distance, thrust up into the sky above the trees around it, stood a thin column of metal crowned by an array of technological equipment. Barely visible at the top were three red lights, pulsing on and off in unison.

It looked almost exactly like the grainy picture from Dr. Campbell’s final facebook post.

“Can we stop here for a while?” Amber pleaded, panting. There was no more pretending something wasn’t wrong. Getting sick from visiting hospitals was an inherent risk of her post, but after the web of bizarre coincidences and secrets she’d glimpsed the past couple days, she was worried that whatever was afflicting her could be something serious indeed.

“There’s only a few more hours of light left, Moore. Come on, we need to make good time. For all we know her place is right around here.”

“I… I just need…” She sunk to her knees. How could she feel so much energy and still be so fatigued at the same time? She felt like her nephew when he’d eaten too much Halloween candy right before bed, so jittery he was practically vibrating even as his eyes squeezed shut to sleep. A sense of purpose that had been driving her onward, coupled with a weariness all the way down to her bones.

The warrant officer frowned at his ranking officer’s show of weakness. “Fine. Sit there a minute, get some water in you. Drink whatever’s left. I’ll hike back that way, check if the cabin’s right off the highway. Don’t go anywhere, OK?”

She watched him go, taking a moment to mop some of her sweat off her brow. Sabatino wasn’t that bad-looking, she noted. In the face, meh, but he was in good shape. Maybe more lean than the wiry she’d always dismissed him as. Not bad at all.

Not bad was more than she could say for how she felt, though. She was sweating like crazy. Even though her clothes had been dry when she’d put them on, they were drenched now. Removing her tank top felt like a big improvement, the soft movement of muggy air down the open corridor of the road was a kiss on her bare skin. Then there were the pants. Frankly, they were becoming a problem. Next time she had to lift her feet more than a few inches off the ground, there were good odds those things were going to split wide open.

She stood, craning her neck after the direction Sabatino had disappeared. No sign of him. Good. Hastily the lieutenant shed her boots, then grunted and squirmed back out of the pants. She’d worn pants to a club that weren’t as tight as those. What had been meant as a brief respite from their confines, though, soon hatched into an actual idea. Amber fished the survival knife out of her pack and got to work.

Her pilot had plenty of time to take in the sight before he was close enough to speak without unnecessary shouting. “Nobody down that way,” he explained tersely, then gestured to her wardrobe modifications. “Now what the fuck is this?”

“The fabric must’ve shrunk when it dried out,” she lied. Was that a lie? Maybe it had contributed. “It was getting to be a pain, so… I fixed it.”

“Fixed it? Jesus Moore, what’s left of them covers less than my underwear.”

“Yeah?” She grinned. It was true; she’d taken her own underwear off and laid it on top of the pants, then sliced off material until there was barely more pants than panties. Then she snipped off some more, figuring her panties were going to be crammed up her butt anyway.

Then she caught herself grinning, and scowled. “Don’t read anything into it. I just didn’t want to be restricted.”

“And that’s why you took your shirt off? The restriction?”

“Oh my god, Sabatino, are you the wardrobe MP or what? Just shut up and enjoy it, OK? I don’t know how you ever landed a girlfriend working so hard to talk a woman back into her clothes.”

“She’s not officially my girlfriend, and.. well, whatever. If you’re happy, I’m less unhappy.”

“That’s the spirit, soldier. Now come on. Let’s do this.”

They set off northbound. Her hips were sore from travel, but things still felt a little better than they had. Still, it was rough going. Her training had taught her how to maintain a march over long distances, but right now, it just felt… wrong. Stiff. She tried varying her gait this way and that, adjusting—

“Moore. For crying out fucking loud, you have got to stop doing that,” her companion groused.

“Doing what? I didn’t do anything.” Had she?

“That… strut. I just can’t, Moore.”

Strut? Had she been strutting? It was really just sort of a heel-toe thing, letting her knees take the strain off her hips. Or something. She didn’t pretend to understand how it worked, but it did. “Can’t… what?”

“It’s not personal. I’m seeing somebody, OK? It’s not serious yet, but it might be.”

“Wherever you’re going, I am not following.”

“Yeah, sure, whatever. Just… I’m gonna take point.”

“If you say so,” she said. Once he hurried past her, she let her hips really sway. It actually felt much better. To think, she’d only been holding back because she hadn’t wanted to look too feminine. Nice of him to let her… oh. Strut. Maybe he’d been onto something.

He didn’t have a bad little caboose on him either, she reflected, over and over, for miles.

* * *
“It’s getting dark,” the lieutenant observed.

“I can see that,” snapped the warrant officer. “No, scratch that. Can’t see down to my own dick out here.”

Amber still remembered what his dick felt like, though hadn’t gotten a good look at it. It was figurative, anyway. “I know this is taking longer than we expected, but… do you think we should stop? Set up camp?”

“Do I…?!” He threw up his hands, exasperated. “Lieutenant, do I need to remind you that I left a six million dollar aircraft unattended for two days in a field that I’m not even sure we can find again?! That nobody even knows we’re here, and we have no way to contact them unless we find that cabin and it happens to have a landline or working internet? If it even exists?!”

“What do you mean, ‘if it exists’? I saw it. In Campbell’s office. You don’t believe me?”

