The Erotic Mind-Control Story Archive

The girls looked like lollipops.

Most had brightly colored hair, either burnished blonde or teased out in multiple colors. Even in the poorly lit warehouse, Sara could count layers of heavy makeup—lipstick, lipstick-line, mascara, and others.

They were only about a quarter or a fifth of the Club’s clientele. The rest were skeevy male 30/40-somethings with Livestrong bracelets or Freshman just excited to be inside.

But no one in the room was looking at THEM.

Every one of the gyrating girls was squeezed into latex, or plastic, or vinyl, or something else that shone in the lights. They had also forced themselves into sharp heels, or big, black boots, and shook unsteadily in the thumping beat.

Most had a big pair of tits.

Sara looked down, self-consciously, at her own pair.

They were just breasts. She had two of them.

On the heaving, sweating girls, boobs were transformed into jiggling, shuddering works of art. One girl, dressed in a purple sheath, danced with her hands over her head. Her chest swung up and down with each breath. She had a trio of boys locked onto her chest.

Sara hugged herself, up against the side of the wall. As far away from the dance floor as she could manage. The walls of the warehouse were covered in caked-on dust, and probably hadn’t been cleaned since the building housed hung-up slabs of beef.

There was one girl who stood out even in the crush.

She was a redhead, and she was wearing yellow.

Her dress wasn’t even as revealing as many other of the dancers. It was flimsy and cotton, and soaked with sweat. The neck wrapped high around her shoulders.

But she danced like electricity crackled in her head and thighs. An entire circle of men were glued to her, but she didn’t even seem to notice, and shook left and right to the beat like a rag doll.

Each movement was lewd and intense, and she had her lips open in a half-moan, like she was caught in the middle of an orgasm in a hot shower.

Her bracelet covered hands snaked up and down the sides of her dress. They were this close to jumping into the swiveling juncture in the center of her thighs.

The music stopped, but the redhead danced through her circle of admirers like she hadn’t noticed. She swayed over to where Julie and Sara were hung onto the side of the wall. Sara watched the contented half-smile that was stuck to her plump lips.

The girl twisted her hips, turned, and a dozen droplets of sweat landed on Sara’s exposed arms. They were hot in the warm room.

Sara stared down at the wet dots.

“Ick,” she said, loudly. The redhead’s eyes popped open. They were bright, green, and dazed.

“Come on and dance!” the girl sang, in a syrupy-girl voice. She tried to grab at Sara, who brushed her off with a freezing glare.

Instead, the redhead grabbed Julie’s palm, swung her over to the dance floor, and looked deep into the frightened girl’s eyes.

“You’re soooo cute!” she gushed.

And then she kissed Julie.

Sara watched, shocked, as the redhead’s tongue dipped into Julie’s mouth. The asian girl was too surprised to struggle. Their lips pushed together, brown on bright red.

Sara reached out and yanked her back.

Tendrils of spit trailed off the redhead’s open mouth. She was shivering and grinning.

“That was nice,” the redhead bubbled. She wiped her mouth, stared at the spit. “Oopsy, I’m all drooling right now.”

Julie stared at her, fearfully. She licked at her lips.

“Sorry,” the redhead apologized. “I’m soooo ditzy today.

Her half-open eyes closed, remembering. “And you were just very… very hot.”

Sara wiped the rest of the redhead’s sweat off her arm.

“I didn’t even want to come here,” she thought, miserably.

A few hours ago…

“You’re wearing that?” Chloe said.

Sara made a face when her roommate couldn’t see.

“What’s wrong with what I’m wearing?” the brunette said, arching an eyebrow.

Chloe sat on her dorm bed. She rubbed at her nose as she examined Sara’s outfit.

“It’s a jean skirt,” she said.

“Yeah, it is,” Sara said. “We’re going out. I like this skirt. It’s cute, it’s comfortable, what more could I want?”

“It was cute when you wore it to that orientation party,” Chloe said. “And it was sort of cute when we all went to that first-week Frat party. It was getting boring when we dragged you out for pizza last Saturday.

“Now it’s tedious. Don’t you have any other clothes?”

Sara looked at herself in Chloe’s mirror. Her roommate had plonked a half-length piece of glass on top of her formica dresser, and adorned the sides of it with pictures of High School friends and plastic flowers.

“I like it,” she said. “If you’re going to drag me out clubbing, that’s what I’m wearing. What about the top?”

“It’s a red tanktop. There’s not much to say about it,” Chloe said. “Because it’s a tanktop.”

Sara thought of nasty rejoinders to make. Most revolved around Chloe’s hefty figure.

Her roommate was a half-milkshake away from chubby, and most of her jiggled when she walked. Bouncing, curled blonde hair and a boutique’s worth of makeup couldn’t compensate.

“Go on,” Chloe prompted. “Say what you’re thinking. I can tell you’re coming up with something, you always arch your eyebrows.”

“I wasn’t thinking anything,” Sara lied, and walked over to her desk. It held a sleek new laptop, her textbooks, stacked by order of weight, and a single picture. Of her. Her Valedictorian speech out of high school.

So far in college, she had worn her beautiful new black business suit a total of zero times, and her desultory “college co-ed” outfit five.

It wasn’t supposed to be like that.

“You were thinking mean thoughts,” Chloe accused, and snorted. Despite her heft, the blonde wasn’t shy about showing skin. She wore a tight black mini, stretched over her thighs, and a flowing purple shiny tee that announced her chest size, volume, and dimensions.

There was a knock at the door.

Sara took one last look out the window, noted the gathering clouds, and added her tattered leather jacket to the ensemble.

“We’re coming!” Chloe yelled.

“At least put on some makeup,” she pleaded, to Sara. “You can borrow mine. I know exactly what your color is. You’re completely a Winter.”

“No!”

Chloe rolled her eyes. “Why not? What’s wrong with lipstick?”

“We learned about it in Anthro last week,” Sara said, pulling her hair back. “It’s a form of sexual display. It’s how females demonstrate that they’re, you know. Available.”

Chloe grinned, delighted. “Really? I had no idea. What do earrings mean? That you’re a whore?”

When she had accepted the University’s offer, Sara had filled out a questionnaire to determine her roommate. She had specified “hard studier,” and “studious.” She had even circled “quiet” two times.

Somehow that had equated to “cheerful” and “chatty.”

Paula and Julie waited in the poorly lit hallway. Paula was ostentatiously checking her watch. It had diamonds on it.

“We’re late,” she said.

“We want to be late,” Chloe said, behind Sara’s back. “We’re clubbing. Late is good.”

“Michael is downstairs with the car,” she said, ignoring Sara’s bubbly roommate. She clutched a black leather purse that neatly matched her raven-dark hair.

Paula lived just across the hall, in their tiny dorm suite.

Every social so far had seen Paula in a brand new outfit. This was amazing, considering their tiny dorm closets.

This one was dark red, with a few sewn-in flower patterns across the skim of her hips. It was cut neatly for her figure, and looked absolutely perfect on her.

Sara fingered her own jean skirt. It was starting to look distinctly ragged.

But it wasn’t like she could do much better, even if she tried. Paula was all curves. She was mostly angles.

Sara had experimented in front of Chloe’s mirror, and had only approached attractiveness from a single overhead angle with at least two light sources. And even then her nose was beaky and her chin jutted out.

The foursome made their way to the elevator. They passed a figure on the way. His head was down, and he contemplated a paper in his hand.

“You’re sure you aren’t coming?” Paula called out, behind her. Jeremy shrugged and moved on. “Exam tomorrow,” he muttered. He had on his usual jeans and t-shirt.

“Me too!” Julie blurted, and turned to follow. Paula caught her by the shoulder and swiveled her back towards the elevator.

Julie had straight black hair, and was short, noticeably smaller even then Chloe. Most of her face was lost behind thick glasses. She had clearly tried to get into the spirit, but in a knee-length black skirt and a white blouse she looked like she was preparing for a job interview.

Sara gave her a look. “Don’t worry about it,” she whispered, behind Paula’s back. “First time a guy leers at me, or you, we’re going.”

Julie gave her a grateful look.

Michael waited downstairs, dressed in khakis and a polo. As well as a nice, new baseball cap. Paula pranced up to him, her heels flashing behind her, and dumped a petite kiss on his cheek.

Then the two locked lips.

Sara and Chloe exchanged annoyed looks. “If I barf, hold my head,” Chloe whispered. Julie averted her eyes.

Paula slid into the passenger seat, and the other three squeezed into the back of an old stick-shift BMW.

A droplet of rain spattered the windshield.

Stuck between the door and Chloe’s overflowing frame, Sara cast a yearning look out the window to the third floor.

The things she did to fit in.

The club was in an ugly part of downtown. Men with horrible teeth and faces that looked like hatchet blades crossed in front of the car. Julie quivered when one stopped, turned bug-white eyes in her direction, and leered.

Paula and Michael hadn’t noticed anything wrong. They mooned at each other.

Sara wished that Michael would keep his eyes on the road. He kept drooping over to the swell of Paula’s chest.

Michael lived in the room just next to Paula’s. There were only seven of them, total, up in a converted attic of their overcrowded dormitory. Michael, Lucas, and Jeremy were stacked in a triple. Then Paula and Julie. Chloe and Sara had the corner room.

Sara was pretty sure that the entire floor was made up of students whose forms had gotten torn apart by the scanning machine.

Michael jammed his car into a meager spot between two spattered SUVs.

Sara endured a half-mile walk in her short heels. Her legs sprouted goosebumps in the rain. The rain showered them from time to time.

Even Chloe started to lose her cheerful smile.

“Drink up!” Paula said. She pulled a steel flask out of her purse and took a swig. Sara steeled herself and sipped a half-shot of vodka. Chloe happily poured a dollop down her throat. Julie just stared at the bottle and quickly shook her head.

The club itself had no sign out front. It was a converted warehouse with a single red door, lit overhead by a flood lamp. A massive bouncer absorbed almost all of the light. There was a thumping bass line underneath their feet.

Lucas stood by himself in the rain, scratching his neck. He was blonde, with wire-frame spectacles, and only seemed to wear collared button-downs.

He awkwardly exchanged a manly handshake-and-slap with Michael.

“Where’s Heather?” Michael said. “Not here yet?”

Lucas intently examined the soaked sidewalk. “She’s… ah… doesn’t look like we’re together anymore,” he said. His grin was held up by sheer will. “We… I just got off the phone.”

“Oh, that’s terrible,” Chloe cooed. The blonde had a half-stack of romance novels in her bookcase. She encased Lucas in a hug.

“It’s cool, it’s cool,” he mumbled. Lucas was another blonde. He wore a button-down shirt. “Long distance, right? It’s just… that’s how it goes. Lets, ah, go dancing.”

Paula and Michael led the way. The bouncer calmly sized up the six of them. At four girls to two guys, they passed the first test.

Michael coughed and not-so-discretely handed the bouncer a rolled up bill. Paula beamed at him. He apparently over-bribed enough that the bouncer even held open the red door.

The six of them stepped inside.

Julie and Sara had sidled to the edge of the crowd and kept their backs to the wall.

Then the redhead had committed an open-lipped assault.

“What’s wrong with you?” Sara demanded, to the spacey bimbo. The yellow-clad girl just kept smiling and swaying to the music.

Paula had watched the impromptu girl-on-girl kiss, and headed over, trailed by Michael. In fact, half the dance floor had watched, and the men stood around with stupid grins.

“What was that?” Paula said, up in the girl’s face. “Don’t touch my roommate, freak!”

The girl bobbed her head. More skeins of sweat flew out. This time they flecked Paula’s face. She didn’t move to wipe them away.

“I know, I’m sooo sorry!” the girl said, contritely. She had one finger in her mouth. “I don’t know what happened. I don’t like girls.”

She noticed Michael. Paula had a death grip on his arm.

“Mmm, I do like boys, though,” she said.

And the iridescent redhead swept around Paula, put her arm behind Michael, and melted into his arms.

Paula watched, speechless, as she noisily kissed Michael’s startled lips.

“Much better!” the redhead said, once Michael had the presence of mind to thrust her away. This time her hands did slip to the middle of her legs, and she pressed hard.

Paula looked ready to commit homicide. Lucas and Chloe were the last two to walk over. Chloe had spent the entire time dancing by herself, trying to do the Robot. Lucas had stuck by Michael and tried not to look sad.

“Don’t kiss my boyfriend, whore!” Paula yelled. And to make her point, she leaned over, stared Michael in the eyes, and pecked him on the lips. Her own lips looked tense enough to pry a door open.

The redhead just shrugged.

Security, belatedly, started to wander over. Sara took a wild guess that they would support the drunk/high redhead with the fanbase. Especially when the Freshmen were only there thanks to bribery and loose ID-checking standards.

“Lets go,” she said, to Julie. The short girl still looked shell-shocked, and kept touching at her lips, right where the redhead had kissed her.

The brunette stormed out the front of the club, and the rest of her dorm walked behind.

Paula started bickering with Michael before they were even at the car.

“You didn’t even TRY to fight back!” she said, and punctuated each accusation with a finger to the chest.

“Paula, she attacked me, you gotta see…”

“So, how does this work?” Paula said. “If some slut gets within three feet, it’s not your fault? What about five feet, is that a grey area?”

She only stopped yelling when the rain started to pour in real earnest. It doused all six of them, and ran down the middle of Sara’s tanktop. Paula was too angry to care, and the boys were wearing actual clothes, but she had bare legs and was freezing.

Even Chloe was scowling. Her roommate hadn’t said a word since they left the club. Lucas trailed behind, texting desperately, probably, Sara assumed, to his lost girlfriend.

They didn’t realize the next problem until the six of them reached the car. Six people, five seats.

“Oh, shit, I’m really sorry,” Lucas said. He scratched at the back of his neck. “I.. really thought Heather would give me a ride home.”

Paula seemed ready to ditch him at the side of the road. Or possibly Michael, whether or not anyone else could drive stick.

“I can ride in the trunk,” Lucas offered.

Chloe spoke up. “It’s fine, we just stack the two lightest people on top of each other,” she said. “I used to do it with my cousins, back home. Julie, you weigh like fifty pounds, right? Climb on top of Sara.”

Julie looked at Sara. They exchanged matching stares of misery.

“I am never doing this again,” Sara promised herself. “Never, ever, am I doing anything I don’t absolutely want to do. College or not. They can go freeze, I am going to sit in the dorm and watch old movies with British people in them.”

Julie was very light, but also completely soaked. Her skirt leaked onto Sara’s jean skirt, and soon even her plain white panties were wet with cold rainwater. The girl shivered uncontrollably, and her back pushed into Sara’s nose.

This time, when Paula’s flask made a long circuit around the back of the car, Sara took a long gulp, and felt it burn all the way down.

“Never again,” Sara said, once she was safely back in the dorm. The dun-grey carpets and fluorescent lighting had never looked so welcome. “Ever again. From now on, I do what I want.”

“Fine,” Chloe said. She had stripped as soon as they got back, and stood in their room in her underwear. She had big boobs, to match the rest of her, and they were held back with a complicated multiple-hook arrangement. “No one’s forcing you.”

“If everyone is like, Sara, come on, everyone is going, that’s tough. I’m here to get straight As and ace the LSAT. That’s all.”

“I get it!” Chloe snapped. “Now, put a shirt on, okay?”

“Huh?”

Sara looked down. She had given most of her lecture half-naked. Her towel had fallen down. She cinched it back up.

“Sorry.”

“It’s not like we’re ever going to do dorm-stuff again, anyways,” Chloe said. She pulled on a nightgown. It had blue wool bunnies on it. “Paula and Michael broke up. Julie was either traumatized for life or turned into a lesbian, and hey, you’re pissed off too, that’s great.”

Paula and Michael were still yelling at each other in Michael’s room. Lucas and Jeremy had been evicted and were playing on the dorm Wii that Chloe had brought.

