A religious couple in one of the upper floors.

You wish you had been born a demoness; mortality pales in comparison to what you now feel.

The pleasure you give yourself as you trek the halls is beyond anything mortals could hope for. You stop to admire your beauty in the mirror of an open apartment. In addition to horny, you've also become very vain. You admire yourself for a long time as you cup your tits and frig yourself with your tail, marveling at what a luscious piece of demonic ass you are.

Most of this floor is empty; the lingering smell of cum tells you that everyone on this floor has either fled or been turned. A quick glance outside shows the building has been cordoned off, but the cops are too occupied with their orgy to do anything else. Others show up, in time to watch their fellow officers transform and attack them.

You laugh with glee; the Master's plan is working well. Still, you aren't getting sex this way. While you could survive on the residuals in the air, you crave lust like mortals crave air.

Hunger drives you upward, to the twentieth floor. Several moans of lust emanate from the apartments, and you see at least three humans in varying states of fornication and transformation.

You detect the sweet scent of an untouched male and female behind one of the locked doors. Your crimson lips twist into an evil sneer as you formulate a plan.

You rush the door, screaming hysterically and pounding on it with your fists. "LET ME IN! THEY'RE AFTER ME, PLEASE LET ME IN!!"

The moment of compassion by the male leads to their downfall. He opens the door, shocked to see you on the other side. He reaches into his pocket for something, leaving himself open to your backhand shot. The mortal sails across the room, crashing into the bookcase and wall and knocking himself ****.

The woman screams, backing quickly against the kitchen counter and holding her crucifix necklace before her. The sight of that hated symbol pains you, as anger replaces your arousal.

"Stay...stay back!" she shrieks, nearly stumbling over the trash can she just knocked over.

You hiss, baring your fangs and slashing with your claws. "Drop that fucking cross!" you snarl.

"Yea...though I walk...through the valley of..."

"I'm going to fuck you senseless," you spit. "You will serve Master Satan, whore!"

She shakes her head no, her tears matting her short brown bangs. She reaches back for a weapon, and seizes a pan as you slash forward with your claws.

You miss the necklace, slashing instead down the middle of her sweater and bra. Your ruddy flesh grazes the holy symbol; you shriek in pain from the third-degree burn.

The mortal woman brandishes her iron skillet and holds the cross up once more. Her destroyed clothing exposes a luscious, creamy run of cleavage. Despite the risk she poses, you hunger to use her, to take her...