“I don’t know what to believe, Moore. Some doctor has a psychotic break and gets her tits done and now here we are trekking across the middle of nowhere in case she takes a break from doling out blowjobs long enough to babble out the miracle cure to the plague of the twenty-first century? Does that sound at all insane to you, because it sounds mother fucking crazy to me!”

“But…”

“And you want to stop for the night within miles of our destination because it’s getting a little dim? With all due respect, Lieutenant, fuck that, and fuck you for suggesting it! We’re out of food, out of water, I’m hot, sweaty, bug-bit to hell and back, and I think I still a few rocks up my ass from sleeping on the ground last night. No fucking way!”

Amber Moore let him vent. He was right, after all. She’d put him through a lot. She was uncomfortable, too, and while she was fighting not to acknowledge it out loud, she was frightened of the changes she could feel taking place in her body. She was even more frightened that she was merely frightened, rather than maddened with terror. The need to press on was the only thing keeping her from dwelling on what it could mean that her body was transforming into a sexualized parody of itself.

Her boobs were definitely bigger now. The peek she’d taken when he was off peeing in the bushes had revealed that they were at least a few cup sizes above what they’d been two days ago. Her nipples had even changed, or maybe her boobs were simply so much bigger now that her old areolas looked tiny on these new whoppers. Yet the nipples themselves seemed to have grown, two hard red raspberries that hadn’t gone down all day. She hadn’t been able to make herself check to see whether she was sweating like a sieve down the crack of her ass and into her panties, or if her pussy really was that leaky. She’d probed down there briefly while his back was turned. It felt divine. So did her nipples. So did every faint breeze across every inch of skin she could expose. So did every single goddamn thing.

And all of it reeked of sex. In the air, on her skin, dripping from her companion’s pores. Hot, wet, slimy fuck sauce.

“I’ll sleep naked again.”

Sabatino waved her off. “Hilarious, but no. I wouldn’t camp out another night out here if you offered to blow me every night for a year. Fuck camping. We’re marching to that cabin, and that’s final.”

Amber forced a smile. “Worth a shot, right? Sorry, I’m just tired. You’re right. Thanks.”

His eyes narrowed, more suspicious of her meek agreement than he would have been if she’d simply made it an order. “Yeah, sure. Come on, lieutenant. Gotta be just over the next hill.”

* * *
It was in fact more than half a dozen hills. That 5G tower loomed larger at every crest when they caught sight of it, its trio red lights blinking on and off at its peak. Dusk held off night just long enough to reveal a driveway coming off the road. A dirty path, really, two tire tracks that were so new they were in danger of being overgrown again. No mailbox, no signpost, nothing else to point out its existence. On her own, she probably would have missed it. Amber was distracted trying to imagine Sabatino’s girlfriend, if her tits were as big as hers, if her pussy got as wet around him. No way. He was only looking good to her now—really fucking good—only because he was the only male around. Back in civilization, no way he could land a babe as hot as she was. Not even one as hot as she’d been last week. The only way he stood a chance with her was out here, nobody but the two of them where nobody could blame them for settling for the nearest available genitalia.

“No lights up there, but I think that’s a house,” Sabatino said, pointing up the trail. “If it’s not Campbell’s, we can at least knock and see if anyone’s home. Maybe they can give us a lift.”

She had no argument. Amber led the way this time, and if he still minded the sashaying of her ass in his face, he didn’t say anything. It was wearing him down, she thought with a smile. Good. Not that she meant to do anything, but it felt nice to have power over a man. Besides her rank. Because she out-ranked him. She did, obviously.

The house was surprisingly large, considering the remote location, a bi-level with a garage and a wrap-around porch along the back. Behind it, a trail led back down the hill to a small pond where the moonlight illuminated a dock with a pontoon boat tied on. On the surface of the water, spots of red light flared on, off, on again. She couldn’t see the tower itself for the trees, but it must be very close.

Sabatino pounded on the door, though they both knew it was unlikely anyone was home. After a few minutes of peering in windows, they gave up hope. Wherever Campbell had gone after being dragged into that elevator (for Amber no longer had any doubt that busty girl was, or had been, Dr. Campbell), it wasn’t home. The pair started checking for another way in. Sabatino was in the midst of suggesting they break a window when she found the back door had been left unlocked. Out here, there was probably a bigger risk of an animal finagling their way in than a burglar.

The interior of the house was spacious and comfortably furnished. They quickly confirmed this was Sasha’s place—pictures on the walls and some junk mail on the dining room table revealed that quickly. There were traces of dishevelment—discarded clothes on the floor of half the rooms in the place, cushions and pillows out of place and the bed practically torn apart—but that wasn’t Amber’s concern.

The smell. God, the smell. For the first time since leaving Campbell’s office, she felt sure it was more than her own nostrils playing tricks on her.

“You smell it, right?”

Sabatino nodded. “Yeah. Little funky in here. Somebody had a good time.”

There was no vehicle in the garage, and after a brief, pathetically desperate search for a smoking gun—a piece of paper with “THE CURE” written at the top, perhaps—they turned to more immediate concerns. The first priority for both was food and hydration, of which there were plenty of both. Amber wasn’t hungry, weirdly, but she drank close to a gallon of water. Sabatino guzzled quite a bit himself, then raided the fridge and feasted.

“I… I think I’m gonna take a shower,” she said. “If that’s OK.”

“You need my blessing or something?” Sabatino answered around a mouthful.