“Glad you had fun, at least,” Sara said. She put on her sleeping tanktop.

“I did have fun!” Chloe said. “It’s fine once you get used to the guys looking at you.”

“I don’t think they were looking at yo—“

Sara stopped herself an entire sentence too late.

“I mean, because there were so many slutty girls there,” she amended. Too late. Chloe was rapping her knuckles against the top of her dresser. The stuffed animals there rattled. Then the girl fell backwards onto her bed and writhed around.

“What are you doing?” Sara said.

“Isn’t it obvious?” the blonde said. “I’m beaching myself.”

Sara laughed, in spite of herself. Chloe just looked so determined, thrashing back and forth on the covers. “Stop it! You’re not fat. You’re curvy. There’s a really big difference.”

Chloe sat upright. “Liar. Even Julie got kissed. I don’t think she was expecting that until her wedding day.”

“By a girl!”

“Yeah, but what a girl! I wonder what she was on. I want a hit of it.”

Sara stopped. Something about the redhead’s wild behavior was tossing up a clanking warning bell, somewhere deep within her head.

Something about… lewd behavior?

Sara pulled herself under the covers and concentrated on warming up. “Look, lets just go to bed, okay? I have a test in a few weeks.”

“Whales are nocturnal.”

“Go to bed!”

A minute later, Chloe snorted out of her blowhole, then started to giggle.

Sara had strange dreams.

She walked down the exact center of Garrison Hall. Students marched past her on either side. None of them seemed to notice anything about strange about her.

Which was odd, because she was naked.

Sara looked down. Her tits had big, pointy nipples, and she could barely see past them. There was a brush of breeze on her exposed slit.

A cute guy walked by. He smiled at her… Sara winked at him…

There was a rap at the door.

Sara sat upright. A surge of tingling energy faded, drained out the bottom of her.

“What was I just dreaming about?” she wondered. Something about going to class, and there was a wind. The brunette brushed sweat off her forehead and wiped it on the bedcover.

Chloe snored like a pack of dogs. Sometimes her nose and her mouth made separate noises. Sara padded out of bed and answered the door.

Paula was there. She slept in a fashionable pair of lace and cotton matching pajamas. Her hair still looked perfect.

“Paula. It’s…” Sara tried to think of the time. “What time is it?”

“9:30,” Paula said.

“What, seriously? Did my alarm not go off or something, I always get up at 6:50…”

“Sara, I’m worried about Julie,” Paula interrupted. She had intent, dark eyes. “She’s acting really weird. I think she’s sick.”

“Does she say that she’s sick?” Sara asked, shaking the last few cobwebs away.

“She says she feels… weird,” Paula said. “I was going to call the campus nurse… but… I thought maybe someone else should take a look. Or something.”

Julie’s side of the room was stark and plain, except for a smattering of photos tacked up over her hand-me-down computer. Biology books were scattered all over the top of the desk. Paula’s side was adorned with reproduction Van Goghs.

The short girl with the dark black hair had tossed off all the covers. She had pulled a thin blanket over the top of her, and was shivering. Her eyes slowly opened and closed.

But she was smiling.

“Julie? You okay?” Sara said. She sat on the bed.

“I feel… weird,” Julie said. Her voice was soft and drained.

“Like what kind of weird?”

“Like… really hot…”

“Hot?” Sara felt the girl’s forehead. She didn’t feel hot. She felt room temperature warm.

“And… wet… I feel so wet.”

Paula and Sara exchanged puzzled looks. Wet? Who felt wet?

“Uh, hang on, I’m going to call the advice nurse,” Sara said, and motioned for the phone. Paula gave over her own cell.

“She must be really worried,” Sara thought, punching in campus information. Paula protected her pricey handheld like it was a baby bird.

The advice nurse had the rusty voice and bored tones of a lifer. “Campus Health. Can I help you?”

“Yeah, hi,” Sara said. She examined her patient. Julie DID look flushed. She had rosy red cheeks, and she tossed and turned her head on the pillow. The co-ed slept in a white tanktop. “My roommate here doesn’t feel so good.”

“What are her symptoms?” the nurse said.

“Uh, she’s hot.. and she says she feels… wet.”

“Wet?”

Suddenly the nurse snapped to attention. There was a new level of tension across the wire. “She said that she’s wet?”

“Yeah?” Sara said.

A seed of suspicion began to grow, deep within her memory. Hadn’t she read about this, somewhere?

The nurse barraged her with location and name information.

“Now, Miss Sara, I need you to do something,” she commanded. “If she’s underneath a blanket, I need you to pull it up and look at her underwear.”

“What?” Sara said. She couldn’t’ve heard that correctly. “You’re serious?”

The nurse was silent.

Julie didn’t resist. Sara cautiously picked up the blanket. Underneath was Julie’s firm, slight hips. She was rubbing her legs together, and her right hand played with the top of her underwear.

“Now, Miss Sara, is there a wet spot… there?”

Sara swallowed hard.

They had read about this in Health Class, of course. But it was a thing of the past, eradicated years ago. Not something a college-bound co-ed had to be concerned about.

“Yeah, it’s… it’s wet.”

Julie’s panties were translucent with lubricant. A warm, sweet smell of strawberries started to fill the room. Julie moaned, underneath her breath.

“And are her fingers wet?”

Sara glanced up. Julie’s slender fingers had guilty traces of wetness on them.

“Yeah. They do.” She said. Paula had wide eyes.

“Miss Sara, this is probably nothing. But please, stay in your dorm floor, and wait for the authorities. Do not be alarmed when they arrive,” the nurse’s voice was clear like a trumpet.

Sara numbly hung up. She looked up at Paula.

“They think it’s S-Flu,” she said, and bit at her lip. Sara looked down. She could still see her lap, above the line of two unimpressive breasts. For now.

“Oh shit!” Paula whispered.

“Slut Flu!”

Six or seven busy hours had passed by.

The medical team had already tested Sara. They wore white hazard suits with the face masks, which had made the entire experience that much worse.

The head doctor had read her results and wordlessly passed over a brochure that read “So you’re positive for S-Flu!” It was glossy and bright pink, and had a picture of a overstacked girl on the front of it. She was obviously trying to pose as someone professional and confident, but the low-cut top and her pointing-out nipples didn’t help.

Sara had retreated to her computer chair and sulked for the next few hours.

She pulled up a picture of a naked guy, on the Internet. He was bronzed and buff, with tense, tight muscles that rippled over his skin. He had a very suggestive smile.

Sara waited.

Nothing happened.

No surge of hot desire, no need to impale herself on his dick.

In fact, his penis looked a little silly. He was holding it with one hand, and a bead of pre-cum glistened on the tip. Sara nicknamed him Drippy, and set a bookmark.

Then she went hunting for pictures of girls with S-Flu.

It wasn’t hard. Just simply searching “S-Flu” led to an explosion of porno sites and suggested images. The brunette pulled her legs onto the chair and picked one at random.

The first girl she found was in maybe her mid-20s. She had short-cropped brown hair, and was looking into the camera with a pair of lazy brown eyes. Her boobs took up much of the frame. The girl was pushing a shopping cart in a pair of white spike heels and a zipped-up purple dress. Her lips were huge.

She was buying lots of cucumbers.

Chloe opened the door. Behind her, moon-suited staffers were checking the ventilation system and moving equipment back and forth.

Her roommate had the same brochure. She waved it at Sara.

“Me too!” she said. “100% S-Flu infected. Hey, now we have something in common, finally!”

Sara grunted.

Chloe walked over to her desk. She peered at the suggestive girl on the screen. “Do you really think we’ll look like that? Look at those boobs!”

“I hope not. I don’t feel any different. So far,” Sara said.

She looked down at her body. If you started out plain and boring, did it make the virus less severe?

“Those lips are huge,.” Chloe said. “S-Flu girls must go through loads of chapstick.”

Sara drew her legs together. “How can you be so… perky… about this? I don’t want to be a…. some sort of freakish, virus-bimbo.”

“Perky? Really?” Chloe said. She tossed her blonde hair back. “Last night I’m fat, and today I’m perky?”

“We’re going to turn into… sluts! I’m supposed to go to law school!”

“You can still go to law school,” Chloe said.

“Not if I’m on my back! S-Flu girls are good for two things, and I don’t like chewing gum!”

Chloe fired up her own computer. “Try to look on the bright side,” she advised.

“Which is what, exactly?” Sara scoffed. “Boys drooling over when you walk around?”

“That doesn’t sound so bad.”

“What if I’m at the supermarket? When I go shopping, I want to get groceries. I don’t want to cause car accidents and make boys drop their bags.”

Chloe gave her a hard look and turned back around. She had her legs uncrossed. Sara quickly averted her eyes.

“You’re being a downer about this,” she said.

“What’s to be positive about?”

Sara had already read the Wikipedia entry on S-Flu three times.

It was at least six times the length of the entry on George Washington, and had been lovingly assembled by a team of editors. There were plenty of marginally work-safe pictures.

She had spent a lot of the time on the section entitled “Loss of Intelligence: Myth or Fact?”

Her roommate beamed. She stood up, on tippy-toes, and pirouetted. “For one thing, I am finally going to lose weight!”

She looked actually excited.

Sara felt like shaking her. “Lose weight?” she said. “Are you kidding me? Because sex burns calories?”

Chloe looked hurt. “You need to read your brochure. S-Flu always leads to weight loss. Just part of the virus. And when it goes off, it stays off. Apparently you can eat whatever you want! Nothing stays on! The Cheesecake Factory is like the unofficial headquarters for S-flu girls.”

“Since when do you know so much about…” Sara didn’t even want to say it. “…This thing?”

“I’m from Illinois, remember?” Chloe said. “Madison is where the big outbreak happened.”

That had been in the Wikipedia article, too.

Wisconsin, the site of the Big Outbreak, now had a thriving porn industry to rival the now-struggling San Fernando Valley. Pictures and videos of naked S-flu girls was about to outpace cheese as a local export. The webcam outside City Hall was a national sensation.

“You’d see S-Flu girls walking around Chicago all the time,” Chloe explained. “They’re always smiling, too. That’s how you tell an S-Flu woman from some slut with a boob job. The boob job girls always look unhappy. Oh! And they smoke. S-Flu girls never smoke. They don’t need to smoke. Paula will be happy to hear that.”

Sara turned back to her computer. The brunette wore her thickest pair of sweat pants. Her hair was pulled harshly back into a ponytail.

Someone else knocked at the door. It was timid and mild. Sara didn’t make a move to open it. Opening doors had been nothing but trouble for the past few days.

Chloe opened it, instead.

The bimbo from the Internet stood in their doorway, chewing on a nail.

After a moment it was clear that it wasn’t THAT girl. True, both had an awe-inspiring pair of boobs, big heavy ones that jutted out in front of them. And there was also the sky-scraper pair of plush white legs. But this girl was blonde, and she was wearing a dark pair of glasses on a perfectly made-up face.

She was trying to look normal.

The blonde in the doorway wore a black suit top with a pencil skirt, and the girl’s hair was pulled back in a bun. But besides the sheer fact of her proportions, the skirt was rubber, stretched over her hips, and a bright pink sheath was visible just underneath the jacket.

“Hi! I’m Ms. Marla,” the girl said. “Christie Marla.”

“Uh, okay?” Chloe said. She tried and failed to look away from Christie’s boundless chest. “And?”

Christie giggled. “Oh, right! I’ve already gone through S-Flu, you know?”

They both stared at each other. “And?” Chloe prompted.

“And the University asked me to give a presentation to the ladies here! About S-Flu!”

Ms. Marla had a voice so soft it sounded like cotton wrapped in silk.

She extended a hand. Her nails were covered in pink acrylic. “Shall we begin?”

The other four were already assembled in the main room. It was off to the right of Sara and Chloe’s, and they shared a wall with the relatively large space. The same grey carpeting with the mismatched stains spread along the floor. The area was littered with cheap woodgrain chairs with wool seatcovers, and two sofas wrapped in some cheap, purple fabric.

Ms. Marla had set up a projector along the bare wall, near the TV. Just to her left the big window showed off a dreary, drizzling day, with sullen grey rags of clouds.

Down on the main quad, all the students who lived underneath them were trailing out the door, carrying suitcases and backpacks. Sara and the other five were going to get the entire building to themselves.

Julie and Paula sat in two of the chairs. Both wore their thickest pajamas and sweats, with roughly severe hair. Paula kept glaring at Michael. He and Lucas wore jeans and neutral expressions.

Chloe and Sara sat in the other couch.

“Where’s Jeremy?” Chloe asked.

“He’s negative,” Lucas said. His hair was wild and disheveled, and he hadn’t shaved yet. “They packed him out already.”

Which meant that all the rest of them were positive. Of course. Lucas still had the male equivalent of her brochure clutched between two fingers. It had a muscle-wrapped guy in a business suit on the cover.

Ms. Marla got their attention by simply coughing into her hand. That set her boobs rolling. She clicked on the first slide. It read “So you’ve acquiread S-Flu!”

Sara mentally corrected the spelling.

“Hello!” The woman said, looking around the room. “My name is Christie Marla. I got S-Flu six years ago-ish, at U Madison, during the big outbreak. Your Dean has asked me to give a little show about life with S-Flu!”

“What is it you do, exactly? For a living?” Sara interrupted. She had both her arms and her legs crossed.

Christie hesitated for just a second too long. “I’m a housewife.”

“And?” Sara prompted.

“A mother! I have four beautif—“

“And?” Sara said, affixing the bimbo with a chilled stare.

“And, okay, I make a little money on the side acting in… movies,” Christie conceded.

Michael looked up. “Wait, you’re that Christie?” he exclaimed. “The one from Big-Boobed—” he saw Paula’s look. “Nevermind.”

Christie clicked to the next slide. It read “S-Flu: What the heck is it??” The slide design was bright pink and baby blue.

“Okay, so there’s two different scientific ideas about what the heck S-Flu is,” the blonde said. “Some science guys think it’s man-made, because, uh, it’s just a little TOO perfect in what it does. Other science people think it accelerates the sex-ual di-mor-phis-m of the sexes and encourages fertility and reproduction. The virus itself just… unlocks all that hidden genetic stuff. It’s very controversial!”

Ms. Marla looked very pleased that she had pronounced “dimorphism” correctly.

“It passes through sexual contact or blood during the three to four day infectious period. Which is not long, but most S-Flu people tend to fuck a lot in that time!”

The blonde seemed to remember her shell-shocked audience. She ran her last sentence back through her head. “I mean… they tend to… encourage… the infection…” she tried.

“Just keep going,” Paula said. She reeked of cigarette smoke.

“Okay!”

The next slide had a penis on it.

A cartoon one, but still, a very large, very erect penis bobbing in front of a muscular, smiling guy. The artist had drawn on lots of chest hair. The slide read: “Boys and S-Flu: A Journey into Testosterone!”

“We’re going to do the boys first,” Christie announced. She shifted in her rubber mini. It rubbed against her hips. “I mean… talk about the boys first.”

There was a crack of thunder out the window, and the rain turned into flashing white streaks.

“There’s about fifty per-cent growth in the erect male penis, and swelling in the testicular region,” Ms. Marla announced.

Lucas and Michael looked pleased.

“Most boys also find themselves growing more muscular, or even taller.”

Lucas was even grinning now.

“Of course, about 1% of the men DO have an adverse reaction to the Flu, and actually turn into girls!”

Ms. Marla tittered. The smiles on the boy’s faces died a harsh death.

“But we’ve already tested you for that, and you’re in the clear,” Ms. Marla said. She had turned away from the slides, and eyed the boys. With long rest stops at their crotch.

The next slide read “I’m a big man: dealing with lots of testosterone.” It had a collage of movie star men with stubbly chins.

“Most guys experience boosts in sexual confidence, sexual aggression, and of course, the lib-i-do.” Ms. Marla concluded.

