Infection Ch. 05

"Ma'am, sit down or I'll have you arrested!"

Jessica, realizing that she wasn't going to win this battle, backed off. The tech led Mike to a room in the back.

"What makes you think that you have contracted an STD?"

"The girl I slept with told me she had passed it to me. Also, I have been experiencing the symptoms that she described."

"What symptoms?"

"Ah, this will be hard to believe, but, when I'm near someone who is also infected, such as my mom, or the girl, it smells like they stink to high heaven. When we touch, it burns and leaves a red rash, though it fades quickly. And, I, uh… I… get aroused and desperate for sex a lot."

The tech looked at him. "Is this some kind of joke? If it is, I'll see you in jail."

"I know it's weird, but if you get my mom in here, I can show you the burning and rash."

"You're serious."

"Yes."

"Okay, wait here."

The tech went out and called Jessica back. "Mrs. Sikes," he said as they walked back to the room. "You're son has made some outlandish claims about this disease. If you can't verify his story, I'll call the police. I don't like having my time and the resources of this clinic wasted."

In the room, the tech noted that both Sikes had grimaced, as if smelling a skunk. He turned towards Kevin and ordered, "Show me."

Kevin looked apologetically at his mom and reached out and grabbed her arm. They both cried in pain. A red rash appeared where they were touching. The tech raised his eyebrows.

"I don't know how that is possible. Let's draw some blood."

While he was drawing blood, he asked them about their sexual history. They told him about the initial infections and the onset of symptoms. He seemed taken aback by the incredibly short incubation time. Once the blood was drawn, he advised them to remain celibate until they could be treated. He got contact information for the two people they had had sex with since infection (Mike did not tell about the hooker). He promised to call them with results the next day.

"Can't you give us something to kill this bug, whatever it is?"

"Without knowing what it is, we can't treat it properly."

"Hell, just give us some antibiotics."

"First, I'm not a doctor, so I can't prescribe anything. Second, indiscriminate use of antibiotics is what results in resistant strains. Look, it's clear you're in no danger of dying in the next 24 hours, so just wait until tomorrow and we'll know what to do."

Disgusted, Jessica stormed out of the clinic, her son following close behind. She prepared to get into her car and looked at him.

"Kevin, go home, I'll be back later."

"Mom." He knew what she was going to do. He had known what she did on her ‘nights out' for over five years. "You can't. you'll spread it."

"So what? It's not fatal. It doesn't really hurt you."

Grabbing her arm, he shouted, "Is this, not being hurt!"

Her hand swung and a slap echoed from his face. "Don't you dare! I am your mother and you will do as I say. Now go home and shut up."

Kevin knew he couldn't win. If it weren't for the burning, he would consider hauling her home by force. But, he would never be able to keep it up long enough to keep her there. Meekly, he left his car, hoping that once the disease was identified, that someone would take steps to stop the spread. Anyway, he had to call Shelly, warn her.

Once he was upstairs, he dialed her number, ignoring the late hour. There was no answer. He tried her cell and found that it was out of service, telling him it was turned off. "She only turns it off when she's at home," he thought to himself. "I need to go there, tell her. First, though, I need to jack off. This is killing me."

The bacteria had him so aroused and desperate that it only took less than a minute of stroking himself, to cum. He was surprised to see just how much semen he produced. No stranger to masturbation, he knew that there was no way that he would normally produce that much cum, just eight hours after the last time he came. He assumed, correctly, that this was a byproduct of the infection.

He drove to Shelly's house and was surprised to find a light on. "If she's at home, why didn't she answer the phone?" he thought. He went up to her door and knocked. There was no answer, though he could hear noise through the door. He knocked harder. The noise paused briefly and resumed. Then he heard an all too familiar scream. "Damn! Shelly's cumming."

Trying the door, it opened and he walked in. The light was visible under Shelly's bedroom door. Walking to it, he heard two voices. He knew he would catch hell for this, but he opened her door to see her rolling off of Brent Harcourt. Everyone seemed to speak at the same time.

"Shit!"

"Kevin! You ass! What are you doing here?"

"Shelly! My God you can't be doing this!"

Shelly's anger rose up at light speed. Seemingly unaware of her nudity, she came to her feet and slapped Kevin across the face before the stench registered. Pain erupted in her hand and red showed on her hand and Mike's face.

"Shelly. It's some kind of STD. The stench, the pain when we touch. It's some kind of new VD thing. We have to not give it to anyone else."

"God damn bitch! You dosed me with some fucking disease?"

"Brent, I didn't know. In fact, it sounds too crazy. Mike, how can a disease make us stink only to each other and have our touch become painful? It doesn't make sense."

"I know it doesn't, but it's happening. It's affected my mom too. She caught it from someone else and now she stinks and we hurt when we touch."