“No. Just…” She shrugged. It was a little surprising, maybe disappointing, he didn’t even make a crude comment. Oh well. “All right. Maybe Sasha has something I can wear, too, since you said this was… you know.”

“Sure. Least your buddy can do for you after coming all this way.”

The lieutenant studied her body in Sasha’s bathroom mirror before stepping into the shower. The changes. Holy god, the changes. She didn’t even know how big her tits were now. The sports bra, sized for a girl with hardly any bust at all, had been smashing these things down all day such that she’d only half-realized the extent of it. They weren’t just big. They were huge. The sort of breasts that a modest vocabulary would fail to adequately describe. Jugs. Knockers. Big fat titties, that’s what they were. Suckable fuckable slutbag bazoombas.

The rest of her had similarly realigned itself to cater to the adolescent male gaze. Her waist was thinner, her once perfectly defined abs now invisible beneath a thin but inviting layer of padding. Her hips were wider. In back, Amber’s butt was bigger still, but nonetheless perkier. She watched over her shoulder as the smallest bounce on her feet set it into endless waves of mesmerizing jiggles. It looked fake. It was fake, she supposed. And god willing, temporary. Mostly temporary, at least.

Her mons pubis was hairless now, as were her legs, her armpits, basically everything but the hair on her head, a clean slate of perfect, unblemished skin. Her moles, her freckles, all gone. Once she removed the hairpins holding it in place, it was longer and lighter than it had ever been. Still not blonde, but light brown and heading in that direction. Her pussy was jarringly, porntastically pink, all traces of nuance or imperfection erased, replaced by a thin pink line for men to stick their cocks in. It was a pussy that should only belong to a girl in those anime things one of the guys she’d been in Basic with. She was a living fetish now.

Other changes were subtler. Her eyelashes looked longer, irises brighter and now more blue than green. Her lips were plumper, and their resting position seemed to leave her mouth very slightly parted. It made her look stupid. It made her look slutty. Everything about her looked slutty.

As she stepped into the shower and tried her hardest to ignore the pleasure that accompanied even the most sincere efforts at washing herself, she wondered how Sabatino hadn’t noticed. She’d been behind him most of the day, she supposed. Maybe he didn’t think of her like that, hadn’t been checking her out. Maybe he’d just thought she’d been retaining water. Maybe he was really that good of an unofficial boyfriend to his unofficial girlfriend. Or maybe he’d always thought she was hot enough that the transition from cutie to hottie had gone unnoticed.

She didn’t take long, rinsing off the grime and sweat and replacing them with the floral body wash Sasha had on hand. Half a bottle of the stuff scrubbed into her flawless skin later, she could almost miss the sex stench flooding out of her. She stumbled out of the shower dripping wet, having forgotten to grab a towel. There was a linen closet in the corner though.

“Oh, no…” Amber whined upon opening it.

It was bigger than any cock she’d ever actually seen. Girthy, veiny, straddling the line between pretty pink and wrathful red, laying out on a pile of fluffy white towels like a gift. There was a suction cup on one end.

She shouldn’t. That was obvious. Every ounce of medical know-how in her body screamed that reusing another woman’s dildo, a sick woman’s, a woman whose body was afflicted by the most bizarre and disturbing virus Amber had ever seen, was… was…

Well, it wasn’t the worst idea. It was a shower dildo, after all. That meant it would be at least pretty clean. And she had to know what was going on inside her pussy. It would be scientific. Yeah. She would quietly, briefly, very scientifically fuck the shit out of this huge fake cock.

This time, the shower was hot. It took her a few tries to stick it to the right height on the wall, but finally, it aligned perfectly with her slit. Hot water streamed down into her eyes as they flew open at the sudden bundle of sensations emanating from her pussy.

Pleasure. Pure pleasure.

There was no telling whether the sheer size of the phallus was filling her, or if her pussy had adjusted to be so tight as to squeeze anything lucky enough to be inside it like a handshake at a job interview. Her anxiety over whatever all that was happening to her melted away under the cascade of water as she relentlessly thrust her expanded, expanding hips against Campbell’s dildo. She forgot all about the outside world, about whether she even wanted a cure, about explaining to her parents why their only daughter looked like a porn star, about the nagging suspicion that the disease was more than just physical. More than just a disease.

They were inside her now, and she wasn’t sure she wanted them to leave. Not that what she wanted seemed to matter in the least.

At some point, she realized the water was cold again.

When she emerged from the shower, towel held easily in place by her new bust, the clock in Campbell’s bedroom notified her that she had been in there for over three hours. How long had the water been cold before she’d noticed? Embarrassed at how she’d been exposing herself all day, she rummaged in her friend’s drawers for something normal she could wear, setting out a simple yellow t-shirt and a pair of shorts that, according to the tag, should be several sizes too big. There were no bras here that would fit her, and unsurprisingly, Sasha’s wardrobe had been bought for her original body and not the reinvention of it that now afflicted Amber, too. Accordingly, the t-shirt fit like a coat of paint, and the shorts were a non-starter. Underwear too, until she found a little pink thong that rode up her slit but at least technically kept her from being naked below the waist.

It would have to do.

Amber returned to the living room, where her pilot was dozing on the couch. The light streaming in from the bedroom awakened him enough to squint in her direction. “Moore?”

“Yeah, it’s me.”