Lucas raised his hand. “Uh, what about… sensitivity?” he said.

“You mean, how your dick feels?” the blonde said. She stared directly at his jeans. It was obvious he had an erection.

Sara watched it herself, waiting for something to happen.

Nothing.

“It’s different for some guys, but it feels a lot better,” Ms. Marla said. “Like, as good as it feels now, plus like a million. And you’re a lot more gooey.”

Both Lucas and Michael mouthed the word “gooey.”

Paula and Sara gave each other a look. The big words dropped away as soon as Christie deviated from the prepared script.

The next slide had a friendly clock with eyes on it, and was entitled “How long??”

“How long??” Christie repeated. She turned back to them. “Ms. Julie here felt it first ‘cause she got a big dose of the virus. The rest of you should start feeling the hormonal changes tonight-ish. Then the physical stuff over the next couple of days.”

Julie had her hand up. “Umm, how much of it is permanent?” she asked.

Sara listened. Was her voice always that soft and quiet, or was it the start of S-Flu?

Christie looked out the window. The shower crackled on nearby roofs. “Well, the libido kind of calms down, but…. take a look at me, sweetie. I didn’t always have a body like this! I was an A-cup Sophomore getting my anthropology degree!”

The rest of the room turned to look at Sara. She sank into her chair.

“Yeah, yeah, that’s my major too,” she groused.

Sara turned to Julie. “You can get a boob reduction, and there’s anti-estrogen hormones we can take,” she said. “I looked it up.”

“Yeah, but no one does,” Christie said, cheerfully. “Life satisfaction in S-Flu girls goes up a whollle lot! 95% of S-Flu girls are happy with their lives.”

“Because they’re morons!” Sara snapped. Paula nodded vigorously.

There was a long, uncomfortable silence.

Ms. Marla looked at her carefully. “Boys,” she said, still watching the steaming brunette. “I’d like to do the girl stuff with just the ladies. You go to your rooms, okay?”

The other two obediently left.

Ms. Marla watched their asses the entire way, and a half-smile grew on her face. Only when they shut the door completely did she turn back to the foursome of shivering women.

“Okay, I can see you girls are a little worried about S-Flu, I understand that,” she said, soothingly. “Lets see if we can’t answer some really, really common questions.”

The next slide read “MYTH: S-Flu makes you really dumb!!”

“Myth! S-Flu makes you really dumb!” Ms. Marla said. For some reason, she had put a picture of an apple on the slide.

Paula’s hand shot up. Christie ignored it.

“SCIENCE has proven that girls with S-Flu are not any more stupid then before,” Christie said.

“But..” Paula said.

“What people THINK is girls becoming dumber is really just girls getting happier!” Christie said. “There’s a lot of end-or-phins and estrogen floating around in our heads, and yeah, you act a little different, but that doesn’t mean you’re dumb. It means that you’re… different! And different is good!”

“What about the Levenson Study?” Paula blurted. Sara nodded. Apparently the raven-haired girl had also been on Wikipedia.

Christie dismissed it with a wave. “All those findings go completely away if you let the girls have a nice, long, orgasm before you test them. Those women had gone, like, twelve hours without cumming, sometimes!”

Now both Sara and Paula’s hands went up.

Christie sighed. “Look, ladies, I know that you’re worried. But I can do math and stuff. If I really want to. It’s just like, I don’t feel like it, okay? That doesn’t mean I’m all stupid and stuff.”

She was twirling her bright blonde hair.

Sara reluctantly put her hand down.

Christie went to the next slide.

“Okay, next myth: S-Flu girls are easy!”

The clip art was a little stunning. Christie had selected a naked girl, the camera hovering over her outstretched thighs, and leering at her bald snatch. The four co-eds jerked back.

“NOT TRUE!” Christie emphasized, with both hands. That set her boobs off again. “Nothing about S-Flu makes you do anything! If you don’t want to sleep around, you don’t have to! Remember that if the boys start getting… frisky! And they totally will!”

Sara read and re-read “NOT TRUE” over and over. Christie was right about that, at least. Getting S-Flu didn’t mean you HAD to spread your legs and coo for a nearby boy.

Even Wikipedia agreed with that.

Although something like 80% of S-Flu girls got pregnant in the first year. Sara shoved that factoid away.

“Lets do a role-play exercise, girls,” Christie said. She pointed to Julie. “Julie, you’re a boy. You’re horny. You want to fuck. Try and get me to have sex with you!”

Julie just blinked at the blonde.

“Go on,” Ms. Marla prompted. “Say something dirty.”

Chloe jumped in. “Uh, Christie, lets have… sex,” she said, lamely.

“NO.” Christie said, loudly. She tried to look severe. It came off as a sort of suggestive pout. “I don’t need you to get off! I’ve got my fingers, I’ve got my girlfriends, and I’ve got Buzz in my purse here.”

She patted at her purse. That triggered something. The entire faux-leopard bag started to buzz. Hard.

The blonde grinned. “You see? I can turn down sex whenever I want. And so can you. Remember that!”

Sara only had eyes for the frantically buzzing purse. Whatever was in there sounded like a jackhammer. It mixed with the rainfall outside.

“Lets skip past these next ones for now…” Christie said. She started to rapidly bounce through slides. Sara had only enough time to see the titles. Most looked like they had been copy-pasted from someone’s doctoral thesis. She saw “Expansion to the Hypothalmus,” “hormone triggers,” and “Limbic System alterations.”

Sara had the distinct feeling that she wanted to read them.

The next slide read “Physical Changes: Becoming a Woman—Again!” The accompanying graphic had circles over almost all of a cartoon girl’s body.

“Okay, I’m sure you girls know all this…”

“I don’t,” Julie said. She had huddled in her chair ever since Ms. Marla had commanded her to hit on her.

“…But we’re going to go over it anyways, so you know what to expect.” Christie tossed her hair back. “First of all, hair. Very bouncy, very full. Both it and your nails will grow real quick when you have S-Flu, so good personal grooming is a must.”

“Second, face,” Christie ticked off. She rimmed a finger on her bee-stung lips. “Lots of little stuff, but all of it good! I used to have this huge nose, before I got S-Flu. Now it’s cute.” In fact, it was an adorable up-turned nose. Sara didn’t feel like asking about the long, batting eyelashes.

“Okay, skin. Not everyone knows this one. See how I’m wearing rubber?”

Christie took off her jacket. Underneath was a bright pink tube top, all in the same stretch rubber as her obscene mini. It also gave a better view of her boobs. They were obscene even underneath fabric, huge mounds that were squashed on top of her chest.

“Your skin can get super sensitive,” the blonde explained. “Don’t get me wrong, it feels pretty good. But a lot of girls find it’s more comfortable to wear safe fabrics like silk and vinyl instead of itchy stuff.”

“Itchy stuff like what?” Paula said, suddenly deeply interested.

“You know. Wool. Cotton.”

“Cotton?” Paula said. She lost her ladylike murmur. It came out as a near-shriek. “You can’t wear cotton?”

“Oh, you can! You can!” Christie said, placating. “You just might not… want to. You’ll see. I went out and got a bunch of stuff for you girls to wear, you’ll like it!” She pointed at a corner.

Sara had been wondering about that. There was a portable rack in the corner. It was a rainbow of light-reflecting clothes. None of them looked any bigger then a wisp of fabric.

Christie clicked slides. This one just read “BOOBS.”

“Time for the big ones,” Christie said. “By which I mean boobs.”

Sara raised her hand. “Does it matter what you, uh, start with?” she ventured. “In terms of… cup size?”

Christie shrugged. “Not really. Some of the girls with the biggest tits started out completely flat. It’s random.”

“Great,” Sara thought. A flash of lightning banged through the interior, just behind another blast of thunder.

The blonde glanced over at the closed door to the boy’s room. Then she reached up to her pink tubetop and yanked it down.

Two big tits popped out, into the open air. Christie picked one up with her delicate hands.

“As you can see, the boobs get pretty darn big.”

She pointed her brown nipples at each of the girls, in turn.

“You can see that the aureole get wider and darker.. and oops, there go my nipples!”

They popped out erect in front of her. Sara was suddenly confronted with a long, pencil-tipped nub. Christie flicked it with a finger, and smiled sweetly.

“Some girls actually start lactating,” Christie explained. “There’s a brochure about that on the table. It’s not too big of a deal, so long as you get someone to milk you.”

There was a scattering of more pamphlets on the table. The top one had a jug of milk on the front and read “So you’re full of milk.”

“You lose muscle tone on your arms and legs, but you get more on your back and in your rear,” the blonde said. “You can see how I don’t even need a bra. Some of the first girls with S-Flu still have virtually no sag, and it’s been ten years!”

She jumped up and down for emphasis. Her boobs flopped up and down, but refused to topple over. They were high and firm.

“Okay, come closer, ladies,” Christie said. Her voice had progressively more husky over the past few minutes. Ms. Marla grabbed a chair and bent herself over it. “We’re going to talk… lower body.”

The four girls shuffled closer. Not too close. Sara couldn’t help herself. The catalog of insane sexual transformations just kept going on and on.

She caught a flash of movement off to the corner of her eye. The boys had cracked open the door, and were peeking in on their bent-over teacher.

Ms. Marla had already noticed. She winked at the two of them, then craned her neck backwards. She wiggled her ass.

“See how firm it is? A very tight rear is a hallmark of S-Flu. Julie, could you flip up my skirt?”

“What?” the short girl said. She was trembling, but still stood the closest to the presenting woman.

“My skirt. I wanted to show you the changes to the va-gi-na,” Christie said, matter-of-factly. When Julie didn’t respond, she did it herself, and thrust her ass higher into the air.

There was no underwear to remove.

Sara found herself staring at a hairless, gleaming snatch. It was bright pink. There was a sudden warm scent in the room. Like apples. She couldn’t help comparing it to Julie.

“Okay, so this is my slit,” Christie said. Even without looking, she pointed out areas of interest with a pink-tipped nail. “First of all, your body hair should fall out in the next day or so, so no more shaving. That’s nice. You can see here that my vaginal lips are thicker and fuller.”

“This is crazy,” Sara told herself. She was in her dorm room, examining the pink pussy of a giggling fucktoy. She leaned in a little closer, to see around Julie.

“Notice how the clit-o-ris is way, way bigger. That’s actually how scientists can tell if a girl is an S-Flu girl! During sex it looks like a cute pink gumball.”

Christie wasn’t even watching them, Sara realized. She had both of her dusky eyes locked on the boys behind the door. Her slit was starting to get wet and moist, right in front of them.

“You can’t see it, but there’s a lot of muscle development… and nerve growth, too. All over. Okay, any questions?”

Christie had decided to start the question and answer period while bent over, her tits still hanging out, and presenting her snatch to them.

“Can you… get dressed again?” Sara mumbled. She walked on unsteady legs back to the chair. Her sweats felt like they were dripping with moisture, and her forehead was flushed.

“Oh, sure!” Christie said. She directed one last, long look at the boys in the door. They were staring openly, now. The blonde wriggled herself back into her outfit.

A stream of lubricant was coursing down the middle of her thighs, and she kept rubbing her legs together.

“No questions? Okay, well I hope this has been helpful for you. I’ve left my phone number with the boys, in case you have any questions. Call me anytime, I’m usually up late. Very late.” Christie picked up her vibrating handbag. She reached in, casually pulled out a well-worn vibrator, and clicked it off. It was dark black.

“I have a question,” Sara said, sitting back down. Her legs felt weak. She looked the bimbo in her big blue eyes.

“What’s eight times eight?” she asked.

Christie’s lips moved for just a moment. “Sixty… four!” she said, and looked pleased with herself.

“What about twelve times twelve?”

This time the blonde’s face screwed up in concentration. She pushed her glasses back up her face. They had nearly toppled off. “Um, one hundred.. and… twenty.. four.”

“No,” Sara said. She put her arms on her knees. “It’s not. It’s one forty-four.”

Christie pouted. She stood in front of the open window and examined the coursing rain. Finally she turned back. “Sara, let me show you how an S-Flu girl solves math problems. It might make you feel better. Ask me another one.”

“Eleven times eleven.”

“Okay.” Ms. Marla walked up the boy’s door and swung it open. The two remaining men were piled up against the frame, and nearly toppled over. “Hi boys!” she sang. “What’s eleven times eleven?”

Lucas took in her moisture-drenched thighs, her heaving chest. From where he had stumbled it was pretty clear he could see right up her skirt. “One hundred eleven?” he hazarded.

Christie turned to Sara. “See? It’s one hundred eleven. Problem solved.” She smiled, delighted.

And the blonde turned, winked at Lucas once more, and sashayed out the front door. The medical team, just outside, got to work noisily sealing the door.

The four girls sat in silence for a minute.

Chloe said, “Do you think she’s going to come back for her laptop and projector?”

All the boys and girls had gone back to their rooms. Sara sat by herself in the living room. The projector still flashed a picture of a naked cartoon girl, with points of interest everywhere.

She shut it down.

In the far corner was the hung-up pile of articles of clothing. Sara thumbed through them. First came a helter-skelter of vinyl and lace bras, most of them in black, and all with tremendously large cups. She was wearing her usual dingy brown one with the discolored bra strap.

Skintight underwear came next. All wispy and unsubstantial, clipped to their hangars.

And finally, an array of—there was no other word for it—slutwear. Six or seven tube-dresses in a variety of primary colors, with swimsuit style fabrics. Shorts that looked like pink bows. Tops that were prepared to support and lift big boobs. Nothing resembling a pair of sweats, or a nice, concealing t-shirt.

Sara wondered what happened if an S-flu girl wore a t-shirt. Probably the world exploded.

There was a cardboard box underneath the outfits. Sara opened it up.

Inside were sex toys.

A huge parcel of them, stacked together in a blizzard of half-translucent colors. Many were sprightly white plastic things with twisted shapes, and pink buttons. But many more were simply big plastic dicks. Often in black plastic. One was nearly the size of her wrist to her elbow, and had plastic veins molded along the side. Sara reshut the box and backed out of the living room.

The dorm kitchen was made out of Ikea components. Very few suites actually had a kitchen. It was one of the consolations for forcing students to live in a tiny situation up in the attic.

For some reason the medical team had also brought in what seemed like a pallet of food. Caloric-heavy boxes of cereal, and eggs, and pancake mix, and generally enough to sustain a platoon of troops for a week.

Far more then seemed necessary for a three day isolation period. Sara looked inside the refrigerator and was confronted by a gristly slab of bacon.

She retreated to the bathroom and locked herself in a stall. The brunette pulled down her sweats and stared at her privates.

Everything down… there… looked normal. She still had all her tightly curled brown hair. She wasn’t juiced up at the wide-eyed stare of an eighteen year old freshman.

And it wasn’t like she was a virgin, unable to handle a torrent of feeling swimming through her. She had had sex before. Sara had even orgasmed a few times, brought over the brink by the clumsy efforts of her High School boyfriend.

Peter. He had learned a few tricks before she broke up with him. He had one thing he did with his hips where…

Sara interrupted herself. This was exactly the sort of thing she had to fight. Idle daydreams and a loss of self-control.

Back in their room, Chloe was picking through the tossed-open contents of her drawers.

“I’m sorting clothes,” she explained, before Sara could ask. “Goodwill is going to get a lot of big-girl outfits, once this is all over with. You want to put a bag together?”

“No,” Sara said, icily. Her brand new suit was just inside the door. She had never even worn it.

“Whatever,” the blonde said.

Paula opened the door. She had a fixed, sour expression and examined them both coolly. “Dorm meeting,” she said. “Come on.”

Sara and Chloe looked at each other, and followed.

Julie, the next room over, was on the phone, listening to someone speak very loudly in what was probably either Cantonese or Mandarin. She looked miserable.

