Outbreak

Mark stumbled through the alleyway behind the Grand Plaza, his breath coming in ragged gasps. The sounds behind him were wrong not the screams of terror he expected, but a chorus of high pitched giggles, the rhythmic slap of bare flesh, and the wet sounds of obscene kissing. He turned the corner only to find himself trapped.

A wall of tanned skin, pastel spandex, and synthetic perfume blocked his escape. Five women, their eyes glazed with a terrifyingly vacant pink sheen, descended upon him. They moved with a synchronized, predatory grace. Before he could raise his hands in defense, they were on him.

"New toy~!" one squealed, her voice dripping with honeyed stupidity. "He looks so... lonely~!"

They stripped him with manicured nails, tearing his shirt apart as if it were tissue paper. Mark fought, but it was like wrestling with silk wrapped steel. They smothered him, their soft, perfumed breasts pressing against his face, cutting off his air with the overwhelming scent of strawberry lip gloss and sweat. One particularly voluptuous bimbo straddled his chest, grinding her hips down with mindless enthusiasm, while two others began to rain wet, sloppy kisses across his neck and cheeks.

Then came the climax of the assault. A third woman straddled his head, her hips descending until his entire vision was replaced by the slick, heated folds of her pussy. "Mmm, taste it, sweetie~!" she giggled as she began to grind against his mouth.

The infection wasn't airborne it was fluid borne. As they kissed him senseless, as they coated his skin in their sweat, their saliva, and the frothing evidence of their own arousal, the virus found its entry points. He felt a hot, tingling sensation spreading through his bloodstream. It felt like liquid sugar melting through his veins, dissolving his anxieties, his memories, and his very will.

His thoughts began to fracture. I need to run... I need to oh, wow, her hair smells like cotton candy... The panic died, replaced by a warm, fuzzy numbness. His muscles relaxed. The terror evaporated, leaving behind an empty, pleasant void. His brain felt like it was being stuffed with pink cotton candy.

The transformation was rapid. His jaw softened, his lips swelled with an involuntary pout, and his eyes lost their focus, taking on that same glassy, vacant shine. The man named Mark was gone. In his place stood a new member of the hoard a dazed, grinning bimbo who could only think about two things: feeling good and finding more toys.

He stood up, swaying on unsteady legs, and joined the circle of giggling women. He reached out to grab the next passerby, his mind already empty, his body already aching for the next rush of pleasure.