His eyes closed again; from his lack of reaction, she doubted he’d been able to see clearly enough to realize she was half-naked for him. Not for him. For anyone. No, she chastised herself. Not for anyone. Just half-naked, for no reason at all.

“Get it out of your system?”

“Get what out of my system?”

“You were pretty loud in there, lieutenant. Don’t sweat it. I won’t tell if you won’t.”

He’d heard her coming? That was so embarrassing. And made her really horny, for some reason. Hornier. Fuck, it smelled better around him. The soap’s masking of that scent was long faded. Or maybe it just made everything smell even better. “Thanks. You don’t have to sleep on the couch, you know. There’s a bed.”

He grunted. “You take it. I’m fine out here.”

“It’s a big bed.”

His eyes still didn’t open. If they had, and if they’d noticed the wet spot already darkening the patch of her thong, he might have answered differently. “I’m sorry I yelled at you before, OK? Really. I was just dehydrated and grouchy. Now go on, go to bed. We’ll check this place out in the morning.”

Amber sighed. She really wanted to look around tonight, but she could barely keep her eyes open. Besides, what was going to happen in a few more hours: she’d start to look even hotter? At least Sabatino would finally have to acknowledge her theory about Dr. Campbell had been right. Or had that been his theory? She couldn’t remember.

It was hard to think about anything except whether he’d feel half as good as that shower dildo. Her mind was already made up: she didn’t mean to leave this cabin without finding out.

“Good night, Sabatino.”

“Night, Moore.”

* * *
“Moore, wake up!”

She’d been successfully ignoring him for some time now, but this time he was actually shaking her. With a groan, she rolled over and opened her eyes. It was bright in here now. The clock on Campbell’s night stand read 10:44.

“OK, OK, I’m awake,” she said accusingly. “Where’s the fire?”

“It’s… you,” he answered.

After basking for a moment in his stare, Amber stood up and examined herself in the full-length mirror mounted on the closet door. It wasn’t that different from last night, but she’d studied herself long enough then to be able to pick up the newest progressions. For once, it wasn’t her titties that first drew her gaze. (They would be for anyone else, but the ascent from gigantic to colossal wasn’t enough to startle her at this point.) It was actually her hair. It had grown six inches in two days, hanging most of the way down her back. It ought to be a tangled mess, left loose during her long, fitful sleep, but instead it hung down in perfectly straight honey blonde waves. She stared admiringly.

There were plenty of other things to notice, too. Her eyes were now bright blue orbs sparkling from beneath heavy eyelids that made her look either half-asleep or stoned. Or mid-orgasm. Her lips were thick, full and pouty, and the automatic opening now looked like an unspoken invitation to shove a cock between them. Whatever had happened to her whole pubic region had transformed her so that the thong now looked like it covered even less, the straps no longer horizontal over her hips but slung up and over at a high angle, the triangle of cloth now barely covering the front-most portion of her slit. Her legs were thicker, her thigh gap more prominent. The stitches along the side of the shirt had ripped as her bust pressed them past their limit.

Her toenails were pink. Fingernails, too, and longer as well. Had that been happening all along?

If she’d walked past this version of herself on the street two days ago, she wouldn’t have recognized herself—and not for lack of looking. Objectively her resemblance to her former self—her real self, she half-heartedly amended—was stronger than Sasha’s had been, but only because Amber had always had a pretty face. Evidently this virus left the preexisting sexiness less warped. Which was madness to even think, but it was obviously true. Nevertheless, anyone seeing her would do at least a double take if not outright stare. Amber was a walking advertisement for the thrill of fucking.

“What the fuck is going on, Moore,” Sabatino asked cautiously behind her. She saw his eyes lingering on her ass, and gave it a little shake for him. Just for fun.

“Whatever Campbell got, I caught it,” she replied. “I started noticing it yesterday, and it kept getting worse.”

“Yeah, ‘worse.’ I mean… look at you, Lieutenant.”

“You really didn’t notice?”

He shifted his feet guiltily. “I’m not blind. Or maybe I am. Shit, I always knew you were, you know, cute, or attractive, or whatever. But you’re a doctor, after all, not some trophy bimbo. You help people.”

She really wanted him to get to the point, but it did feel pretty nice listening to him talk. Trophy bimbo. She sighed. No, wait, he’d said she wasn’t a trophy bimbo. Still a compliment. Good. Amber was putting her body on the line for science, after all; surely she was at least due a compliment or two.

He continued, “And besides, you usually dress in fatigues. I didn’t know how, ya know, big they were. Err, you were. Whatever. Yesterday, I guess I figured I was an idiot who’d never really noticed what had been right in front of him. Damn, Moore, why didn’t you say something?”

“Why would I? Would it have changed anything?”

He frowned, but there wasn’t much of a counterpoint. “All right. So you’re a doctor. What do we do now?”

“First things first. How are you feeling, Sabatino?”

“Me? Fine, I think.” His eyes widened, suddenly realizing the implication of the question. “Oh, shit. I’m not… am I gonna…?!”

“Any unusual swelling, sensitivity, change in energy levels?”

“Just the same swelling you’ve been causing since you busted out those damn cutoffs,” he mumbled. She let the crudity slide. “But no, I feel a little tired, but I think just because of yesterday. Nothing weird.” If he could catch what she had, what would it even do to him? Would he get big boobs and perfect skin and a swampy pussy, or would it do something different? Something told her, though, that he wouldn’t have to worry about it. A doctor hunch, she guessed.