“Do you know your hypothalamus actually expands by one third when you have S-Flu?” Paula said, as they walked in.

“Your what?” Sara said.

“It’s the part of your brain that regulates pleasure hormones,” Paula explained. “It gets bigger. AND they’ve found that S-Flu makes you triple up on nerve fibers. So there’s as many in your lips as there is in your clit.”

“Christie did like to smile,” Sara said. The blonde HAD seemed to enjoy licking her bee-stung lips. A lot. “What’s Julie doing?”

Paula rolled her eyes. “Getting yelled at by her Grandma for getting S-flu. I’m not even going to tell my parents. I’m just going to show up, big boobs and all, and shout “surprise!””

Her fingers were trembling. They both looked at them. “I really need a smoke,” Paula explained.

Sara stepped over to the phone and hit the receiver. Julie listened to the dial tone for one, confused moment before looking over at the brunette.

Julie contemplated the phone. “Thank you,” she said, gravely. She unplugged the phone cord and followed the rest of them.

The boys were already there, battling to the death on the Nintendo. “Testosterone aggression at work,” Sara thought.

Paula hit the power button.

Everyone in the room, frumpled and nervous, looked at her. Paula stuffed shut the open window next to the downpouring rain and turned to them all.—

“I’m not going to have sex,” Paula declared. “I don’t care about the S-flu, it’s not happening. I’m just letting everyone know.” Her necklace swung on her chest.

She looked around the room, challenging anyone to disagree. Chloe looked mildly amused, and hid a smile behind her ring-covered hand.

Paula shifted her gaze to the other three girls. “And I think the other three would agree with me, right? No sex while we’re going through this. I don’t care how it feels, or what we say later. It’s just not going to happen.”

Chloe shrugged. Julie nodded as hard as she could. Sara said “Right!” in a crisp, clear, voice. She had been thinking much the same thing.

“Uh, fine,” Michael said. He was sprawled out in the couch.

Sara frowned. She couldn’t’ve heard that correctly. “What?”

“We don’t want to have sex with you either,” Lucas explained. He sat cross-legged. “We already talked it out. I’m still trying to get back together with Heather, and Michael kind of has this thing going on back at home….”

Paula gasped, and her hand flew to her face. Michael avoided looking at her.

“…So yeah, if it’s okay with you, then it’s okay with us.”

“Oh.”

Sara felt vaguely disappointed. For some reason she had expected the men to beg and plead for access over the next few days.

“Glad that’s settled,” Chloe said, rising off the couch. She swept over to the phone. “Anyone else hungry?”

In fact, Sara was ravenous. Her stomach hurt with sudden pangs.

“Good. Then I’m ordering pizza. We’ll have them throw it through the window or something, I know the delivery guy. And then I’m thinking 80s movies!”

She looked up while dialing. “Hey, maybe this will even bring us together as a dorm!”

Paula rolled her eyes.

Whatever dirt Chloe had on the pizza boy, it paid off. The pimple-faced teen stood in the freezing rain underneath their window and waited while Michael and Lucas hauled up the boxes. The resourceful blonde had turned a table upside down and tied it to a length of cord she happened to have under her bed.

Then she just stared at her slice of pepperoni. “Guess I’m not hungry,” she said.

Julie snagged it, instead. In fact, all of the other five descended like hibernation-emerging bears on the greasy slices. Sara didn’t look up until her fourth piece, when she found herself swallowing a pineapple slice nearly whole.

She hated pineapple. Usually.

Tonight it was delicious.

But none of them had anything on Julie. The petite asian girl was voracious, and destroyed an entire pizza nearly by herself.

Chloe flipped channels in the meantime.

“Oh, hey, we’re on the news!” she said, turning up the volume. The streamlined Latina and grey-haired man behind the news desk looked solemn.

“…as the confirmed reports of S-Flu rose to 47 today, in what authorities are calling the worst outbreak in five years.”

Sara kept eating even as she watched. The graphic flickered to an insubstantial redhead with damp-looking, flaccid hair, grinning nervously into a camera phone.

“Kelly Williamson, seen here in an undated photo, is believed to have passed the infamous Virus on to a series of nightclub goers and bar patrons before being discovered. She apparently acquired it during a research trip to Sao Paulo.”

Julie finally looked up. Her mouth was stained with grease. “That’s the girl?” she said. incredulous. The girl on screen looked like a stick with hair attached. Nothing like the bubbling, sex-scented dancer that had danced tongues with Sara’s floormate.

Sara just sat back and groaned. She had lost count at six, heavy slices. And still she felt ready to put away some more. Her stomach hurt, and she surreptitiously lowered her too-tight sweatpants. Even prissy Paula had overindulged, and her shirt was marked with a few strings of tomato sauce.

Chloe put in Indiana Jones while they were still all sat, dazed, with their legs spread open. Julie kept rubbing at her belly.

And for the first hour or so, Sara felt more confident about beating this thing then she ever had. The boys were too busy with video games to worry about getting laid. Her fellow girls had all agreed to their fuck-free plan. All she had to do was sit back, ride it out, and then go bra-shopping.

Then she smelled it.

It was warm and sweet, like fruit drying in the sun.

And it touched something on the inside of Sara’s head. A musky, primitive part that was wired directly to the juicy sex center of the girl brain.

Sara felt the first drip of lubrication ease into her pussy.

She snatched her legs together and looked around. The source of the scent was obvious. Julie sat right next to her. Her legs were spread obscenely wide, and she was watching Harrison Ford with a very intent expression.

Lucas was the next person over. Sara watched him stop watching, raise an eyebrow, and slowly look around.

He discretely adjusted his shirt to fit over a growing cock.

Julie kept watching the screen. But one slim, brown hand crept down her shirt, across the middle of her stomach, and came to rest on the outside of her sweat pants.

“Don’t do it,” Sara thought, horrified.

Julie’s index finger started a slow rub up and down the middle of her thighs. A patch of wet lubricant instantly stained the grey sweats.

By now the warm, strawberry scent had filled the room, overpowering the lingering grease smell. The boys and girls all swiveled around, trying to locate the source, as their eyes started to glaze over with growing lust.

Sara felt it herself. Her body felt very hot, and her sex was starting to sweat wet beads of juice. She shook her head to clear it.

“Julie!” she hissed. The black-haired girl looked startled, and snatched her hand away from her crotch. Some sense filtered back into her eyes.

“Sorry!” she said, mortified. “I’m so sorry!”

And the tanned girl stood up, looked around, and bolted from the room.

They all watched the closed door for a minute.

“We should go check on her,” Paula mumbled. She didn’t make a move. Chloe had her eyes closed, and seemed to be breathing in all the lingering sex-smoke she could get.

Sara sighed. “Fine,” she said, and stood up. Someone had to do it.

Sara was prepared to console an embarrassed co-ed when she walked into Julie’s room.

What she wasn’t ready for was Julie lying on the bed with her legs in the air.

The young girl had her feet in the air, with her sweats tangled in between them. Her legs were petite and shaking, and Sara had an excellent view of a brown thatch of hair between them.

Julie was pistoning three fingers in and out of her snatch. Drops of lubricant were coursing down into her bed.

Sara quickly shut the door behind her.

“Geez, Julie,” she said, mortified. The room reeked of strawberries. Sara nearly ran over to the window for a fresh breath of air. A few deep breaths got rid of some of the hot, wet feelings. “You can’t… I mean, I’m right here!”

“I just need to cum, just once! It’s been all day!” Julie said, with her eyes closed. It wasn’t clear if she was even talking to Sara.

“Um… okay!” the brunette said.

That seemed reasonable. Especially with wet beads starting to drip into her panties. Now she knew what Julie met by “feeling wet.” The brunette felt distinctly juicy herself.

“I need to get out of here,” she thought. The sex smoke hit her with every breath. Part of her was starting to envision herself naked, with big tits, walking down a supermarket aisle. And she couldn’t stop watching the shy, retiring co-ed finger herself with abandon.

“I’ll just be.. giving you some privacy… then,” Sara said, inching back towards the door.

“No! Wait…” Julie’s eyes opened, and dimly focused on the distant brunette. “How… how do I get off?”

Sara reluctantly let go of the doorknob. “You need to help her,” a part of her whispered. “Or she’s off to the penises for easy relief.”

“You just… grab hold… haven’t you done this before?” she said.

“No! Masturbation is… it’s…” Julie couldn’t seem to find an end to the sentence. She whined.

“Okay, uh, don’t go anywhere,” Sara commanded, and kicked herself for the stupid statement. “I’ll be right back.”

The other four were still in front of the TV. Eight eyes watched her rummage in the cardboard box.

“How’s Julie?” Chloe finally asked, in a neutral voice.

“Fine. She’ll be… fine,” Sara said. She walked stiffly, with her legs together. “Just keep watching.” All four of them watched her clutch a small, white vibrator and retreat back to Julie’s room.

The slender girl was up to four fingers.

“Here, try this,” Sara said. She turned the vibrator on. It thrummed, nicely, in her fingers. There was an unexpected ripple of pleasure up her arm. She put it in the other girl’s free hand and backed away.

Julie jammed it into her gaping hole without any hesitation. The humming object slid right in. She twisted it back and forth, legs still held high. Her face was screwed so tight it looked like a mason jar.

“No,” Sara said, quietly, watching her work. “On your clit. Put it on top of your clit.”

“My… where? Where’s that?”

“Oh come on… here!”

And Sara found herself kneeling in between the girl’s dusky thighs. The smell of sex was nearly overpowering, filling everything on her, buzzing between her eyeballs. She grabbed the wet plastic, drew it out a little bit, and pressed it directly on top of Julie’s budding clit.

Julie screamed.

The first five hurt her ears. The next six she was ready for. She kept the little buzzer right on the spot, even when Julie thrashed back and forth. Squirts of lubricant covered her hand in hot fluids.

Finally, Julie quieted down. Sara looked up into her eyes. She had knocked herself completely out.

She withdrew the vibrator, turned it off, and licked the lubricant off her hands. It did taste like strawberries.

Then she stuck her head out into the rain.

A moment later, composed to the extent she could be, the brunette walked back into the main hall. Every single person stared at her. She still had the vibrator in her right hand.

“Lets… finish the movie,” Sara said.

Someone was fucking her. From behind.

Sara was on her hands and knees, braced up against a ruthless intruder sliding back and forth against the sides of her slit. Her knees rubbed up against a shag carpet. It burned, but she didn’t really care.

She wanted to see what his face looked like, but every time the brunette tried to look back, the silent man would shove a little deeper, and she would just shudder and cry out. Waves of heat would flow all over her body, and beads of sweat clung to her hanging tits.

Soon she was doing nothing but shuddering and moaning, eyes closed.

Sara’s eyes popped open.

“Twelve times twelve is one hundred and forty-four!” she thought.

Sara shook her head. There was a distinctly fuzzy feeling in her mind, like there was a piece of cloth stuck somewhere inside.

How did she KNOW that twelve times twelve was one-forty-four? The brunette swung her legs off the bed. The feeling of her feet on the carpet pricked something in her near memory, but it was already fading away. She picked up the calculator the brunette kept on her desk, next to the laptop.

Anthropology majors rarely had to do math, but you never knew.

Twelve times twelve WAS one hundred and forty-four. She relaxed once more.

“Glad to see you’re finally awake,” Chloe said.

Her roommate was crouched on the side of her bed, holding her legs up to her stomach. Her face was pale and thin, and her pajamas clung to her. She looked like a wax statute in a cheap museum.

“You okay?” Sara asked. Chloe had a pained grimace wrapped onto her face. “You don’t look good.”

“Yeah, well, I don’t feel good,” Chloe said. “I’m losing weight.”

“Isn’t that… what you wanted?”

Chloe moaned and rolled onto her other side, until her voice was muffled by the pillow. “Yeah. I did. But first all that blubber needs to come out. I’ve been in the bathroom all night. Every thirty minutes. I feel like a tube of toothpaste.” A poster of a cartoon sun beamed down on the miserable blonde, above the mattress.

Sara rolled out of bed.

The new weight on her chest was immediate and unexpected. Her center of gravity had fallen about a foot and a half.

Looking down, all she could see was an expanse of nearly horizontal pajama top, and then, distantly, some carpet out on the edge of vision. Her new boobs hid her feet and part of the sides of her arms.

“Whoa,” Sara said. Her head still felt damp with sleep. She bounced on her feet, and her new chest wiggled along with her. And continued wiggling after she came to a stop. “They’re heavy.”

“Keep your back straight,” Chloe instructed. “And welcome to cleavage land.”

The girl walked over to Chloe’s mirror and yanked her shirt off.

Her chest was certainly attention-getting.

They both rode high on her chest, even higher then her former, half-inflated breasts. The nipples were still soft, but brown aureole had spread across half her tits.

“I have tits,” Sara thought. It was depressing, yes, of course, but she couldn’t deny that they looked GOOD on her average frame.

“How about…”

Sara pulled open the top of her pants. Her curly pubic hair was still there.

She couldn’t tell under the single fluorescent, but did things look differently down there? The lighting was awful. An unceasing spout of rain battered against the tightly shut window, and the clouds hid the sun.

Did it… feel differently… down there?

“I should probably check,” Sara told herself, and held her pants open while a single finger dipped cautiously towards the middle of her thighs.

“If you’re going to play with yourself, do it in front of your own mirror. I don’t want mine getting dirty,” Chloe said. Her roommate, still curled up like a pillbox bug, had turned to watch her topless roommate.

Sara snapped the drawstring shut. Her face felt flushed, and the mirror reflected two burning cheeks.

“Do YOU feel any different?” she asked.

“No. Just nauseous. I weighed myself. Twenty-five pounds in a single night. Eugh. And it doesn’t help that I can hear Julie out there frying bacon and making pancakes. Every time she plops more batter on I cringe.”

The word “pancakes” triggered something deeply rooted in her head. A single, all-consuming urge.

“Wow, I’m really hungry,” Sara said. She nearly doubled over. Her body felt like it was on the tail-end of a Styrofoam-only diet. Cramps kinked over her stomach.”

“That’s S-Flu,” Chloe said. “Better watch out. The more protein it has to work with, the bigger your boobs are gonna get.”

“I’ll just…” Now Sara could hear the sound of pancakes “…avoid the bacon.”

Her mouth filled with drool.

“Hey, Sara made it!” Michael said. He had taken over a chair in the center of their kitchen, next to the two person table Chloe had gotten at Ikea.

Lucas’ roommate had already cleaned up. And very well, too. He had neatly parted dark-black hair, nearly as dark as Paula’s. He still had a day’s worth of bristles, but on him it looked… manly.

Michael favored her with a lingering survey.

“Yes, I grew boobs, stop looking,” Sara snapped. She could FEEL the strong, confident gaze on the top of her chest. It seemed to radiate heat onto her boobs.

Michael grinned. “Bacon?” he suggested, pointing farther into the kitchen. Julie stood in front of the burner, patiently working the spatula. The dusky, shy girl peered intently over the top of her own, Flu-built boobs. It had to be hard to see onto the griddle. She wore a plain white t-shirt that now showed off a skim of midriff .

She turned to Sara.

“Whoa, Julie,” Sara said, before she could stop herself.

Julie had broken out in lips. She had puffy, thick pillows, sensual caps to her face. She was wearing a cheerful grin. It drooped when she saw Sara’s surprised expression.

“Sara’s just surprised you’re such a good cook,” Michael emphasized, shooting Sara a look.

“Oh!” Julie said, from somewhere in between her tanned angel bows. She picked up a plate and eagerly slid a half-slab of bacon onto it.

“Oh, no, I don’t think I want…” her stomach growled. The blackened bits piled onto the plate.

“Well, they’re already pretty big, they can’t get any bigger,” Sara rationalized. Then she tore into a strip. She hadn’t eaten bacon in years, ever since that trip to the petting zoo. The brunette followed that with a stack of Julie’s flipped-up pancakes. It was hard to see over the top of her chest, and when a bit of syrup fell off her fork, it landed right on the top of her chest.

