You aren't turning!

Your busty, dark-skinned futanari **** slumps atop you in slow, languid thrusts: your insides glow about your genitals and lower belly, tingling with an almost-sore glow of throbbing satisfaction. The feeling of her hot cum smearing-around inside of you only makes it feel better. But when you think about it, you should've definitely been infected by now, and while your mind might enjoy the excuse, you don't feel any aphrodisiac-like symptoms of the virus either. The blonde, dusky futanari's body eases to a slow collapse atop yours, resting her heavy pierced tits atop your own fair-skinned breasts in an incredibly comfortable press.

Your pink lips open while your head tilts back... "Aaaah!" You coo in satisfaction and ease, and the sound of your voice embarrasses you. You're a bit tired, but your mind keeps racing with the question: where's your dick? Why are your brains still here? -wasn't this the end?

That's when your mind blips-back to an old documentary you saw on television years ago. People who's ancestry came from the areas impacted worst by the Black Plague tended to have excellent immune systems- those rare few people immune to HIV tended to have those genes. Your blue eyes slowly widen when you recall your great-grandparents came to America from that same part of Europe...

You, Anna White, are immune to the infection! Tremendous viral loads swim in your utterly creamed pussy, but the fat infected dick in you can't pass on the disease. You've been fucked by a futanari for hours without turning and, despite her best attempts, the blonde-haired brown-skinned futa atop you has actually exhausted itself in the attempt to infect you.

You can't help but smile giddily even as you are pinned to the mobile RV bed. Your thoughts surge with optimism: there's only one futanari here as far as you can tell, you won't get sick, and this isn't the end of your life! ... All the stress the epidemic has caused you melts like ice to thin, broken, tiny sheets of lingering worries, as you simply enjoy the revelation that life will go on...

... but not worrying about your life reminds you that you've been fucked by a dickgirl with the lewdest body you've ever seen, you've been filled vaginally with semen and you're still pinned-down naked in a bed. You try thinking about it for a few minutes and decide what you need is rest. If you're already being fucked, you kind-of don't have to worry about getting mauled by another futanari, so you relax your body against the dusky futa's and rest your head on the bed.

Occasionally, you feel them groping your body in weak strokes and squeezes; although infected- the futanari only has so much energy to spend before even they need a rest. You are comfortable and you have cum who-knows how many times, so against soft sheets and an even softer body, you relax and ease-off surprisingly quickly to sleep...