Sabatino tried and failed to pry his eyes off her chest when he addressed her. “So… what, do we call somebody? We have to tell somebody about this, right?”

“Not yet. We don’t know what we’re dealing with.”

“What? Look at you! This is… it’s… we have to…!”

“Walk yourself through that phone call, Sabatino. ‘Hi, this is Lieutenant Moore. I suddenly turned extremely fuckable, send a medevac ASAP please.’ They’d never listen. We need to look around, see if Sasha found anything before she…”

“Turned into a slut.”

“Before she decided to enjoy the side effects of her unfortunate illness,” she countered. Wet as she was, it was tempting to her, too. Chuck couldn’t hide the erection she’d given him even through his fatigues. Was it big? It looked big. Would it taste big?

“Just… let me work, OK? I saw last night she has an office downstairs. I’m going to take a look.”

“Uh, don’t you think maybe you should, you know, put something on first?”

“Nothing fits.” She didn’t bother pointing out what she’d realized belatedly last night, that she could just wrap a towel around her waist. It felt better to let her skin breathe. She’d had to sleep with the sheets off. How long had Sabatino studied her new body before bothering to wake her up?

He followed her downstairs to the office she’d noticed last night, this time saying nothing about all the extra sway in her hips. She didn’t seem to have a choice any more; trying to walk normally felt awkward. Wrong. (Selfish?) The office was a small room between a home gym and the exit to the garage, largely devoid of decoration. It looked functional, though. Presently there were papers scattered all over the broad oak desk, as well as a laptop—hopefully the very one whose absence had disappointed her at Saint Agatha’s.

“What the mother fuck…” said Sabatino as he took it in. Amber gave him a look, but really, she’d been thinking the same thing. Most of the papers in here had been defaced, and in similar fashion. A single huge letter per sheet, scribbled furiously in thick rows of red ink. There was no discernible pattern to the letters. C, F, L, E, another E, A catty-corner to a G, an S… and so on. Left to right, top to bottom, no matter how she looked, it was nothing more than the fevered scrawlings of a lunatic. The only half-intelligible aspect to it were a few crude doodles of cocks in every shape and size. Both soldiers recognized the artwork as the same style from the notebook in the office at Saint Agatha’s. Beneath those scribbles, the papers otherwise seemed to be a combination of blank sheets from the printer tray intermixed with items reclaimed from a recycling bin. Bills, junk mail, discarded forms from the hospital of no real significance. None of it made any sense.

Until she started flipping down through the stacks.

Beneath the C, an O. Beneath that, another C. Sure enough, scrawled across a fundraising letter, the damning K.

“‘Cock.’ It says ‘cock.’”

“Just because I have huge titties doesn’t mean I can’t read, ya know.”

They split up, each sifting through a few stacks. The L pile lead down to read “LIKKME” followed by several pages of explanation marks, then a page with three letters side by side along with their own punctuation mark: PLS? Near the C was a second stack starting with S that she suspected paired with it, together forming a pronouncement of “cock starved.”

One E was atop a slightly thicker stack. Amber mumbled the letters aloud as she made her way through it.

E
V
R
Y
TH
I
N
G
F
EE
L
S
T
O
G
O
O
O
D
“This is… insane,” declared Sabatino, setting down his own pile without even repeating what it had said.

Amber had no rebuttal. “Come on. Let’s see if we can get into the computer. Maybe there’s something in there.”

Campbell’s computer chair was upholstered in fabric, and looked liberally stained. The stench rolling off of it was so intense Amber didn’t need to be told what had created those stains. She slid it back, bending at the waist over the keyboard.

“Amber…”

She glanced back. His eyes were glued to her crotch. “Go ahead and look. I don’t care.”

The laptop was password protected, no surprise there. Neither her medical nor her Army training had covered hacking computers. With a quick look around, however, she realized it didn’t need to. A post-it was buried beneath another pile of papers nearby. (She didn’t feel the need to guess what the F on the top page might initiate.)

Password: 1stdonoharm, it read, under which was added as an aside, don’t lose this again!!! The i’s were dotted with hearts.

The password, however, didn’t work. In case of typo, she tried a couple more times, but there was nothing doing. The automated hint, “hippo,” meant nothing to her, and she cursed hippos in general under her breath.

“No, isn’t that, you know, Hippocratic? Like on the note. That’s the doctor oath, right?” She looked back at him, trying to ignore the surge of wetness budding in her cunt at him correcting her. “Don’t look so shocked. I used to watch Grey’s Anatomy.”

“Well it’s not working,” she pouted, trying one last time.

Sabatino looked at the post-it, at the laptop. “Caps lock is on.”

Caps lock. Jesus. The sort of computer “malfunction” young people had to troubleshoot for her grandmothers.

“We’re in.”

The laptop was still in the state Dr. Campbell had left it in. Open on the front page and autoplaying before she could hit pause was a pornhub video, some musclebound brute with a cock almost as big as that shower toy sticking it to some fake-titted blonde. She caught herself watching rather than closing the tab until Sabatino cleared his throat. Reflexively tapping alt+left arrow took her back out of it, but there she saw the terms that had led to the video. hot wet slut doctor fucked by huge huge cock, read the search bar. It was currently on page 15 of those results. There were so many tabs open that the browser couldn’t even accommodate text on them. The lieutenant had to go to them one by one to close them, each time treated to the sound of a couple mid-coitus, often on a set that bore the most token resemblance to a hospital room.