Lucas sat in the main room, shirtless. Doing pushups. Sara watched him rise and fall, without a break. After awhile a clump of pancakes sat on her fork, and she just watched, enchanted.

“One hundred and fifty-one,” Lucas concluded. Sweat shone on his chest. He struggled to fit into his old shirt. Muscles rippled along all sides of it.

“How many could you do before?” Julie said.

“I don’t really know, I didn’t try. Twenty? If that. I just needed to work off some energy.”

“You and me both,” Paula said. The dark-haired girl kept biting at her fingernails. She had her hair pulled back, and wore a light blue dress. Sara had seen it before, when it looked demure and sophisticated. With Paula’s new boobs tugging it upwards, it showed a lot of leg, and looked a lot more… slutty.

Sara slurped down the rest of an entire glass of whole milk. The creamy fluid coursed down her throat. She followed it up with another pancake. Only then did she catch Michael looking at her.

“Hungry?” he said, pointing at her fork. She still had it poised in the air.

Sara looked down at herself. The entire top half of her shirt was marked up like a battlefield, with syrup drips and bacon bits. And still she felt hungry. Her boobs were glowing underneath her shirt.

She carefully put her fork down.

“Excuse me,” Sara said, and demurely left the table.

The girl’s bathroom was quiet, excepting only the regular patter of raindrops on the side of the window. It had gone on for so long that Sara hardly noticed.

She examined herself in the mirror.

The angles were gone.

This version of Sara was just a little rounder, just a little… softer. While she didn’t have the rounded pillows that Julie had acquired for lips, they were just that much broader and bee-stung. A pimple from just last night had cleared up.

Not that Michael had been examining her face. Sara stripped off her shirt and lifted her hands to her new tits. A hand made contact with a nipple.

And felt it.

It felt like there was a tiny wire hooked up directly between the brown nub on her chest and a happy little center in the middle of her head. And every time she touched at her now-erect nipple, it glowed cherry red.

Even when she left off the wisps of pleasure bounced through her head, blowing through old inhibitions. Already that wet feeling had spread through her body. That feeling like she was half juice, a wet girl.

Sara realized that the girl in the mirror with her mouth wide open, tweaking her nipple, was her. She yanked her hand back, stomped over to the shower, and turned on the faucet.

“Cold, gotta have cold,” she muttered. The rest of her clothes fell to the ground, and she stepped into the chilled flow.

That did the trick. The ice-cube blast chilled away the growing fog of heat in her head. Sara exhaled, relieved.

It had been way too easy to just stand in her reflection and play with her tits.

Moments later she realized that her body hair was washing away.

“Aw, no,” Sara said, examining the length of her body. The water had already rinsed away a short streak of underarm hair. And that tuft of hair on her butt felt like it was gone, too. Everywhere the co-ed felt there was nothing but smooth, unblemished, skin.

Sara leaned down so she could peer over her chest. The very last of her curly brown pubic hair was disappearing under the onslaught. Soon there was nothing there but a pink slit and a white triangle leading towards it. It looked obscene and red.

“I feel like a doll,” she thought, dolefully washing off the rest of her body. Even the hair on her toes had gone away. She felt half-rubber, waxed and polished.

The bathroom door opened and closed while she was just lathering up her hair. Then the other showerhead turned on.

There was the rumbling hack of a girl that had been sneaking smokes since she was fifteen. Paula.

At first Sara and her neighbor in the other stall just quietly stood under the showerheads. But then there was something she had never heard from the stony, calculated girl.

A giggle.

It was light-hearted and soft. And then Paula’s voice said “Wow,” in a breathy, smoky tone.

Sara adjusted the temperature to warm. Ten minutes under the torrential cold was plenty.

There was another giggle. And this time it was followed up by a low, purring moan, like a kitten with a new ball of yarn. After that, the tittering was nearly nonstop. Sara discretely upped the temperature another notch.

It wasn’t hard to figure out what Paula was up to. The icy queen of the suite was getting off.

Sara’s shock melted under the tingles in her own well-lubricated snatch. The now-hot water was starting to tingle on the outside of her depilated pussy. Every so often a droplet of water would fall directly on the pleasure bud in the middle of her triangle.

“It’s probably a good idea to… experiment,” she told herself. “So you don’t get… carried away later. When the boys are around.”

Sara put her back to the wet, hot tile of the shower stall. Her other hand crept down to the folds of her pussy. She hadn’t masturbated since long before moving in. It hadn’t seemed important. The hairless slit felt different.

And very good.

The same wires that had been hooked up to her boobs were there in triplicate. Each one sent scads of tingles over and through the length of her body. They burnt holes in her overloaded brain, sending any rational thoughts scattering away. Sara felt around the shuddering outside, and then snuck a single finger onto the top of her clit.

She barely stopped herself from screaming. But she didn’t want to be as wanton as Paula, who was moaning and giggling in equal measure just on the other side of the bathroom wall.

The shower kept beating against her clit. Sara wrapped her other hand around her boobs. “Twelve times twelve is one-forty-four,” she reminded herself, as her ass slowly began to slide to the shower floor. “Twelve times twelve is one-forty-four.”

She stuck a second finger inside her pussy.

Now she remembered her dreams. She had been on her hands and knees, getting pleasantly reamed.

Sara dimly recognized that she had both legs cocked in the air. Any boy walking by would just have to pull her pumping fingers out and insert his penis. She wouldn’t have to change positions or anything. Her own moans mixed lewdly with Paula’s next door.

The pleasure was intense. Any attempt at basic multiplication had given way to full-throated heat. Every so often she remembered to spit out shower water, so that she didn’t choke.

Paula’s orgasm triggered her own. “Don’t scream!” she remembered, in the nick of time, and managed to grit out a sliding wave of pleasure. Paula’s giggles filled the steam-filled room.

When she came to, Sara turned the water off, sat on the floor, and sucked on her lubricant-covered fingers. She dimly tasted apricots on the tips of the juice-covered digits.

“This could be harder then I thought,” she thought.

“No more then this,” Sara told her reflection.

Right now the girl in the mirror was… just attractive. Boobs a little on the big side, yes, and probably the nipples would give away that she was an S-Flu girl. But otherwise, her body was mostly just rounded and firm. Her hips swiveled in the air, and—Sara turned around—she had the kind of in-the-air ass that begged to be encased in tight jeans and shown off…

“No. Not shown off,” she reminded herself. Thirteen times thirteen was one-sixty-nine.

“Two sluts in the shower, that’s us,” Paula said. She had wrapped a towel around her naked body. The dark-haired girl sat in the bathroom window, smoking a cigarette as the rain pounced on her. The acrid smell overwhelmed the lingering scent of apricots and sugar. “Getting off together.”

Sara turned around.

She couldn’t help but notice that her tits were slightly larger then the other girl’s. Paula wore a silver necklace with a pendant that dangled in her cleavage.

“We’re not sluts,” she said. “Sluts is… a job description. We can beat this.”

Paula flicked ash out the window. “You know why I got off in the shower? Because I spent the last hour watching Michael’s dick tent-pole his pants. It’s huge, now. I can tell. He sat there for an hour letting my jiggly roommate serve him pancakes, and it made me so horny I ran in here. You know he did it on purpose. He wants me to crawl back on my knees.”

“Oh,” Sara said. Being supportive of Paula was like tossing snowballs into a volcano. But the girls had to stick together. “At least you did come in here. Instead of, you know. Crawling.”

“My brain feels fried,” Paula said. “I probably killed like a half-million brain cells in there. Did you hear me giggling?”

“Uh.. yeah,”

“I couldn’t stop. It’s like, every time I touched my clitty it triggered a button in my head that read “giggle like an airhead.””

Sara wrapped a towel around her. It itched immediately.

“Don’t tell Michael about all that,” Paula said, as she was walking out. “There’s no way in hell I want him to know what I’d do if he asked me.”

“What would you do?” Sara asked, turning back around. Paula tossed her cigarette out the window.

“Anything,” she admitted. “Anywhere at all.”

Chloe was still wrapped in a cocoon of sheets and blankets. She didn’t move when Sara closed the door, only a sheaf of shining blonde hair revealed that she was facing the wall. Sara figured that she was sleeping.

The brunette shrugged off the towel and pulled on her terrycloth robe. It strained to cover her chest, but she viciously tugged it closed, and tied the belt around her thin waist. Thinner then she remembered.

The volume she wanted was front and center in her bookcase. The Penguin edition of Pride and Prejudice. Sara settled herself in her chair, crossed her smooth thighs, and opened to page one.

“It is a truth universally acknowledged, that a single man in possession of a good fortune, must be in want of a wife,” she read, out loud.

There! No distracting surge of hot energy, or that feeling like a spool of wet cotton thread had been packed inside her head.

And she could even think critically about it. Sara pulled up Mr. Drippy on her computer monitor. The smiling, muscled-over man with the hard rod smiled at her. Sara smiled back. Did he have a “good fortune?”

With that straining boner, he did. It looked like it could chop wood. The Bennets wouldn’t know which way was up.

In fact, when she thought about it, it wasn’t about money at all. A girl was interested in personality, a sense of humor, a nice body, whether or not he was well-hung. Whether he could bring her to shuddering heights of pleasure as she clung to a pumping, thrusting ass.

A man that could make a girl’s toes curl.

Sara flicked over to the S-Flu girl with the pressing need for cucumbers.

Her robe was itchy. Where it pressed against her boobs it prickled the sensitive buds. She absent-mindedly loosened the top.

It was too bad, really. If it wasn’t for the vacant stare, Cucumber Girl really had it made.

In Anthro 101 she had gone over how signs of being healthy and fertile made the boys stand up and show interest. Big tits meant ample child-rearing. Wide hips meant they could squirt out babies. And a giant dick, although they hadn’t talked about it, was like… having huge horns… or colorful plu—… plum—… wings.

Sara opened Mr. Drippy in a separate window, then bonked Cucumber Girl and Mr. Drippy up against each other. The digitized images didn’t notice.

She giggled. The rest of her robe top nearly fell off her shoulders.

“Okay, second sentence!” she told herself, and turned back to the book. It had fallen closed at some point. When had that happened? And why was the terrycloth tickling at the bottom of her ass? The itching was nearly unbearable.

Then she heard the buzzing.

It was light and soft, like a bee caught in a glass bottle. And it was coming from the direction of her roommate.

Chloe WAS awake, then.

And had at some point liberated a vibrator from their stash.

Sara tried to turn back to the book, but the insistent buzz cut a track through her train of thought. The hum, now that she had noticed it, seemed to grow louder and louder. All she could think about was the wet bit of plastic, buried deep within her roommate’s moist, pulsating…

“Chloe! Could you stop with the vibrator? I’m trying to read!” she snapped, finally. Sara turned in her chair, and the rest of the robe fell off. She sat topless in the middle of the room. The cool rain air made her nipples ache.

“I’ve had a rough night. I’ve earned this,” Chloe said. Her voice had that thick, distracted tone.

“Then go to the bathroom!”

Chloe shifted under the sheets. The humming grew noticeably more quiet. “Is that any better?” she said.

It was better. “What did you do?”

“Oh, I took it out from between my boobs,” Chloe said, softly. Now the figure underneath the sheets was rocking back and forth, and the cotton sheets began to fall aside.

“And… put it where?” Sara asked.

“Right up my slit. It should be quieter, there.”

“Oh,” Sara wiped her brow. She was sweating, again. Especially because Chloe’s legs were starting to pump up and down.

Pride and Prejudice fell closed once more.

Both nipples were pointed right at her roommate. With her free hand, Chloe was clawing away at the sheets covering her up.

The girl underneath had a titanic pair of boobs.

These filled her chest to overflowing, two high mounds stacked on top of her body. Made all the more startling by the amount of weight she had shed in the course of a single night. This Chloe was pumping a little white vibrator in and out of her snatch.

Sara sniffed the air. Peaches. Chloe smelled like peaches when she was wet. Funny how that worked. Each girl had their own personal come-hither scent. She had read about that, somewhere. Something about a light whiff of pheromone, just enough to signal to the boys that they were wet and fertile.

Now the females were emitting like a sex-juice factory.

The blonde across the way sat up. Her long legs hung entirely off the bed. This new Chloe had lost the unnecessary padding, the acres of skin that weren’t necessary. Even her face had tightened, glowing with health and red arousal.

All the skin had been diverted to her boobs. They wobbled like jiggling teardrops. Her nipples looked patched onto the vibrating things.

Chloe came. She swiveled her hips and sighed in regular bursts, her face screwed up in harsh concentration.

The blonde stood up, still trickling juice down her thighs, and looked down at her new boobs.

“I think I could go for a glass of milk,” she said.

Sara’s stomach growled.

Out in the main room Lucas and Michael were playing on the Wii. Julie sat quietly just behind them, wearing a thin cotton shirt that failed entirely to hide her light-brown chest.

She had her thumb in her mouth, and was sucking on it.

Paula sat in the far corner and tapped at her computer. Behind her the incessant rain speckled the living room windows. It had slowed down to a mere downpour.

Everyone took notice when Chloe waddled into the main room. The blonde’s tits led the way, swinging slightly with each step. She had tossed her largest t-shirt over them, and still a bit of underboob peaked out of the bottomside.

“How can you even walk?” Michael asked, pausing the game. He still wore his baseball cap, and an old t-shirt that tensed with muscle. Sara could only imagine spurts of testosterone coursing through his system, building up bulk, adding strong, coiled muscle.

“I don’t know,” Chloe admitted. “They’re really not that heavy. Just bulky.”

“Your back muscles compensate,” Paula said, from the back corner. “But you get weaker, too. You probably can’t even lift a jug of milk, now.”

Clouds of bad vibes emanated from the corner. The girl had put on a gold bracelet and wore a knee-length cotton red dress. Or, it had been knee-length, last time Sara had seen it. Now it was more of a tunic wrapped around her hips. She had her legs primly crossed. She had one and a half eyes on Julie.

The blonde picked up the jug of milk, experimentally. She strained to lift it. “Whoa, you’re not kidding,” she said, surprised. “I used to be able to do this.” She managed to pour herself a glass of milk, raised it to her lips, and drained it. Then another one. And a third. Sara started to assemble a sandwich. Ingredients kept heaping themselves on the top of the bread. Especially proteins.

“Sara, tell Julie to stop what she’s doing,” Paula said.

“Which is what?”

“She’s the prize.”

Both of the boys shook their heads, annoyed. “Don’t you get tired of being controlling?” Michael said, his eyes still on the screen.

“No, obviously I don’t!” Paula snapped.

Lucas, triumphant, put his arms up. “Flawless!” he said, and turned around.

Julie, half-smiling with her fat lips, pulled her shirt up. Both breasts popped out. Lucas, his fingers dancing, put his hands on the top of her hot tanned nipples. Julie’s eyes closed, and she moaned, pleased, as the blonde boy energetically mauled her tits.

“Julie!” Sara said, shocked. Half-muffled by a bite of sandwich. “Stop that!”

“It’s not sex,” Julie murmured. “It’s just for fun. And it feels really good.”

“You can have next game, Sara” Michael said. He turned towards her. His shorts were far too tight, and Sara watched a turgid, half-erect dick push at the top.

“As the prize or a competitor?”

“Whatever. Look, Julie is okay with it. It’s not sex. We’ve got to do something in here, and I’m getting really bored. There’s only so much video games a guy can play.”

“Do some pushups.”

“I can’t! I can only go a few inches down before I risk breaking my cock.”

Sara could believe that. She couldn’t seem to rip her eyes from the meaty thing hanging between Lucas’ legs.

Julie slumped onto her elbows, dazed and tingling. Lucas reluctantly left her boobs alone. The black-haired girl’s hands took up where he had left off, and tugged at her nipples. Her other hand still played with her oversized lips.