"Wait a minute," Brent interrupted. "Just which disease are you talking about? Diseases don't make you stink."

"This one is new," Mike said. "Jarod Michaels says it came from some meteor. It infected him, then he infected Marie Foster. She infected me…"

"You had sex with Marie Foster!"

"Please, Shelly. She came onto me, practically threw herself on me. It was the disease."

"Not for you, it wasn't. You could have said no."

"Well, look at you. You're in bed with someone else too."

"I couldn't help it. Do you have any idea how horny I got?"

"You could have called me, or rubbed off. That's what I've been doing."

"Like you did with Marie?"

"Uh, Shelly, Kevin? What does this disease do?"

Kevin looked at Brent. "As near as I can tell, it makes you super horny every few hours, painfully so if you let it go too long. It makes anyone else with the disease stink to high heaven to you. And the touch of anyone else that is infected causes this burning pain and the red marks."

"Do you mean to tell me that you can't have sex with the same person twice?"

"Yes… no you can't. Well, I suppose if you're into lots of pain you could. It seems to be very contagious too."

Shelly asked, "Masturbating helps?"

"It did for me."

They all looked at each other. Shelly and Brent did not want to believe Kevin, but the evidence of the marks, and for Shelly, the stink, was hard to ignore. As they stood there, they became cognizant of the fact that two were naked and covered in sexual fluids.

Shelly spoke up first. "I want to get cleaned up, dressed."

"Yeah, you both should. I'll wait in the living room."

"I'll take a shower after you, Shelly." Brent pulled a sheet around himself and waited for Shelly to finish.

In short order, the two had cleaned up and all three sat in the main room of Shelly's flat. A silence hung in the air, oppressive in what wasn't being said.

Kevin spoke up, standing as he did. "I'd better go. I only came over to tell you about the infection. Brent, you should stay the night. If you two stink to each other in the morning, you'll know that you caught it. That's how long it took for us. Oh, and don't sleep together unless you like waking in pain." Shelly grimaced at the reminder of the previous morning. Kevin left, returning to his apartment.

Harold Griswald was having a really good day. He had already jacked off once this afternoon and was horny again by nine. He was thrilled to find that his sexual endurance, a thing of legend in his youth (or so he told himself), had returned. He wasn't about to waste this on his right hand. He left his place and drove to the Hungry Lion, a bar that was frequented by singles on the make.

Harold was not much to look at. He had a beer gut, his face was not a chiseled vision of manhood and he was noticeably older than the average customer in the bar. Yet, his reputation, with small town efficiency, was well known. The word of his abilities during yard sales caused a few of the women in the bar to overlook the obvious physical shortcomings and focus on the thought of having found a potential partner who knew how to make a woman feel good in bed.

Harold took stock of the bar, noticing three ladies who were eying him with interest instead of disdain, or worse. Only one was a looker and she was surrounded by other, younger guys. Harold did not want to have to work at it tonight, so he concentrated on the less than heavenly visions. He took a table that was equidistant from the two and sat where he could see both. One was a bit short, only 5 feet 2 inches with breasts that were proportional (about apple sized) and a bit of extra weight on her thighs. The second was taller, 5 feet 7 inches, but had breasts too large for her frame, almost like a short Dolly Parton. Everything about her spoke ‘bought and paid for'.

The waitress came over to take his order. "I'll have a white Russian and give the lovely lady over there another of whatever she's having, on me."

"I can do that."

He watched her bring the lady her drink and, when she looked back at him smiling, he raised his own glass in a beckoning gesture. She left the girl she was with and came over to his table.

"Thanks for the drink. My name's Liz."

"Harold. Nice to meet you Liz. You're looking very lovely tonight."

She blushed at the compliment. "Not really. There are lots of others prettier than me."

Harold understood the secret to good flattery. It had to contain an element of truth, the more the better. Liz would not be flattered by being told she was gorgeous because she knew it wasn't remotely true. "Maybe. But I didn't say pretty, I said lovely. Lovely is a description of the entire woman, inside and out. The way you looked at me put me at ease. You seemed very comfortable in this meat market, telling me you have self assurance. Put that all together in a nice wrapper, and we have lovely."

Liz was blown away by this suave gentleman and his self confidence. Over the course of the next fifteen minutes, he had her talking about herself while he listened intently. Taking advantage of the fact that anyone who comes to the Hungry Lion regularly is looking for sex, he broached the subject somewhat openly.

"Would you like to go home with me? I'd like to continue complimenting you in a more direct fashion."

"If you're as good at that as you have been here, I'd like that."

"Do you have your own car?"

"No, I came with my friend. So I guess I'm all yours."

They left, Liz giving a thumbs up to her friend who winked back and mouthed, "Call me."