She wiped away a trickle of moisture leaking down her thigh, hoping Sabatino was watching the screen and not her coochie. (Coochie? When did I start calling it a coochie?) Not sure where else to dispose of the fluid, she sucked her fingers clean. It tasted like she smelled.

Finally, more than two dozen tabs of lady doctor porn later, she found something else. It was a folder in Dr. Campbell’s personal cloud storage. The file names were simply numbers counting up from 01, all of them mp4s. Amber selected the first one and double-clicked.

The video showed a woman Amber recognized as Dr. Campbell, though even there, it was impossible to miss their shared symptoms already manifesting. She was sitting right here, evidently recording herself with the laptop’s camera, perched in her chair in a women’s business suit with buttons straining, glimpses of skin showing between them.

“My name is Dr. Sasha Campbell,” the recording began, her voice austere. “I am the lead epidemiologist at Saint Agatha’s Hospital Research Center. I am recording this because I believe I have been infected by something the likes of which modern medicine has never before seen. The first symptoms were first formally and definitively measured yesterday morning on my way into the office, though I believe they began much earlier. Those symptoms include swelling, especially in the breasts, hips, and buttocks, an increase in vaginal moisture, as well as psychological effects such as difficulty concentrating, distractibility, and sexual arousal. These symptoms manifested over the course of the past six to eight weeks, and though gradual, are now undeniable.”

Two months? It had taken two days for Amber’s case! The video wasn’t waiting for her to fume, though.

“It is possible I have discovered a new covid strain, a covid20. Considering what I’ve been working with, this is the most likely explanation. A mutation, perhaps? I’m at a bit of a loss in all this. Regardless, I can’t keep denying this is happening to me any more. Last night I made the decision to self-quarantine for a period of two weeks.” She chuckled ruefully, glancing around the office. “Been crashing at my office for so long that I barely remember the place. It’s peaceful out here, at least.

“Whatever this is, I’ll keep track of it here and study it until it’s safe to go back. For now, we already have one epidemic on our hands. In case this is a new strain and not a novel reaction to something else, I can’t risk spreading it. Hell, I don’t even know who to tell. If I should share this video with anyone—assuming I even could. Internet is for shit out here. But if word gets out that Sasha Campbell mutated covid and initiated a new pandemic, it could ruin my career. Ruin lives. Worse yet, it’d take me out of the covid fight. I can’t let everybody down.”

Sasha sighed. “For now, I guess I’m on my own. Even if I’m fucking terrified. This is Dr. Sasha Campbell, signing off.”

The video ended.

Sabatino, less squeamish about the chair, sat down in it and rolled closer. After selecting the next video, Amber settled into his lap without a word, relieved he had the decency to not complain, as well as to avoid apologizing for the presence of his cock pulsing beneath her ass.

17 Hours After First Recording, read a caption on a black screen as it played. There was Sasha again. She had changed clothes since the last video, and the presence of sunlight in this video clarified that the previous video had been taken at night. The outfit looked normal enough except for the telltale clinginess Amber understood only too well.

“I got home last night at around nine o’clock PM and soon fell asleep. It is possible fatigue is one of the symptoms. Maybe I was just tired. Maybe I missed my bed. In any case, I slept for close to sixteen hours, and when I awakened, I observed the symptoms had intensified severely. My… My god. My hair is longer. Lighter, too. It defies everything I know about medical science, but I’m certain of it. My clothes don’t fit right. There are also… olfactory side effects, hallucinatory I suspect, but I’m not sure.”

“The smell,” Amber whispered.

“The rate of progression is much more intense—I got out of Saint Agatha’s in the nick of time, I hope. My bras don’t fit any more. Over the past two weeks since I first attempted to take measurements, I estimated an increase of sixty cc’s of growth. Since yesterday, there is an increase of roughly seven hundred. I don’t even know how accurate that is given the primitive methods at my disposal. It may well be more. The change is very noticeable to the naked eye.” She sighed. “Oh fuck it, it’s my own video, can always delete this later.”

Sasha stood up and lifted her t-shirt, peeling it up and over the heavy slopes. Those were some tits, all right. Big, round, soft, squeezable titties. Amber reassured herself that hers were still bigger with a little self-fondling. Those stitches gave a little more at the stimulation.

The video continued with Sasha’s face out of the frame, the voice coming from her boobs. “As you can see, they’re… large. More sensitive, too, by far. It actually feels better without anything covering them—easier to think without anything touching my nipples. Aside from that, other swelling is increasing too, if not quite so pronouncedly. Still much faster than before. I’ll work on a metric for gauging my butt growth—save that as a highlight for the next video, maybe. Fuck.

“I texted Alice that I had a family emergency and might be gone for a week or so, but to let me know if anything out of the ordinary happens. I hope I got out in time. Took forever to get even a damn text through. Those Teledigm sons of bitches swore that tower would make sure I got a great signal out here, but surprise surprise, I can’t even get into my email. Guess that’s not really my big problem right now, though, is it? Sasha Campbell, signing off.”

“Is that true?” Sabatino asked softly. “It feels better if they’re uncovered?”

“What, my titties?”

She felt his breath quickened, couldn’t help but gasp as his cock stirred. “Yeah. Your… titties.”