Neither of the other boys seemed all that interested in the game.

“Okay!” Chloe said, and clapped her hands. She had a heavy milk mustache like she a highway patrolman. “Girls, I think it’s time to get dressed. I don’t know about you, but I’m itching like crazy in this cotton stuff. I’m going to try the vinyl before I break out in a rash.”

The big-boobed girl swept over to the far side of the room. She quickly pulled off her t-shirt. Two tits bounced on her chest. The boys looked up to her, away from the dazed co-ed right behind them. Sara watched Lucas’ penis snake down the thighs of his jeans.

Her mouth was watering.

The room was full of Julie’s strawberry scent, even with two of the windows tossed open.

“Wait,” Sara cautioned. “Boys, this side of the room. Girls, this side.” She drew an invisible line with her foot, and backed across it. “No one crosses it while we’re, um, trying on stuff. You can watch, and that’s it. I don’t want any accidents.”

“No one? What if there’s a fire, and we need to—” Michael said.

“No one.”

“What if there’s an earthquake, and you need two strong—“

“No one!”

The bras were tangled in a flashing array of white straps and metallic sheens. Some of them, designed for truly massive women, were barely recognizable as bras. They looked more like construction equipment with a silver-grey theme. Chloe sorted through them all, picking out a red number that looked like it did double-duty as a trampoline.

“I’m way too far down in the alphabet,” she said, hooking it behind her. “I think I’m already past most of the vowels.”

Sara cautiously found something that looked about her size. And, happily, it was one of the few white bras in the entire selection, even if it was still lace on the topside, and even if there was a slutty bow in the middle. She turned around and yanked off her shirt, fully conscious of the looks of the boys on her naked back.

“You’re not looking at me, right?” she asked.

“We are now,” Lucas said. Both boys had lined up chairs right at the line to watch the show. “Turn around if you don’t want us to stare at your back.”

“Then you’ll see my boobs,” Sara pointed out.

“Uh, yeah. That’s the idea.”

“Oh,” Sara flushed. Right. It was so hard to think in the living room’s sexual fog. That wet-cotton feel was back. It made her thoughts so slow and… gooey.

The new bra was an improvement. The cool, slick vinyl didn’t pinch and pull at her nipples. And it had a gentle heft that pushed the twosome neatly together.

Julie had avidly picked out a red halter bra that matched her lips. Paula was the only one still typing away in the far corner.

“Doesn’t that dress itch?” Chloe called over.

“Yes,” Paula answered, in monotone. “Horribly. All over.”

“So…”

“If I wanted to be a slut, I would’ve given Michael over there that blowjob he kept hinting at, last week.”

Michael crossed two beefy arms. “I just said you looked hot when you kneeled. I didn’t expect you to start sucking dick right then and there.”

“You looked at me like I was a pair of lips with a tongue attached,” Paula said, her eyes still glued to the screen. “I know you’re just waiting for me to crawl over and beg for a reaming.”

Michael scoffed. Lucas, next to him, had his eyes on Sara as she sorted through outfits. She had a sudden urge to stick her ass out to give him a better look.

“I wouldn’t have sex with you if you had ten-foot tits,” Michael said. “And ice cream dribbling out of them. With a cherry on top. As if you had a cherry.”

All four girls stopped what they were doing, turned, and glared at him. Lucas scooted his chair away.

“Sorry, testosterone,” Michael said, and examined the carpet. It was grey.

Julie had somehow found a bright white dress in the tangle of vinyl, and was wriggling her sensual form into it. The tube-inspired design bound her legs together, rippled across her body, and squeezed her boobs together. Zipped up, the formerly retiring teenager looked like a visiting sex star.

“Are you sure you want to wear that?” Sara asked. She had found a—relatively—tame grey mini, with a line of ruffles along the bottom. It was higher by four inches then anything else she had ever worn, but at least it wasn’t a walking advertisement.

“I figured it would keep my legs together,” Julie explained, in that soft voice. She practiced walking, and wiggled her ass unconsciously.

Lucas adjusted his jeans.

The scent of all of them together, in the same room, was starting to mix together. At first Sara could pick out the individual warm juicy smell of strawberries and peaches. But now there was just a single all-encompassing aura of hot scent in the packed living room, igniting the three of them as they energetically tried on vinyl clothing.

Sara nervously eyed the invisible boy-girl line she had picked out. She was starting to feel embarrassingly drippy herself. At least a tight new pair of panties kept from rubbing too suggestively against her insistent clit.

Paula put her laptop down. “Are you sure you wouldn’t want to fuck me, Michael?” she said, purring like a black cat.

“Right now? It goes Julie, Sara, Chloe, Lucas, a pillow, then you.”

Chloe looked offended. Sara didn’t know how to feel. Second? Really? Her nipples tweaked with pleasure.

“Too bad, because I’m really fuckable right now,” the raven-haired girl cooed. She stood in front of the twosome and flicked the back of her dress over her rear. Paula was wearing an expensive pair of satin panties. Both boys were glued to the line of her rear.

Sara paused in the act of pulling on a halter top. This didn’t seem like a good idea.

Paula casually lifted the back of her panties away. The guys stiffened.

“Ms. Marla gave us the tour yesterday,” Paula said, sweetly. “Over here you can see my lips—all the hair washed off this morning, Michael. This is my new clitty, it’s really sensitive… and oh, am I all wet? Too bad you’ll never get a chance at it.”

“Paula!” Sara said, as harshly as she could. But Paula aroused smelled like pure sugar, and it filled all the available air. Just breathing felt like a prelude to sex.

Chloe had strapped herself into a pink mini with blue bows along the sides. On top she wore a mesh shirt. The blonde reached over, picked up Paula’s laptop, and examined the screen.

“So, I’m an overstuffed chicken with drumsticks for legs, huh?” she said. “And apparently S-flu is, and I quote, going to make “Chloe’s already meager smarts dribble out her tits like milk for idiots.””

Paula stood up and snatched her dress back down.

“Give me that!” she said, stalking forwards.

Chloe kept reading.

“Julie, the girl responsible for all this, is even as I type this getting her boobs groped by the two dangerous apes that used to be adolescent boys. I give good odds, dear readers, that she’s knocked up before the weekend ends,” Chloe looked up. “This is really good writing, Paula. Good thing I can still read, huh?”

Paula, cheeks crimson, reached out for the fragile laptop. Chloe pulled it away and grinned. She easily kept the shorter girl away with her free hand.

“What is this, Paula? Who’re you writing for?”

“I’m just…” Sara could see the tiny gears clanking. “It’s therapeutic. And it helps—“

“Nooo… I don’t think so,” Chloe said. “If it was therapeutic, why is it on Livejournal? And why does the top read “Journey into S-Flu: One Girl’s Story?””

“You’re writing about us?” Julie said, horrified. “Real names and everything?”

“She sure is!” Chloe crowed. “Sara, you’re apparently so “absurdly average that the other brunettes should hold a fundraiser.” Then it gets mean.”

Sara glared at her shrinking neighbor. “What the hell, Paula?”

“You three stay away from me,” Paula said, her finger pointing left and right. “You think I don’t see what’s going on, here? Chloe is already half-cow, and Julie is one tit-squeeze away from fucking anything in the room. I’m not going to be some boring bimbo like the rest of you, do you understand?”

Sara wondered, through coursing surges of rage, why this snow-pure version of Paula had just been showing her twat off to boys.

“She giggles when she touches her clit,” she announced, instead. A vicious side of her high-fived itself.

“Oh, really?” Chloe said. She had grabbed both of Paula’s hands, and quickly pulled the struggling girl behind her. Another quick series of moves led to Paula sitting on the couch, with Chloe on top. “How interesting. Julie, can you get me one of the big vibrators?”

Sara looked to her left. And stopped.

The two boys were still sitting. But they had the same fixed, glassed-over look, and both had pulled down their pants. Two aching cocks hung in the air. Lucas’ was drooling pre-cum. A string of white, like a spider’s web, leaked towards the ground.

“Boys!” she hissed.

“What?” Michael said. “Those pants hurt. I was about to burst something.”

Sara tried to argue with that. But she couldn’t deny, staring at them, that the twosome had really hard cocks. With white droplets on the top.

Julie had selected an especially large vibrator. The asian girl had a satisfied, carnal look on her face. She flicked it on with a practiced move, and handed it to Chloe.

The blonde with the enormous rack had pinned Paula’s legs apart, relying on her still-substantial heft. Paula’s red dress was caught up around her waist, and all Sara could hear of her was sputtering clouds of outrage. Chloe examined the vibrator, leaned back, and then brought it in-between Paula’s thighs.

Paula abruptly became very quiet.

“Hmm…” Chloe said, poking around Paula’s panty-covered bits with the vibrator. “Lets see if we can find somewhere interesting.”

“You are a horrible bitch, and this is against the LAW!” Paula said, from somewhere behind Chloe’s tits.

Her thighs shuddered.

“There we go!” Chloe sang, happily. The blonde pushed harder and was rewarded with the first titter of giggling.

“What was that, Little Miss Bimbo?” Chloe said. “Did I hear a laugh?”

“Ohh—how dare—ohhhhhhh!” Paula said. Chloe seemed to be timing her thrusts for murmurs of defiance. Paula was rocking her legs back and forth now, torn between accepting the pleasant hum of the intruder, and fighting it off.

The giggling was stronger now, emanating in bits and pieces from the increasingly aroused girl underneath Chloe. The blond herself was happily pushing the now-wet vibrator back and forth inside the girl.

“Don’t… I can’t think… stop fuuuuuckking me,” Paula moaned. “Oh, oh, it’s right on my clitty. My pretty clitty.”

Sara tore her eyes away from the spectacle. Both of the boys were masturbating, right in front of her. They both had eyes only for the area right between Paula’s thighs, with the occasional flicker up to Chloe’s tits. Lucas was simply rubbing the back of his cock with his thumb, while Michael ran his hand all along the length of it.

“Boys! Guys! Don’t.. what are you…”

“Oh, c’mon!” Lucas gasped. “You can’t stop… the girls are…”

Sara took a few steps towards them, until she was just in front of the two frantic boys. She put both hands out, mind fuzzy, not sure what to do…

When the two guys came, it all got on her.

Michael’s blast arced across the line, snaked over her hand, and beaded her chest with droplets of white cream. Lucas nearly hit her face, and his first explosive shot hit her full on the boob. It drizzled down to her overheated bare midriff.

Her face frozen, Sara stared back into the faces of Michael and Lucas, and realized that they had been thinking of her when they came.

The wet specks felt good.

Paula had subsided into a shivering heap of giggles and moans, rocking her hips to the motion of Chloe’s pulse.

“Here comes the orgasm train, gonna blast those pretty brains out!” Chloe whispered, backwards. “Hey Paula, when you sneeze, make sure to frame the Kleenex, because all that sexy IQ is gonna be in it, okay?”

“What?” Paula said. Then, harder. “No.. no!”

She rose to her feet, the vibrator dropping to the ground, and pushed Chloe right off her lap. The surprised blonde took five quick, unsteady steps.

The sixth kicked the Nintendo halfway across the room.

The white box trailed loose wires and cords like a ripped-open deer, banged on the carpet, and then slammed against the wall.

The straining cocks of both of the boys shrank to nothingness.

“Oh, no,” Chloe said, dismayed. “No, no, no. I’m soooo sorry, guys. I’m so, really sorry.”

Paula had collapsed into a wet puddle in the chair. Little mewing noises emanated from somewhere in her throat. She had picked up the vibrator and buried it inside her pink slit. Julie, on the couch next to her, was not so discretely fingering her own vinyl underwear.

Sara… licked at her hand. And was rewarded with a tangy, musky taste like nothing she had ever experienced before. Like pure masculinity, distilled in a bottle, and still warm and wet.

“That was cum,” she told herself. “Don’t…. eat cum.”

Instead, she sucked her fingers clean. It was incredible. Like an explosion of taste that reached down into her endochrine system and spewed endorphins. That smacked her fragile little mind and let loose a cascade of pleasure. Sara had to sit down.

“Here… maybe it’s not broken.. maybe…” Chloe said, plugging it back in. She hit the power and turned the TV on.

There was no Nintendo logo.

Instead, there was a pair of grim-faced anchors and a “breaking news” bulletin along the bottom side.

Sara scooped another puddle off her boobs and eased it into her mouth. “Stop drinking this!” she told herself. Her fingers weren’t listening. Her tongue sparkled.

“…through the water supply,” the newscaster said. The anchor lady, to his right, looked like she was sweating hard, even through pancake-batter makeup. “So, to repeat, much of the city and surrounding suburbs are infected with a new strain of S-Flu, in what authorities are calling the worst outbreak in….”

Sara couldn’t take it anymore. The scent of sex, the taste, the feeling… her cum-stained hand dipped into her snatch, right in front of everyone. It wasn’t like she was alone. Paula looked like an advertisement for batteries, and Julie was drooling out of her overstuffed lips.

“…So stay away from municipal water, avoid strangers, and, if you’re already infected, stock up on food supplies immediately. S-Flu has made a serious resurgence.”

Her orgasm exploded, right on cue.

Sara kept drooling while she tried to read. As if she wasn’t already distracted.

The shock of the S-Flu epidemic had kept the six of them relatively tame for the rest of the afternoon, into the evening. Or rather, the five of them. Paula had recovered from her mind-blasting orgasm and nearly ran into her room. Where she slammed the door.

Still holding her vibrator, Sara had noticed.

S-Flu had already spread to the City, most of the suburbs, and reports were springing up across the United States and overseas. All that had to happen was for an infected person to get on a plane, get off a plane, and use a drinking fountain. The Flu did the rest.

Authorities had mobilized, but outside of urging citizens to drink bottled water and boil the rest, there wasn’t much to do.

Just sit and watch most of the Country turn into bimbos.

The lady newscaster had sweat so much they had to be toweling her off between commercials. And she kept staring off into space instead of reading the teleprompter. Sara knew how she felt.

“Why, my dear, you must know, Mrs. Long says that Netherfield is taken by a young man of large fortune from the north of England,” Sara read.

It was as far as she had gotten in an hour.

The glowing fuck-fog from the living room had taken root in her head. Her hypothal—hypoth—her whatever-it-was that made everything feel so fucking amazing had apparently taken over her entire mind. Even sticking her head outside in the rain did nothing to get rid of that soggy feeling in her brain.

But that wasn’t her big problem.

Sara needed more cum. She ached for it from head to toe, with a long detour to her tingling clit.

Just another few drops—really, just a taste—would be enough.

During dinner she had simply eaten slice after slice of bologna, between two slices of bread, while staring at Lucas’ dick the entire time.

She could still taste the musky tang on her lips, and if she sucked on her fingers the salty taste was still vaguely there.

“Stop it!” she kept telling herself. But then Sara would look down at her vinyl-encased tits, at her drool-covered desk, and quietly think “Why not? You’ve already gone this far, Sara-honey. And cum is sooo yummy.”

She slammed Pride and Prejudice shut. It was silly to try and read it while she was going through S-Flu anyway. Plus it was seriously boring. She should read something practical, like a Cosmopolitan or a Lucky or something fun like that.

The rain outside was a gentle shower, now. In the last light of the afternoon the sun had even started to poke through the shag rug of clouds. The dorm grounds below had been washed clean of undergraduate refuse.

At least, she told herself, she was going through S-Flu with two hot guys. The dorm refugees were probably infected alongside their parents. Horrible to contemp—contemp—to think about.

Sara walked outside, one foot placed carefully in front of the other. She had seen Paula do it, and thrilled at the way it made her panties rub against her budding clit.

There was a whispered conversation going on down the hall. The boys’ door was wide open. Sara eased her way over to the side of it, and peered over the side of the heavy brown door.

