Try & Help Him

Brad debates it in his head and then finally decides to go and help the poor man. Quickly but quietly he runs inside. The man has his dick in one bimbo and the other bimbo has her dripping cunt over his face. No one is looking at the door but there are a lot of feral growls and moans coming from the group. Brad runs over to the bimbo over his head and does a quick kick to her head. Brad tries to put it out of my mind that he is kicking a woman but it keeps nagging him.

She quickly slumps over ****. The next bimbo gets the same treatment but starts to get up so Brad quickly slams his shoe into her eye again. Finally, she slumps over. Meanwhile outside another delivery boy walks by and sees the woman on the ground. He screams and runs over to the door and seals it shut with his room service cart. Through the door, he can faintly hear him scream "Murderer!"

Brad groans and turns his attention back to the man. He seems to be fine. Cum is all over his dick and pussy juice is on his face. Slowly he starts to get up and say thanks but halfway through he collapses screaming in pain. He realizes that he couldn't save him in time.

His wildly messy hair slowly begins to flow out and turn a luscious red. Slowly his face becomes narrower and more feminine while his body shrinks to feminine proportions. His nipples quickly grow perk and begin to almost throb. With each throb, his breasts get bigger and bigger until his shirt rips at a full E cup. The man's screams slowly turn to moans as he masturbates with his slowly shrinking penis and his huge breasts. Finally, his penis slips into his body as his ball sack splits into a labia. He keeps fucking himself for a second then he notices Brad standing there in the corner.

There's no helping this man anymore. I need to get out, now but she is blocking the path to the door. There's only one other way outside, an open window. But we're several floors off the ground, jumping out might as well be suicide. Still, it beats the alternative--if I die I won't infect anyone else.

I pick up a coffee table and chuck it at the bimbo to distract her. Before she can react, Brad dashes to the window and without a moment of hesitation he leaps out of it as far as he can go. He clenches his eyes shut as he feels the sensation of weightlessness and the icy wind slicing past him.

Brad hears screams. The ground is close. He brace for impact, wishing he had enough time for his life to flash by before his eyes. But instead of landing on grass or concrete, he feels his body slap against water. His body wrapped up tight in a ball, he sinks at least a dozen feet.

Brad has no idea which way is up or down so he holds his breath and lets himself float back to the surface. Finally, he feels the water pressure diminish and pop up into the crisp evening air. He gasps for breath and looks around. He is in a swimming pool, several dozen other hotel guests gaping disbelievingly at his feat.

"Don't go back inside the hotel!" Brad gasp when his heart slows long enough for him to steady his voice. "People are infected with the bimbo virus in there! Somebody call the police! I barely got out..." A lifeguard pulls him out of the water.

"Calm down there, amigo. That was a stupid thing you did there. What the hell is a bimbo virus, anyway?" Brad tries to explain, but all he can do is cough out water. Well, he is safe now. Safer, anyway. He could find a taxi and leave the hotel, but he doesn't have anything with him. No luggage, no money, not even any identification. He could try to go back and get it. There's no other way to leave the country without them. But he just leaped out a window to save himself. If he goes back and finds himself cornered, he may not be so lucky.

Brad decides not to take any chances and gets as far away from the hotel as he possibly can. He doesn't know what to do or where to go, but anywhere is better than at the hotel where men and women are being turned into bimbos and fucking everyone in sight. If he only had a few quarters he could make a phone call and have his bank transfer some money. Still sore from hitting the water at such a great velocity, he drags his aching body down the street, scanning the sidewalk for loose change.

Other tourists and locals give Brad strange looks but don't ask why he is soaking wet and hobbling down the street. He stumbles down the road for over three miles, picking up what money he can find. Luckily, there are a lot of careless tourists and he even manages to grab a twenty-dollar bill fluttering down the street that nobody else cares enough about to pick up. As irritated as he is that so many of his fellow American tourists are wealthy enough to not be bothered with a twenty-dollar bill, he is glad for the money and exchanges it for smaller bills at a corner market.

Brad's thoughts return to his wife, Sarah. What is she doing now? Is she busy fucking some other woman, squealing in pleasure as she dips her fingers in someone's moist vagina? How many people has she infected by now? Ten? Three? Fifteen?

Brad feels angry at her, even though he knows it's not really her fault. In a way, he is almost feel jealous of her. The thought of living a carefree, open, sex-dominated life... being drop-dead gorgeous, and making out with other beautiful women all day long... Brad starts to get an erection, thinking of a squirming, moaning mass of pale, soft arms, legs, and breasts.

But no. Brad is a logical, rational man and he is running for his very existence. He finds a bank with a teller that speaks English well. After a lot of explaining, Brad calls his local bank and has them talk to the teller. After forty-five minutes of frustrating questions, he walks out of the bank with five hundred dollars in his pocket. That's much better now.

Brad can't leave the country without his passport, unfortunately, but now he has enough to make it on his own and does not need to worry about starving or sleeping on the streets at night. All of a sudden he hears sirens wailing through the streets. A minute later, several fire trucks, ambulances, a news truck, and even a few armored cars zoom past him. He realizes that they're heading in the direction of the hotel. Whatever is going on down there can't be good.

Brad silently prays that Sarah stays safe. He watches as the vehicles disappear into the distance. Just as he turns around, he sees a woman standing directly in front of him. She is wearing a tank top that is far too small on her; her breasts extrude through the fabric in a way that leaves little to the imagination. She is holding up a pair of ripped jogging shorts in her hands. Her long, blonde hair reaches down to her waist in a series of cute curls. "Hi," she smiles nervously. "My name is Eva. I had a little accident... can I use your phone?"

She is so beautiful... "I'm sorry, I don't have one with me," Brad replies, trying not to stare at her breasts. The woman looks disappointed.

"But I really need help... these clothes... I don't know what happened, they just... they just don't fit me anymore. I don't feel right and don't have any money... I know this is a huge favor to ask, but could you get a cab and get me to the hospital?" Brad tenses his body, ready to bolt at any moment. The woman might be infected. But she hasn't tried to seduce him or anything yet and she knows that something's not right. Maybe he can still help her...