“I dunno. I think so. It felt clearer yesterday once I got my shirt off.”

“Oh. I mean, not trying to pressure you or anything, but… if you think it’d help, you could… you know…”

“Sure,” she said automatically. It took a little doing to squirm out of Sasha’s shirt, but she almost immediately felt better. Amber could tell her pilot felt better too. She adjusted herself in his lap, wriggling around to get more comfortable. Not a lap dance, quite. Just… squirming.

“Your girlfriend won’t mind, will she?” she asked belatedly.

“Huh? Oh, no. Just… being supportive.”

“Thanks, Chuck. It means a lot. If you wanna take anything off, too, feel free.”

“I’m OK.” Did he say “for now”? She’d expected it so hard that she thought she’d heard it.

Amber skipped past the next few videos and double-clicked one further down the list.

32 hrs after 1st recodring

Sasha was topless from the get-go this time. Maybe naked altogether. She was bigger, as big as Amber was now. The face was different, too; she looked much more like Slut Zero than herself. That shading of fear that had tainted her eyes in the first two videos was dimmer now. Or maybe the woman herself was dimmer.

“I don’t even know why I’m still doing these stupid things,” Sasha began. “Yeah, my tits are huger. My ass is rounder. My snatch is juicier. All my hair below the neck—gone. Blah, blah, blah. None of it’s surprising any more, just the agonizing progression of whatever sick joke made this disease.” The doctor on screen twisted and posed to display each trait as she counted them off. It looked like one hand had settled between her legs after she sat down.

Amber suddenly realized she was playing with herself through her thong, too. Through Sasha’s thong. Fuck, this was hot.

“I’m beginning to think it’s not a disease. They… It’s too perfect to be a disease. The symptoms too much like some boyhood fantasy. Diseases give you fevers and headaches and respiratory problems, not a smoking hot rack and a cunt just perfect for pounding and fucking and cock after dick after cock and dick.” She took a breath, steadying herself, enormous boobs bobbling up and down from the simple act of breathing. “I checked, after that last video. It’s definitely tighter. When I stick my fingers in it, my pussy squeezes them. Massages. I’ve never heard of a disease that trains your pussy to be a more pleasing cock sleeve. Ugh, did I just call myself a cock sleeve?

“It’s true, though. I’m so horny I’d fuck anybody who asked right now. I’ve never had a gay thought in my life, but if a woman knocked on my door right now I’d be sitting on her face as soon as I could tackle her. Not sure how long it’s been since the last video, but I’ve basically been frigging myself like crazy the whole time.

“This is man-made. Whatever it is. It has to be. Think, Sasha, think! Fuck, it’s hard to think though. Maybe one more. One more little… yeah… like that… They just… talk so much clearer now…”

Sabatino and Amber watched for several minutes as Sasha propped her feet up on the desk, straddling the camera, and masturbated with shameless abandon. It was a different dildo than the one Amber had enjoyed last night. In fact, as the lieutenant arched her back into her own first orgasm of the day, she spotted it on the floor beneath the desk, discarded and forgotten. Poor thing was lonely. Maybe she should…

No. Not with Chuck here. No need to make him jealous. She guided his hand between her legs, moaning even louder than Sasha on screen. He deserved this. Cunts like hers were made, literally made, for men’s enjoyment. Amber didn’t just feel the fulfillment of her new body’s purpose; she heard it, a whisper in the dark corners of what was left of her mind.

“What’s your girlfriend’s name?”

“I… I forget.”

She kissed him.

Cock throbbing in time with his quickening pulse, Chuck reached past her to click on another video further down. The last one.

???? hrs l8r

It was Slut Zero. She was perfect. She was so achingly perfect that Amber reached out to touch the screen. That paused the video, so Chuck slapped her hands away and resumed it. She put them back to work on her titties and her pussy to keep herself from doing it again. Pleasure was the only thing that could hold her attention enough to fix a course of action in her head. On screen, Sasha pushed the screen back further on the desktop to make sure the camera had a better shot at her nakedness. At the edges of the screen, they could now make out the stacks of scribbled-on paper in what looked to be the same arrangement they’d found them in.

“You guys, I figured it out! Isn’t that awesome? I figured a thing out! Now I know what you’re thinking, Sasha Campbell, the ditzy little diddler from all these porny videos I’ve been making, figuring out a smart thing? But for real you guys! It all makes sense now.”

The two watched with bated breath, Amber’s all the more so as she came again, snatch clamping down possessively on Sabatino’s fingers. Instead, however, the woman rose to her feet, planted one foot on the desktop and started pounding her pussy with that same now-discarded dildo like she was trying to drill her way up into her throat.

“First, though… it’s time to reward myself,” she announced as she fucked hersef. It was poetry in motion. It was a portrait commemorating the human capacity for the gift and receipt of pleasure. It was the eclipse that prophesied the collapse of civilization. It was the trumpet that heralded the dawn of a new age.

Amber’s pussy sang along in harmony.

Campbell’s self-congratulatory reward went on for some time. After a while, Chuck’s free hand found its way to where it belonged, squeezing her fattened titties in elated disbelief. She came so hard that the fear she ought to be feeling actually shone through the haze of bliss clouding the rest of her mind. If only for a moment. As the erstwhile preeminent epidemiologist screamed out orgasm after endless orgasm, Amber wriggled out of her thong and squatted down before the warrant officer. He helped her get down his pants, no mean feat over those boots of his. She practically inhaled him into her mouth, and muscle memory that she had no recollection of gaining took over. That girl, whoever she’d been, dissolved in Amber’s perfect slut mouth and ceased to exist forever.