Michael sat on the side of an unmade bed. There were three of them, one bunk and one regular, and the walls were covered with generic movie posters. With an emphasis on Tarantino. Even with Jeremy moved out the room was messy.

It also wafted out a breeze of warm male scent. It flooded Sara’s harried sex center. She lubricated at the slightest provocation. All the girls were drinking huge cups of water, to compensate.

“No!” Michael said, insistently. “Look, Julie, I’m not going to let you..”

“You just need to sit there,” Julie said. Sara peeked around. The girl still had on her short white dress. She had folded neatly onto her knees. “I’m doing all the work. I don’t even know if I can get it down my throat.”

Julie smiled up at the frowning boy. “But I’m really really gonna try.”

“Julie..” Michael said. His omnipresent baseball cap had fallen off. The girl unbuttoned his fly, yanked them down, and fished out his expanded cock. “Don’t. Really. This isn’t…”

“It’s not sex,” Julie explained. “It’s just for fun. And you know you want to fuck my lips. They feel soooo good.”

Sara kept staring at the scene. She felt some lingering need to intervene. If only to protect the fading, shy Julie that blushed at the word “erection.” The insistent cocksucker on her knees was a far cry from that. Her big red lips dove onto the top of his dick.

The brunette in the doorway looked down. At some point she had buried her index finger in her hairless snatch. With a resigned sigh, she started to pump it back and forth. And, she had to admit, the real shame was that Julie would get all that delicious white stuff.

She probably wouldn’t even enjoy it.

“I’ve got clit-lips,” Julie explained, around a mouthful of pumping dick. The red cock slid easily through her mouth. Michael had lost his complaints. They were framed underneath the single overhead light, uncaring that the door was open. “They feel so good. Clitty-clitty-lips. I can’t keep sucking on things. I figured it might as well be you, since you lost the last game.”

“I guess it’s… not sex…” Michael said. He kept pushing a little farther into Julie’s warm, insistent mouth.

“It can be,” Julie said. Sara had no idea how she was talking around the slab with her tongue on it.

“No… I’m… saving myself.. for Paula,” Michael gasped.

“Sherioshly?” Julie said, surprised. Then her own fingers found her dripping snatch, and she stopped trying to hold a conversation. A warm smile spread over her face, and the only sound was the vigorous flap of her face getting fucked. The boys, Sara noticed, kept their pubic hair.

She stumbled backwards, into the fluorescent lights of the dorm hallway. Paula’s door was closed.

“You’re not a fuck-slut,” she reminded herself. “You’re Sara. You’re a smarty. You’ve got big brains. You’re going to be a law student. You can beat this.”

She stuck her fingers in her mouth. The wet juice wasn’t nearly the same thing.

The men’s room. Lucas had to be in there.

Sara grabbed her drinking cup from the girl’s bathroom and quietly swung open the men’s bathroom. It looked nearly identical to her own, only it faced out onto a quiet, amber-lit street instead of the dorm quad. Lucas stood under the harsh lighting and examined a day’s worth of stubble. Facial hair was growing in fast for the S-Flu boys.

“Lucas, I was wondering if… Lucas?” The blonde turned away, but not before Sara caught trembling clear tears on the side of his face. “What’s wrong?”

“It’s cool. It’s fine,” Lucas said. He turned back towards her. An S-Flu boy crying ripped holes in the macho-muscle image Sara had acquired of S-Flu men. “It’s just.. I called Heather, and she’s at home right now, and she had to call me back because she was about to cum.”

“Oh,” Sara said. Her eyes drooped down to Lucas’ cock. Even in his distress it was semi-erect.

“She’s at college upstate. I told her how big my dick was, now, and she said I should divide that by how far away I was. In miles.”

“Look, Lucas, you’re too good for her,” Sara said. She had no idea if that was true. But she could see his dick shrinking. She had to do something. Lucas stared back at her.

“You think so?” he said, trembling.

“She’s just some cockhound. She was probably already fucking some guy before you broke up. You should be concentrating on you.” It wasn’t the most sensitive advice, but Lucas seemed cheered by it, and it was all she could manage.

“Yeah?”

“You’ve got big muscles now.. and all that stamina, and you smell great, and you’ve got that huge, enormous cock,” Sara said.

She stuck her chest out and licked her lips. “Look, this may seem forward… but can I have some of your cum?”

The brunette stuck the cup out and gave him a hopeful look.

“My… cum?” Lucas said, uncertain. He took the cup.

“Just go ahead and fill it up,” Sara prompted. “I need it for something.”

“For what?”

This was embarrassing. “For… drinking,” Sara admitted, and blushed.

“Oh.” At least that did the trick. His dick was once more on the rise.

“I’ll.. wait outside the stall,” Sara suggested.

Lucas gave her one last odd look, and disappeared into the bathroom stall. A moment later Sara heard the telltale slap of cock meeting fingers. She put her face up against the metal and imagined the scent of warm cum dribbling out the tip.

Sara drooled again. She barely cared.

“Sara?” Lucas said. “There’s a problem. I’m going to miss. I can’t hold the cup and get off at the same time.”

Miss?

“Oh, no!” Sara yanked open the door. “Don’t cum!”

Lucas sat on the closed toilet, his pants around his ankles. He was tugging on a magnificent dick, and a first sparkling bit of precum was leaking out the top. The glass was on the floor. Sara stepped forward and let it fall into her palm. The first few slimy drops tasted like pure heaven.

“How about… you hold the glass and I’ll do the work,” Lucas suggested. Heather was apparently forgotten. Sara tugged down her shirt to make sure. Her boobs nearly popped out of confinement.

“Okay,” she said. Sara sank onto her knees. This way, she figured, even if he missed the boy would just spurt onto her face and tits. Which would be fine.

His breathing got short. Sara stared, mesmerized, at the shuddering thing in his hands. It was so warm and wet, and so very hot. It looked like it was glowing with its own internal heat. She had never sucked at a cock before.

What if he jerked it around? Precious bits might spread around everywhere. Sara moved the cup closer.

“Don’t miss,” she urged. What made boys come? “Come on… stud,” she tried. Her tongue felt thick. Words weren’t coming easily, this close to a man. “Spurt all over my face. And my… titties. You can do it.”

“Urghal,” Lucas sputtered. Bits were flying out now, big pumping bullets of white stuff.

“Oh, fuck it,” Sara thought. She couldn’t risk it. And it wasn’t like it was sex. It was… nu-trit-ion.

She dove her mouth onto his cock. Lucas didn’t resist. The underside was already coated with pre-cum, and Sara lapped it up, tonguing hard at the wet intruder in her mouth. She was pumping her own fingers in and out of her own snatch, once again. It didn’t take any conscious thought.

Which was good, because she didn’t have any.

Lucas came. At first it simply hit the back of her throat. Then she redirected it to her tongue, to luxuriate in the taste, before swallowing the protein. It came out in spurts and spurts. She sucked at him until he weakly pushed her away.

“I sucked a boy’s cock,” Sara thought, through the numb feeling of satisfaction. It really didn’t seem like a big deal, in retrospect. When most of the country was going to sleep with fingers in their privates.

And it wasn’t sex.

And she had asked him.

She left him on the toilet, and walked with rubber-band legs into the main room. Where Chloe was still watching the CNN feed. The newsanchor, a short asian girl, seemed to be swelling out of her tight-fitting jacket as they watched.

The blonde was lying down on the couch, her tits underneath her. Sara settled in besides her. The fires in her head had gone out. She could even think clearly, to look back at the cum-hungry girl that had sucked a boy dry.

“Heya,” Chloe said. The bubbly blonde sounded tired. “What’s going on?”

“I think I’m addicted to cum,” Sara said, and slumped on the couch. “Oh. And I can’t read more then two paragraphs of Pride and Prejudice before I start getting horny.”

“Gotcha,” her roommate said. “Here. Drink up.” She reached to the table besides her, and picked up a glass of milk. “Does a body good.”

Sara accepted it. The glass was warm. The two roommates sat in the common room, unlit except for the outside golden lights and the flicker of the TV. The Flu had spread to Europe. “How are you?” she asked.

The milk was thick and creamy. Sara looked at it. A suspicion grew in her now-clear head.

Chloe pulled up her shirt and smiled, wistfully, at Sara. The fat boobs with the thick nipples dribbled a slender line of white all down her chest.

“I’m a cow now,” she explained. “Lactating for the past two hours. Feels amazing.”

Chloe indicated the glass in Sara’s hand.

“How do I taste?”

“More,” Sara urged, to a line of beautiful cocks. “All of it. More.”

They were all in a row, many different colors, and the smell of hot male arousal had her in a hot lather. Every so often one of the faceless men would come, and Sara would dart in his direction, to catch as much of the warm white stuff as she could. It was getting hard to see underneath the facial mask.

And, of course, she was bouncing up and down on the biggest, longest, bestest penis of them all.

Sara woke up to a beautiful morning and a soggy pillow. The drooling problem had apparently gotten worse. The musky aftertaste of a quart of Lucas’ cum lingered between her teeth.

“Six times six is thirty-six,” she told herself, sitting upright. Her head felt thick and heavy, and thoughts moved through it with caution, like they were driving in a fog. Thirty-six sounded right, but was she sure?

The brunette tried the calculator. Six times six was still thirty-six. She relaxed, then spelled BOOBS on the calculator, just for fun. Sara giggled.

“You awake, ditz?” said a voice across the room.

“I’m not a ditz,” Sara pouted, pulling the covers off her sweat-stained body. She had fallen asleep in her sexy new clothes, and the tight vinyl had left lines in her sensitive skin. The bed was wet with juices.

Outside, the lingering storm had finally passed through, leaving behind a fresh green day and a beautiful blue sky. The last few drops of rain dried quietly on her windowpane, leaving behind white streaks.

“Then come over and milk me,” Chloe ordered.

“Okay,” Sara said, happily. Her sexy blonde roommate sat on the side of a soaked bed. Drying traces of milk stained the entire bed cover. Chloe looked sad and defeated, pulling resignedly on her leaking teats. She had put a bucket underneath her.

Sara thought back to last night, to the three delicious and warm glasses of fresh milk she had coaxed out of the reluctant blonde. Milk went well in the morning, too. She tossed her long brown hair back, bent slightly, and attached a lip to Chloe’s boob.

An immediate jet hit the back of her throat.

“Geez, Sara. You don’t need to do that,” Chloe said, weakly. She stopped protesting once Sara sucked hard, and once her other hand tweaked her right nipple.

Chloe’s breathing started to come hard and fast. “God, feels good though,” she admitted. “I can feel your mouth, and I can feel the milk coming out, and… ughh… godddddd!”

She fell onto her back. Sara went along for the ride. Only once the milk started to finally dry up did she let the teat fall away. Chloe sat on her back, panting for breath.

“All better?” Sara asked. Her head felt marginally clearer, like someone had rubbed a dirty window with a dirty towel.

“No,” Chloe said, sitting up once more. “I’m a cow. I went from a whale to a cow. Not an improvement.”

She strapped her bra on as Sara sank into her computer chair. The brunette fired up the computer, pulled her legs underneath her, and examined her boobs. They had grown again. Not as dramatically as the previous night, but definitely into the swollen forward-pointing chest ornaments that proclaimed her an S-Flu girl through and through.

They were cute, though, and they felt good.

“It’ll be okay,” she told her blonde roommate. “You can do lots of stuff with boobs like that.”

“Like what?” Chloe said, pulling her head up. She mostly kept it down, examining her dribbling boobs.

“Umm…” Sara’s head ached with the sudden, unexpected effort. “You could… make ice cream, or you could be a drinking fountain, or…”

“Uh-huh,” Chloe said. “Drinking fountain. That’s a job description.”

“Or a Mom!” Sara said. The idea loomed like an iceberg. She clung to it. “Yeah! You could be a Mommy!”

Chloe hesitated. The blonde swung her legs off the bed. Underneath the boobs she had a classic hourglass figure, with a tight smooth waist and S-flu sculpted long legs.

“A Mommy?” she said, tasting the words.

“Sure! You could have lots of babies, and you could feed them milk, or you could nurse other babies. They’d be sucking on your boobs all the time, and they’d get really big and strong,” Sara explained. She beamed at her own cleverness. “And you could put them to bed, and sing to them, and watch Disney movies with them.”

Actually, now that she thought about it, having a kid was starting to sound attractive to her, too.

“Yeah, okay,” Chloe said. She felt at her belly, as if the idea was already taking root there. “You think I’d be a good Mom?”

“You take care of me,” Sara reminded her. “And you have all the best ideas.”

Chloe smiled again. It looked like a sunbeam had suddenly lit her face, like an array of lightbulbs had clicked on, one by one. She kept rubbing her belly, and her tits began to leak a spray of breastmilk, once more.

Sara’s stomach rumbled. She got up to head to the kitchen, for a rendez-vous with bacon.

“Sara?” Chloe said. “One more question.”

“Yeah?”

“Lucas or Michael?”

“Both.”

They both giggled.

If Sara had been less starving, she would’ve noticed the strawberry scent of unrestrained fucking before stumbling onto the scene. Instead, she turned the corner to the living room, and gasped.

There was very little left of the old Julie.

This one had lustrous black hair, falling in waves well past her shoulders. Two bulging tits strained underneath a new outfit, this one bright yellow with a white belt, all of it bunched in a wad around her slender waist. Not to mention the straining bee-stung lips that capped the transformation to moaning toy.

What was left of the old Julie was being vigorously fucked out of her by two tall, muscle-covered boys.

Both had given up on shirts, and except for the baseball cap, only hints in their newly chiseled features differentiated Michael from Lucas. Both had acquired eager, straining cocks to go along with the muscles. Julie kneeled between the two boys, impaled from behind by Lucas, and sucking thoroughly on Michael. Her eyes were squeezed tightly shut with renewed bliss.

Between the smell, the tasty looking drippings, and the sounds, it was hard to even be in the same room without a powerful burst of arousal.

“Julie!” Sara said, loudly. “Stop it! You promised!”

All three gave her annoyed looks, although Lucas also looked considerably sheepish. But that didn’t stop him from sliding his dick in and out of her, uninterrupted.

“I mean, I know it’s really tough, and that these guys are pretty hot, but you don’t have to let yourself get—“

Sara turned away. It was hard to look Julie in the eyes when there was a cock in her mouth.

Julie fished it out, reluctantly. “It’s okay, Sara,” she explained, in that smoky voice. “It’s my idea. I thought I’d help the rest of you out.”

There was just a trace of the eager, helpful girl underneath the sexual ooze. “What?” Sara said, unsteadily.

“I figured I was already going to give in, because my lips feel so good, and I like to fuck so much,” Julie said, matter-of-factly. “But if I fuck the boys, they won’t need to fuck you. See?”

Sara did see.

Tears welled up.

“That’s so nice of you,” she choked out.

She turned to make breakfast. Behind her, Julie settled into a push-pull rhythm, bouncing back between the thick pole between her legs, and the rod between her lips. None of the three seemed like they’d be finishing anytime soon.

At first Sara thought she’d make pancakes, but the directions on the back looked really complicated. Eggs and milk and oil, all in very precise quantities. It made her head hurt.

Bacon sounded really good, so she laid five strips on the griddle. Nothing happened.

So she had cereal. Three bowls. All of them filled to the brim with Chloe’s chest-milk, chilled, which she had put in the refrigerator last night. After the first, she remembered that the griddle had to be on in order for the bacon to fry, and Sara did that. Giggling the entire time.

It was so hard to be upset about anything. The whole world seemed to be about fun tingles. Sparks of pleasure fired when she crossed her legs, when she uncrossed them, when she brushed her nipples, just about everything.

The brunette spent breakfast staring at Julie getting double-teamed, slurping at milk.

Lucas started to speed up.

“Don’t come in me,” Julie warned, around Michael’s cock. “I’m not on the pill. I don’t want to get pregnant.”

