How the virus had caused them to change. To mutate…
And it was happening to her now, too.
The dick strain she had clearly caught from the buxom air hostess aboard the 2:52 flight from Finland to North Virginia was merging inside her body with the VG1NA strain, the… vagina strain.
The two strains were combining inside her body, rocketing from her genitals to her brain and back again, splicing her cells with the virus, changing her very being from human to… something else.
The intern screamed a terrified scream as Dr Amyson’s skin transformed into a deep, crimson shade of red. Tiny bumps grew from her skin—which Dr Amyson instantly recognised as protein spikes—she had never seen them so clearly before. So closely. So… sexy...
Her lab top burst open, her boobies now so big, so red, that just glancing at them was like staring into the centre of the sun. It was a glorious, yet intoxicating sight. And the intern had fallen into their spell.
But her vagina. Oh, her vagina.
It was lean and muscular, like a thicc slab of freshly butchered, high-quality meat hanging in an abattoir window. It oozed pleasure fluid, which the sexy intern couldn’t resist. She dropped to her knees and began slurping at it like she’d been shipwrecked on an island for weeks and Dr Amyson’s vagina was a delicious glass of Pepsi.
Power coursed through Dr Amyson’s veins. She felt like she could take on an entire army—both strength-wise, and sexually. As the intern gnawed at her pussy flaps, she made sounds that Dr Amyson had never heard before. Sounds of hunger. Of pleasure.
Sounds she hadn’t even heard at the microbiology convention.
Dr Amyson grabbed the intern by the waist and pulled her up until their eyes met. At first, the intern looked taken aback. Maybe even a little scared. But then slowly, gently, carefully, their lips met. Dr Amyson felt the intern’s tongue investigate the inside of her mouth, further than any tongue had ever explored. She returned the favour, her own tongue now comparable to a hairless ferret, snaking its way down the intern’s throat which she seemed to like a little bit.
Then, the intern suckled at Dr Amyson’s massive tits. It felt great, and she let her do it for fifteen minutes before returning the favour. Somehow, and this had never happened to her before, but Dr Amyson orgasmed with a nipple between her teeth. It was certainly a day for new experiences.
Power flowed through Dr Amyson’s body like she was the Hoover dam and the lust was the Colorado River. She held the intern in her hands, now tiny like a tiny doll with tiny arms and tiny legs compared to her own—which were not tiny. Just the thought of the power that pulsed through her was enough to bring her to a sticky climax, vaginal fluid erupting from her vagina like it were an Icelandic volcano.
But it was only a taster of the orgasm she knew she was capable of.
Dr Amyson and the intern scissored right there on the floor. They rubbed their vaginas together and moaned and it felt incredible, even better than the time she watched porn with her ex-mother-in-law.
It was insane. Dr Amyson had no words to describe what had happened or how it had happened. It had just happened. It. Happened.
An orgasm slammed Dr Amyson in the ovaries like she’d been shot at with a machine gun. RA TA TA TA TA! Except it wasn’t bullets she was being shot with, it was pleasure, over and over and over until she made a roar so loud and grunty it shook the windows like an earthquake had shifted the very foundations of the building.
Except it wasn’t an earthquake. It was a pleasurequake.
The floor was sodden with juices that had been expelled from their two bodies, from every which orifice (hole) the two of them had. It didn’t matter. It was proof that they had just encountered a sexual release that was unrivalled. Besides, the cleaners would start their shift in twenty minutes, and they’d clean it up so nobody would slip on it.
But what did this mean for Dr Amyson?
She shook hands with the intern and she left the lab, both of them with big, broad smiles on their faces, bigger than all four of their tits combined.
Where would she go now?
What would she do?
She was outside the lab.
She was a new strain. Clearly, the vaccine could not contain it.
But could she contain herself?
She had her doubts.
She was here to stay.
About the Author
M.J. Edwards is a writer, board game enthusiast and trainee exhibitionist. Kissing the Coronavirus 3: The Mutant Strain, came to her in a fever dream after accidentally dropping some of her ferret’s worm medication in her glass of rosé
She is currently on dating app Tinder looking for the next love of her life. Despite three awkward dates, a one-night stand, and a man who spoke through sock puppets, she is yet to give up hope.
For now, her love for writing will do.
Follow her on Twitter @MJEdwardsAuthor
Kissing the Coronavirus 3: The Mutant Strain (Kissing the Coronavirus Chronicles) Page 2
