Ground floor flats (Fem)

Against all reason, you decide to search the ground floor flats; even though the corridor has infected milling about in it. Granted, some of them are distracted fucking with each other, but you only manage to get halfway down the corridor before most of them have their eyes on you and are shambling in your direction, cocks and breasts swaying with each step.

"Waaaaarm hoooollles... Want to fuuck, waaaarm hoooollles..." they moan, their voices gutteral, their eyes no doubt already imagening the scenario where your holes are fucked raw.

This was a bad idea.

Realising your folly you turn on your heel, heading back the way you came, but it's too late; a pair of infected stumble out of one of the apartments, the door swinging behind them.

This was a really bad idea.

There's too many to fight, and your escape routes are blocked; all except the apartment door nearest to you, apartment 4. If the door is unlocked, and you get there before the infected do, then maybe, just maybe you can get out of here in one piece. Maybe. It's not like you have any other choice.

You gun it for the door, traversing the scant few metres in a couple long strides. Seeing the sudden movement, the infected burst into a sprint as well. You fumble with the handle for a moment, but luckily for you it is unlocked.

Unluckily for you however, one of the infected wrap their claws round your arm. "Fuuuuck..." she groans, her claws digging into you. You manage to close the door on the arm, the sound of the crunching bone making you sick to the stomach, but not without leaving you a deep gash on your arm, a centimetre deep. You wince at the pain, the blood dribbling down your arm, but before you can tend to it, you push a nearby desk to the door. The infected thump against the door in vain as you breathe a sigh of relief.

Thankfully the apartement seems unoccupied, but the gash in your arm made you forget to check; it feels like its burning. You stumble to the bathroom, the darkened mildewed room is far from ideal but it'll have to do. You search the cabinet for a first aid kit or something, anything, but your arms feel clumsy and your head feels lightheaded. You clutch the edge of the sink, taking in a breather. It hurts. Your body suddenly feels very hot, feverish almost, but there's a place that feels more burning than any other; your snatch. You claw at your clothes in an attempt to cool down, but it's just not enough, and to your horror and repulsion you realise your skin is gradually changing. Your arms are already a dull soot grey, and yellowish pustules have already burst forth.

And then, suddenly, it doesn't seem repulsive to you at all. In fact, you can't help but laugh. A gutteral, whispering laugh travels up your throat as you look in the bathroom mirror.

"Ha-ha... ha...ha! Hah-ha! Ha-ha-ha-ha!"

Two yellow ochre eyes stare back at you, a maniacal sharp toothed grin spread on the face underneath.

The first thing you do as an infected is to pleasure yourself, a burning desire to quench this overwhelming heat in you. You rip the tattered remains of your clothes of your body, revealing your dripping snatch; its begging for your fingers to enter this hole! You have to pleasure yourself, you must, you must, you must! You lose yourself to a mad, frantic masturbation session that lasts for hours; your enchanted infected stamina and libido already beginning to show. Your head is lost in a dizzying stupor, your tongue permamently lulling and drooling.

By the end of this pleasurable experience of the flesh the bathroom floor is pooling with your fluids. You collapse into it, your face in a perpetual state of lust, reaching the rarely seen limit of an infected.

You pass out thinking about sucking cocks, suckling on milk laden teats, and ripping at the flesh of those cute pale looking morsels.