“I already came in you,” Lucas said. “I just stayed hard.”

“Then don’t come in me again.”

Sara brightened. She ran over, boobs jiggling, to the pumping boy. He barely missed a beat, withdrawing his cock from Julie’s gaping pink slit, and inserting it between her lips.

“Your mouth is completely freezing cold,” he complained.

“It’s the cereal,” Sara said, before starting her efforts to suck the cum out of him. It tasted like Julie. It only took a few moments before the tasty white stuff shot into her mouth, a delicious cap to breakfast.

When it was all over with, she fell backwards, and let the lights and colors of a quiet orgasm wash over her. Next to her, Michael was busily filling Julie’s eager mouth with the same warm cream.

The two girls laid next to each other, panting. Sara felt vaguely superior. She, after all, had still resisted getting fucked.

Michael, meanwhile, trailed through the dorm suite with an increasingly worried look. His cock bobbed between his legs, still dripping. Finally he stuck his head into the girl’s bathroom, called out “Paula?” and re-emerged.

“Paula’s gone,” he reported. “She’s escaped.”

“So why should we care?” Chloe said, walking out of the bedroom. If she was surprised by the sight of Julie and Sara lying on the carpet, dribbling fluids, she didn’t show it. The room smelled so sweet that Sara barely noticed, anymore. “Paula’s gone, fine. Good for Paula.”

Michael shifted. He started to struggle into a pair of swim shorts. Even the elastic didn’t seem to fit right.

“Here’s the thing,” he explained. “There’s a really good chance I knocked her up. I think Paula is pregnant.”

They all looked at him, except for Sara, who was concentrating on the fading flavor of Lucas.

“When did this happen?” Chloe said.

“Three weeks ago. The condom broke. Paula was supposed to get her period last week, but it, you know, didn’t happen.”

Sara did the math in her head. “That’s two days after school started!” she exclaimed, and sat up. “You guys were fast.”

“Five days,” Michael corrected. “That’s what we were fighting about. The whole Clubbing thing just… triggered it. So yeah, I’m worried about her.”

At the first mention of getting knocked up, Chloe had flushed and started to fidget with her breasts. They were held back by last night’s massive bra, with paper towels wadded underneath. She also kept her arms folded underneath her chest. “Then we gotta find her,” the blonde concluded. “I’ve been watching the news. Things are crazy out there. She could be on her back right now.”

Chloe’s legs twitched.

Sara sat up. “We’re breaking out?” she asked. Chloe nodded.

“Then I’m trying on a new outfit,” the brunette announced, and bounced towards the clothing rack.

No more jean skirts.

“I thought we were locked in here,” Julie said, annoyed. “Quarantined.” The girls had spent a half-hour getting dressed. Paula could last that long.

“Quar-an-tined,” Sara thought. What did that mean, again? Maybe she really was dumber.

Thirteen times thirteen was… sixty-nine! That sounded right. And hot.

Julie had combed her hair into two waterfalls around her lips. Chloe had helped her with ruby-red lipstick, not that she had needed it. The girl had forced her feet into a pair of Paula’s heels. Otherwise she wore a bubble-blue dress, like her previous white one.

Only this time she hadn’t bothered with underwear.

“I think they just told us they were,” Lucas said. “It’d be a fire hazard to lock us in. None of us actually tried the door.”

Chloe turned the handle. The door simply swung open. Daylight and fresh air invaded the closed-in room. The blonde had been constrained by her dripping boobs, but Ms. Marla had thoughtfully provided. She wore a leather bustier with pink laces, and a matching pair of shorts. Along with sensible sneakers.

She turned to Sara “you sure you want to wear those?” she said, looking pointedly at her feet.

“Why not?” It was her first real time in fuck-me-boots, a black pair with unnecessary straps. With the pink miniskirt she nearly oozed sex. “You always said I dressed boring.” The mini was matched by a half-vest that cupped her tits.

She had layered on Chloe’s makeup. Lipstick tasted good.

The air smelled clean and new, with a fading tang of ozone. The grass shone with renewed energy. Sara felt her head start to clear, away from the omnipresent sexual haze. “Quarantine,” she scolded herself. “It means, like, to stick someone in a room.”

With the bright sun and the beautiful morning the streets looked normal, and Sara started to wonder if a reflective pink sex-outfit was really smart.

Then they started to see pedestrians.

Not a single one seemed to have escaped S-Flu.

The first girl they saw was in her late 20s, dressed in sweatpants and a shirt that failed entirely to hide a heavy new pair of knockers. She was walking the dog in heels. A few men walked by in too-tight clothing. Every time the girl gave them a startled smile, and her eyes dipped down to their packages.

The corner was flooded with boys and girls. Even in the outdoors the heady scent of aroused females clung to the street. There were the lollipop-colored teenagers, probably High Schoolers, marveling at their new chests and cocksucker lips. Businesswomen strutted by on high heels, popping out of suits, obviously hot and bothered by the cotton clothing.

Lucas and Michael, farther along with S-Flu then most, captured any number of admiring glances.

Chloe watched a young mother push a stroller. She was dripping, and had a finger between her lips.

About half of the women looked at the three of them with horrified or disapproving glares. Those women had on their most boring sweats, now straining and tight, and kept their hands primly at their sides.

The other half wore shiny clubwear, big smiles, and not-so-surreptitiously stroked at their thighs when they thought no one was watching. And a few when they saw Lucas or Michael glaring. Julie took point and walked protectively in front of the two men.

“I don’t see Paula,” Michael announced, worried. “Any ideas?”

Sara had one. It flickered, weakly, in her oversexed head. “What about her website?” she volunteered. “She’s blogging and stuff, right?”

Lucas flicked to it on his phone. “I was reading it last night,” he said, before they could ask. “She was pretty upset about the whole giggling thing. Plus, I wanted to see what she said about me.”

The latest post read “Running for it.” Lucas read it aloud. “Hiii readers, this is Paula. It’s not safe here and stuff. I keep giggling and touching myself. Gonna go somewhere smart and read books until all this S-Flu stuff is over. Here’s some pictures of my titties, they’re huge.”

The next page was pictures of Paula’s tits.

“Books,” Lucas echoed.

“What about the library?” Sara suggested. They all nodded. She beamed. She was still smart!

One of the teenagers at the coffee shop table swore. She was one of those wearing a prim t-shirt and sweatpants, and trying hard to keep her hands to herself. The girl was looking down at her boobs.

Milk was already starting to pool onto the fabric. Chloe pulled one of her paper towels out of her bra.

“Here you go,” she told the startled woman. “Don’t worry. It’s not so bad. Once you get used to it.”

It wasn’t hard to find Paula. They could smell her.

The school library was an imposing and gray edifice, unwelcoming and unloved. There were only a few lonely librarians there, clutching inflated chests underneath gray sweaters and looking very happy to see some men.

Sara caught it first. The sugar-sweet smell that was Paula. “Excuse me?” she asked one of the workers, a petite redhead with deep green eyes. “Have you seen a girl with huge boobs, smells like sugar?”

“Uh, dark hair, frowning,” Michael interrupted, with a more complete description. Including a mole on her ass. The librarian pointed down the hallway, and sighed when the two boys left the reference desk. She was buzzing in her chair.

The sweet smell grew stronger, more heavy.

“She must be really horny,” Chloe noted. She was dribbling again, and trying to ignore it. They descended the stairs. Sara stared at the weight of leather-scented books on either side. They looked… scary. Dark and intimidating.

In the second sub-basement they started to hear the giggling. It was high-pitched and fairly mindless, and punctuated by coos and whispers. Michael picked up speed, and the girls struggled to keep up with their heels and swinging chests. Sara hugged herself. All the literature was getting to her. How did people handle it?

They found Paula in a random section, right between poetry and nonfiction. She was on her back, on the cold tile, and getting vigorously fucked by a glasses-wearing boy. He looked skinny, pockmarked with old zit scars, and sat on his knees. Paula had drawn her legs up so that he could leisurely pump her.

The girl had pulled out a tomb of a book to use as a pillow. She giggled non-stop. Pink bubbles nearly floated from her lips.

Michael growled. The large man reached out with an oversized hand and picked the boy up by his neck. His dick slid out of Paula, and she mewed with disappointment. The girl was head-to-toe pink, in a miniskirt with a fringe and a bra with black straps.

“Nooo…” Paula complained. “Come backkkkk.”

The boy looked baffled, and was eye-to-eye with Michael’s muscle-knotted neck. Michael looked ready to disembowel him.

Julie intervened. “Michael, Paula’s ready,” she said.

The man noticed Paula’s gaping slit, and lost interest in beating the boy up. Julie obligingly tugged gently at the new kid’s shirt, and led him around the corner.

Paula had come around enough to notice Michael unzipping in front of her. “Oh, no no,” she mumbled, trying to get her legs closed. Her thighs didn’t seem to want to cooperate. “Not you, Michael.”

The guy already had his dick out. “What? Why not?”

“I don’t want…” the dark-haired girl said , haltingly. “I want to be more then just your fucktoy!”

Michael froze. Then he started to rub his cock up and down the outside of her already-wet slit. She gasped and started to buck her hips.

“Of course you’re more then that, baby,” he assured her, thrusting in with one easy push. “You’re gonna be the mother of my babies.”

“Really?” Paula squealed. She thrust back. “Do you like this, Michael? If I squeeze here?”

“Y-yeah,” and then the two were lost in their own grunting, giggling world. The other three stepped around the side to give them minimal privacy. Not that they seemed to care.

“That’s so romantic,” Chloe said, wistfully. She eyed Lucas. The boy had another erection. “Hmm,” she mused.

Julie came back around the corner, walking bowlegged. She noticed Sara twirling a lock of hair.

“Hey, bend down a little,” the asian girl warbled. Sara stooped, just a little, and the blue-clad girl locked lips with her. Sara’s parted as soon as the shorter girl pushed a load of cum into her mouth.

It took awhile before the two of them broke apart.

“You seemed to need it more then me,” she explained. “And I felt bad for that kid.”

Sara just swallowed and smiled.

“Come on, fuck me,” Chloe chanted. “Stick it in me, fill me up, pump harder, go!”

Lucas obliged. He stood by the side of Chloe’s bed. The covers and sheets were clumped at one end, and Chloe was braced on the other, a pillow under her ass. She had her legs wrapped around the boy, and was urging him onwards with every shuddering stroke.

The blonde boy had already dumped one load of cum inside of her. Sara had no idea how he managed to keep producing.

“Put a baby in me, fill me with goo,” the blonde said. “Get me all big and swollen and fat.”

From the way his ass tensed, Sara guessed that this was the first time Lucas realized Chloe’s intentions. But he kept energetically thrusting away. He had both hands wrapped around Chloe’s excited teats, and jets of milk spurted out of them. Occasionally the boy would wrap his lips around one and suck away, leading to screams of pleasure on her roommate’s part.

Sara turned back to her book. A half-hour and she hadn’t gotten past “Oh! Single, my dear, to be sure! A single man of large fortune; four or five thousand a year.”

There was no helping it.

She was a dumbo, now. A silly, stupid girl with a friendly smile and nothing behind it. Thirteen times thirteen was definitely not sixty-nine, according to her calculator. She had been way off. She couldn’t even remember which numbers spelled BOOBS.

All she could think about was boys, cocks, and cum, not necessarily in that order.

For the past twenty minutes Sara had just dolefully browsed porno websites. Maybe she could be a stripper. That seemed about right. So long as she kept a calculator around for the tips.

Besides that and squirting out babies, all she seemed qualified for was to walk around on her knees with her mouth open.

And law school?

Only if the LSAT gave extra points for good head.

“I wish I was smart again,” she said, browsing the news. It was kind of boring, but the worldwide epidemic was big news, she guessed. The pictures were interesting. Lots of growing titties.

At least the hunger pains had died down. Although that might be because she already had two full spurts of cum in her belly.

Sara put her head down on the table. “Think!” she told herself, trying to fight past the gauze in the center of her head.

Chloe didn’t help matters by screaming in orgasm, right then.

Sara sighed.

Michael and Paula entered the room. The raven-haired girl wore her nice necklace, and had changed out of the pink outfit. This one was vinyl and black. “Hi guys,” she said, in her newly high-pitched voice. “I just wanted to apologize for being a huge bit—Sara, are you okay?”

Sara looked up. Tears had streaked onto Pride and Prejudice. She couldn’t read it now if she wanted to. It was all wet.

“No,” she moaned. “I’m dumb now. This sucks. I’m never gonna be a lawyer or a smart person or anything.”

Paula and Chloe looked at each other. Then Paula looked at Michael.

“Michael, I know we’re engaged and stuff, but would you mind fucking Sara for me?”

Michael didn’t seem inclined to argue. He walked over to the sobbing girl, picked her up, and placed her on the bed. Sara, miserable, watched him slide her panties down her legs. The air felt warm on her pussy.

“I don’t want to fuck, I told you. No sex. Don’t want to.”

Chloe waddled over to her. Threads of cum ran down her legs. “Sara, as your roommate, let me give you some advice. Just get fucked, okay? Then we’ll talk.”

Michael waited between her legs. Which spread apart of their own accord. Despite herself, Sara felt the familiar tingles of excitement. “Oh-kay,” she said, watching the cockhead descend towards her. It pushed against the outside of her slit, rubbed up and down, and then fell into her.

“Oh,” Sara said, blinking. She felt… full.

There was a cock inside of her.

Moving back and forth.

It felt… really good.

“Don’t enjoy it too much,” Paula warned Michael. He nodded.

The top of the hard intruder between her legs rubbed up and down, forcing her thighs apart, concentrating Sara on the electric current running between her legs and her mind. Electric shocks of pleasure rippled through her, igniting her head.

And, she suddenly realized, clearing out those insistent cobwebs in her head.

“Twelve times twelve is one-forty-four,” she thought, with complete clarity.

“Not so fast,” she told Michael. He settled into a slow and steady pulse, rocking his hips back and forth. It felt delicious, and Sara could feel her orgasm approaching from a long ways off.

But more importantly, so long as his cock was rippling through her, she could think!

Sara snatched her paperback from the desk.

“My—ahh—dear Mr. Bennet,” she read, out loud. “how can—ooh—you be so tiresome! You must know—ahh… AHHHHHHH—that I am thinking of his marrying one of them.”

“That’s… ooh… that’s it!” she moaned. “not too fast.. not too slow. It’s just… what I need… to get through law school.”

“What, to get fucked all the time?” Chloe said, appearing besides her. Cum kept dribbling between her legs. “That’s your solution?”

Sara nodded and pushed back. “Doesn’t sound… so bad to me. At all.”

When she came, she nearly ripped the book in half.

Five years later

“So, guys and girls of the jury, this is totally an easy question. Suzie over there claims she fell backwards and hit her head. But all the evidence has proven that she fell forwards—onto her chest! And let me remind you guys that she has super-big titties!”

The jury was nodding. Seven girls in business-minis and five guys. Majority-female was mandated by law ever since fights had broken out in the sequestration room. Sara liked to figure out who was fucking who while the plaintiff’s attorney rambled on.

She shifted in her bright yellow dress. Julie had gotten it for her. She had gone into business with Paula and Michael, making slow-pulse vibrators for girls with Dumb-variant S-flu. One was humming against Sara’s clit as she gave her closing.

The jury was nodding, now. Time for the coup-de-grace.

“In fact, the evidence shows that Ms. Suzie over there actually created the slipping hazard herself, when she neglected to milk herself before leaving the house!”

Chloe had suggested that explanation at the latest baby shower. It was going to be Earnest if a boy, Erin if a girl. Chloe was naming them alphabetically.

The jury whispered to each other. Sara smiled and poured out another glass from her jug.

The liquid inside was dark white, and poured very slowly.

She took a big gulp, and turned to the judge.

“The Defense rests, your honor.”