He came in seconds, but he hadn’t yet reached his second one when Sasha began talking again. Not that she meant to stop. Ever.

“Wow. OK. So what was I saying? Oh, right. That I figured it out. I guess that’s not totally true,” she muttered sheepishly. Amber wished she could watch her while she blew Chuck. Listening would have to do, if she could hear it over the other thing. The woman’s voice was high-pitched now, breathy and needful and promising everything. That doctor would make one hell of a phone sex operator.

God, the taste was even better than the smell.

“So technically, they told me. But let’s be honest, I wouldn’t be able to tie my friggin’ shoes without help any more, so it had to be this way. We all have to be this way. That’s what they said. I was just the first. They can’t have us telling everybody what they’re up to, right? Or dumb-dumbs like me—like the old me—would ruin everything.”

There was a giggle. A gasp of pleasure. A sigh of relief. Amber was pretty sure the girl had just gotten herself off again. She came from how unbelievably hot that was. And because they told her that she was supposed to come. Then Chuck flooded her mouth again, and the orgasm dragged on as she swallowed and choked around it.

“For what it’s worth, I’m sorry, you guys. I didn’t really have any choice. They only let me say and see what they needed me to. I really did try to warn everyone at first, but I don’t think anybody would believe me now. I’m basically just a jizz disposal site at this point, you know? But I am sorry. I texted Amber Moore at the AFHSB. The Army will go first. It was really hard, though. I mean, spelling? I never would have managed without their help. I’ll spread them to the lady docs at the lab next, just to make sure. They’re getting everything in place for them now. They won’t have to be afraid like I was. No one will, ever again, forever. The new age.. The last age…”

“Fuck me,” Amber pleaded, crawling up into Chuck’s lap. But he was shaking his head now, pushing himself up to his feet. Was she light-headed, or was the room actually getting brighter? As she dove at him, slamming him against the wall and grinding her pussy against his cock, she caught a brief glimpse of the screen, where Sasha’s eyes were blazing with blue-white light.

Chuck pushed her back, and when she launched herself after him again, he threw her to the floor and ran. Amber chased, of course—he was the only real cock for miles. Once she would have outpaced him easily, but her muscle tone had corroded itself to make way for sweet, enticing curves. Plus, he was wearing boots. Super unfair. Seeing she was hot on his trail, he sprinted down the only path in sight, toward the dock. There he launched himself onto the pontoon and threw the rope off its tether. There were oars, yes, but the pole would be faster. He pushed off the murky bottom and skimmed out across the pond.

There was nowhere to go, of course. But as Amber dove into the water and disappeared beneath the surface, she accepted that there never had been.

Sabatino watched for Lieutenant Moore—or whoever this woman was now—to resurface, but he wasn’t about to slow down. As the raft neared the middle of the pond, several hundred feet from shore, he finally let himself wonder if she was all right.

“Moore!” he yelled down into the water. “Moore, can you hear me? Amber, where are you!”

The water was as smooth and as dark as the glass bottle of his favorite beer. What he wouldn’t give right now to be back at base, knocking one off with the guys, spinning another lie about nailing the hot lieutenant on one of their field missions. His secret quasi-girlfriend. They all thought he was quite the stud—or quite the bullshitter. He wished now that he had been. He wished he didn’t know that her pussy was the instrument that had been made to end the world.

He wished he knew when he called for her again—“MOORE!”—if it was because he was afraid she had drowned, or was afraid he wouldn’t get to fuck her before he died.

There was no answer. He peered every direction for signs of her crawling back ashore. In the direction of Sasha’s cabin, beneath the shade of the surrounding woods, he could just make out the presence of a rectangle of light in all the colors of the rainbow scintillating through the office window. To the right of that, just atop the next hill, rose that 5G tower, its own red beacons faintly visible in the bright midday sky.

His eyes paused when he noticed them. They were flashing, not that slow pulse they’d seen the night before. Flashing on and off like some kind of signal, only too fast for him to understand it. What were they—

Amber burst from beneath the water, flopping onto the raft and sucking in that sweet ocean of air they had denied her as she’d crept along the bottom toward the boat. There had been no reason to be afraid. If they wanted her to breathe, they would give her a shape that breathed water. The rocking that accompanied her arrival threw him off balance and he tumbled to his back near the edge of the raft. She whipped her hair back over her shoulders, her naked, perfect body gleaming in the sun, the faintest glimmer of red light catching the droplets as they flew through the air.

“Moore? Lieutenant, what are you—”

Her mouth opened, and from within burst a hiss of static and a metallic screech that accompanied her moan of pleasure as she mounted him. Her pussy sunk down to the hilt on the first go. Caressed him. When he tried to buck her off, it held her implacably atop him.

“They said you get to be the first to fuck me, Chuck. They said I’m to make you happier than any human man in history. Isn’t that nice of them?”

“Amber, who—”

His words, her screams of delirious pleasure, were drowned out by the deafening cacophony of trees snapping like matchsticks, the roaring thrum of an engine. The sky was blotted out, the only light flowing from Amber’s eyes as she threw her head back and howled her welcome to the end.