A Pure girl's flight

"Baby, do you have it in you for another round? I'm bored."

Based on the sweat coming from his brow and how heavily he breathed, the beautiful elf already knew the answer: this man was not enough for her, and she'd probably have to find another way to "entertain" herself. It seemed even an Infected could run out of steam after six or seven orgasms...or was it eight? She had lost count, but still she wasn't satisfied. Feeling a mite miffed, the elf rolled off her latest conquest and plopped her cushioned rear on the ground. Before moving on to find a new target, she figured she could take in the idyllic view another moment: the soft grass felt nice on her skin, and the sun poked through the shade of the forest in just the right way to catch her flowing hair. She was positively radiant and she knew it, even if there was no one else around to notice.

At least, she thought it was just the two of them. The elf could hear footsteps, coming in fast, boots tromping through the foliage and making a beeline for their clearing. In another life she would have thought to cover herself up in anticipation of an encounter, but nowadays that just seemed...restricting. Who knows: they might want a piece of the action, so what good were clothes? Being Infected was certainly liberating, she found. As the stranger drew nearer, enough for her to see them coming in the shadows, the sexy elf frowned. It did not have the silhouette of a strapping, willing man; near the opposite, in fact. As they broke through into the light, the stranger revealed themselves to be a young teen girl, of all things. She had the appearance of a hiker, with a pack on her back, but her clothes were torn up pretty badly and she was clearly running from something. Head turned to look behind her, she hadn't even noticed the elf or the man yet.

Infected or not, the elf wasn't a heartless person: seeing the ginger-haired girl plainly in distress was startling and upsetting. She moved to stand and say something calming, but the noise made the hiker whip around to face the latest threat. Their eyes met. The teen's were wide, full of terror even now.

"Are you okay, sweetie? You -"

"Stay back!"

The young hiker was Pure, this much was obvious to the elf; she was probably terrified of getting Infected. The elf put her hands up. "Everything's going to be fine. I'm not going to jump you. What're you running from?"

The girl took a deep breath, seeming to settle for a moment. The elf gave her best, most disarming smile: a normal conversation might've deescalated the situation. Unfortunately, it was at this moment the man decided to speak up from behind her.

"I'm almost ready for another go: I'll give ya a good fucking and calm ya right down."

"Eek! Don't...don't you come near me!"

The elf had no chance to get another word in: the redhead whipped to and fro searching for her escape route, before breaking into a sprint toward the other side of the clearing and back into the forest.

On and on she ran. Twigs breaking, fallen leaves crunching under her boots; she couldn't think about anything beyond 'keep running'. Her body was tired, and twice she fell and scraped her knees and hands. A sharp branch grabbed at her shirt and ripped it, and she screamed, thinking she had been caught by something far more nefarious. Yep, it was safe to say that the young girl was in over her head.

Twisting to free herself, her flight continued. She couldn't slow down. That's how he gets you.

Not even a full day before, Izelair Beaumont was at home, sketching her latest artwork and enjoying life as best she could given the **** circumstances around her. Things were simply different now that there was some kind of sex virus taking over the world, as if an 18-year-old girl didn't have enough to worry about. She had heard of guys at school being pushy about their sexual desires, but it had reached a whole 'nother level: living in the supposed capital of the Infected as she was, you could venture to the wrong part of the city and be **** by a literal monster, then turned into something else entirely. She shuddered to think of what happened to one of her friends, never seen again after she went to some kind of "Infection party" on the other side of Othrys.

Not that she was judging those who submitted willingly; to her, being Pure wasn't a matter of religiosity or whatever. No, Izelair wanted nothing to do with the Infection for the same reason she never tried cigarettes or ****: she was simply afraid of what might happen. It was a question of control. This attitude had awarded her an A+ character assessment from her parents and teachers before the Infection, but lately it just...didn't seem to matter anymore for many, many people. Her home being near the edge of the city's Pure section, her resolve had been tested on several occasions. Skirting by busty angels, impossibly-fit men and the like clearly enjoying themselves out in the open on the regular, it was getting harder and harder to argue that remaining Pure was the "correct" choice. "Peer pressure" had never been as challenging for a teenager as it was now.

Hearing a knock on her door, Izelair looked up from the sketchbook. Her father poked his head in.

"Izzy, honey, are you busy?"

"Nope, just working on my latest masterpiece."

Her father smiled. "That's a lovely sketch, truly. What is it?"

Izelair laughed. "It's just a bowl of fruit, ya dummy."

"Oh, now I see it haha. Can you come downstairs? We're having a family meeting."

"'kay, just a sec."

"Thank you."

Izelair's legs were on the verge of giving out, that much she could tell. The only break she had gotten was the (momentary) encounter with that elf; everything else had been running and more running. Being in "fight or flight mode" for as long as she had been was wearing on her physically as well as mentally, and despite her limited self-defense training and experiences camping outside, nothing had truly prepared her for the real thing. In the back of her mind she knew the break-neck pace was setting her up for failure, becoming so stressed out to the point where she would make a mistake. It wasn't much later before it happened: so consumed was she with what was behind her Izzy hadn't noticed (again) what was in front of her, a rather steep hill in the forest. Going full speed to the edge, she didn't react in time: her running became a forward tumble before devolving into a full head-over-heels roll as she fell. Down the hill she went, completely out of control until she slammed chest-first into a tree. All air was forcibly expelled from her lungs, to the point where she couldn't even cry out in pain.

Picking herself up as best she could, Izelair stumbled to her feet and spit out blood. At this point, based on her condition, she could only hope her pursuer had given up, finding her to not be worth the effort of the chase. Although she couldn't afford to assume that, she knew. That's how he gets you.

As her father turned to leave her room, Izelair pondered on the nature of this meeting. They hadn't had a family meeting since the establishment of Othrys had begun in earnest, assuaging fears and helping to reestablish some normality. Things had gotten weirder than ever outside the house, certainly, but for the most part the Beaumonts had continued on as they were since before. Izzy and her older brother maintained their sibling rivalry, trading friendly barbs and making funny faces at each other when their parents weren't looking; in turn they would roll their eyes at the youngsters and chuckle over their morning coffee. Her father was a teacher at a school open to the Infected, while her mother was a gym trainer - although with the Infection putting her out of a job, more or less, she had been looking for new work. Hard to compete with a virus that'll just make you sexy and fit in short work, she was **** to acknowledge.

Izelair got up and left her bedroom, making a pit-stop in the bathroom to wash the graphite off her hands before heading downstairs. Turning the corner to the living-room, she found all the usual suspects...and a woman she didn't recognize. It was impossible to ignore her Infected state: from her wolf ears and tail to the size of her bountiful cleavage, she was an impressive sight that demanded attention. She sat on the window sill across the way, playing with the high heel on her foot whilst running a hand through her hair.

Seeing that Izelair was about to say something, her father intercepted.

"Izzy, this is Ms. Reynolds. She works in a school on the other side of Othrys. She's here to help us out with something."

Izelair's brow furrowed. "What does that mean?"

"Well...remember how we talked about potentially moving? Your mother and I have been talking, quite a lot in fact, and we've decided to move...to the Infected side of the city."

"What?!"

"I know this is a big decision, but we think it would be better for all of us as a family. We wouldn't have to worry about you kids getting Infected by strangers...because we would go ahead with it together. Rip the band-aid off, and start life afresh!"

Her mother nodded in consent. "Sweetie, this is the new normal. We can fight it, or we can go with the flow."

Izelair's mouth was agape in astonishment. She couldn't even begin to think of a response; the girl just looked at each of the smiling faces in the room in turn. Even her brother offered no sign of resistance, seemingly agreeing to this crazy idea. While her body and voice made no moves in either direction, Izzy's mind was alight with a thousand questions, concerns, and moral quandaries. Was she suddenly okay with shedding her fears and becoming Infected? What would that say about her? Or the others in her family, that they could drop their Pure status so willingly? What would she become if she went through with it? Was she even allowed to say no?

Seeing her hesitation, Izelair's father spoke up again.

"Honey, why don't we go first, and you can see for yourself how much better this will be for us? Emily, I think we're ready."

At that, the busty wolf-woman smiled. "Just to reiterate before we start, I have little control over what you'll become: you might end up part-wolf like me, but you might not. Keep a good head on your shoulders and this'll be a...pleasurable experience for everyone."

Izelair stood doubled over with her hands on her hips, taking in what air she could between spitting out more blood. Her pack was on the ground, along with a few tattered remnants of her ripped clothing. 'I can't keep going,', she thought to herself, tears welling in her eyes. 'I've reached my limit.' After hours and hours of fleeing, she had slammed into a wall - or more accurately, a tree - and her endurance had given out. Come what may, she could go no farther.

The snapping of a twig behind her brought Izelair out of her despair. Putting her back flush to the tree, she tried her best to remain as silent as possible, hoping beyond hope that it was nothing to fear. A tear streaked down her face, for she knew the truth. He was here.

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"GOT YOU!!"