Harold opened the passenger door for Liz and then got in the driver's seat. On the drive back to his house, his hand rested on her leg, lightly caressing it without straying under her skirt. Her hand rubbed the arm that was reaching over. Her touch was electrifying and Harold found that his cock was hardening with some speed. She was turning into a vision of beauty in Harold's eyes. He could smell her female scent, evidence that she was becoming aroused as well. He could not see it from his seat in the car, but Liz's nipples were erect, trying to poke through the fabric of her blouse, unfettered by a bra. Her pussy had become damp, moisture forming on her lips, within the confines of her panties, which had nothing to do with the temperature.

At his house, Harold once again opened the door for Liz (he was a holdover from a different age). Leading her by the hand, they walked up to the house and went inside. The sight of his living room spoke widower but not mourning. There was a picture of he and his former wife on one wall and feminine decorative touches remained in the room, almost shrine like. The overriding theme was all man, however, speaking to the feminine parts as honor instead of reverence. Liz was immediately comfortable in the house, the traces of Mrs. Griswald reassuring her that the man who lived here would treat any woman with kindness and respect. Neither noticed the blinking on the answering machine.

Liz turned towards Harold, wrapped her arms loosely around his neck and kissed him lightly on the lips. Harold's arms encircled her waist and drew her closer so that he could take the kiss up a notch. His tongue probed her mouth and found a receptive partner in her own. As their tongues danced, hands moved on their own accord, looking for places that sparked reactions in the other. Harold found the nape of Liz's neck. She responded to the pressure against it with moans from her lips. She pressed her head back against his fingers, inviting pressure to keep her in the kiss. His other hand found a responsive ass that wiggled under the caresses he lavished on it. For her part, Liz's hands found that a scar underneath his shirt (bullet wound from Vietnam) provoked whimpers from him as well as throbbing motions from his cock, resting against her belly. While his hair seemed to do nothing for him, she loved the way it felt sliding though her fingers.

When their kiss broke off, they, by an unspoken agreement, began to remove their clothes, working their way to the bedroom as they did. Harold set Liz on the bed and began to caress her in earnest. When she tried to bring her own hands up to caress him as well, he gently took them and moved them back to the bed. He started with her breasts, drawing circles on them with his fingers, little spirals that reached her nipples and left them after lingering there briefly. She arched her back, trying to make the contact stronger, firmer.

Once her nipples had reached rock like stiffness, poking up like little rockets, he bent his mouth to them and let the tip of his tongue flick across one, then the other. Each brought a cry from her along with an arch that left only her head and feet in contact with the bed. His hands firmly pressed her back to the bed and held her there while he repeated the sensual torture with his tongue. When her arms came up to pull his head close, he grabbed them and trapped them in one hand. Her body, trapped on the bed with one hand and rendered unable to bring him closer with his other, writhed under the not quite assault on her breasts.

Her cries took the form of pleading. "Please, more, I need more." For quite a while, he ignored her pleas, holding her firm, barely licking at her breasts. When she had reached the state of being a writhing mass of desire, unable to find words to express what she wanted, he let the hand on her belly slide to her mound, cupping it, while his mouth took an entire nipple and areola into it. A barely understood, "Yes!" echoed off the walls as her crotch humped his hand. Harold held his hand perfectly still, firmly against her cunt, but not pressing against it hard, and let her own motions rub him against her. His hand was in just the place where she could not get her clit against it, causing her to moan in frustration.

Liz was hot, and not just in a sensual way. Her body was warm and flushed from the long arousal it had been forced to endure. Harold's slow teasing had taken 45 minutes so far, and he was still at it. His own cock was painfully hard, yet he made no move to get relief, letting precum spill out the tip and run slowly down the sides. Taking her to the next level, he bent his middle finger so that it penetrated her lips on the next hump. Liz gasped at the feeling of penetration, finally obtained. Her thrusts increased in pace and force, fucking herself against his hand and finger. She willingly took herself to a new plateau, knowing that there still wasn't enough to let her cross into orgasm land.

Her breath was now coming in ragged gasps as her body was straining at the limits of endurance. Harold knew she was ready and took his hand away from her pussy. Her cry of, "No!" was stopped when he climbed on top of her, moving her wrists so that one was in each of his hand, pinned to the bed above her head. He was kneeling between her legs, his cock inches away from where she wanted it to be, his head poised directly above hers. Seeing his smile, she did not even think as to whether he would be repulsed and asked for her own personal kink.

"Spit in my mouth, please." Her mouth opened wide, presenting itself as a target.

Harold was surprised, but not shocked, at the request. He had had many lovers with many strange requests. This was just another one. He let spit build up in his mouth and then forced it out to drip into her waiting orifice. She moaned in clear ecstasy, gurgling his mouth's liquids before swallowing and opening wide again. he built up another batch and, as he slowly penetrated her pussy, let it drip into her mouth in the middle of the gasp caused by his thrust. This time, she forced it back out of her mouth to run across her cheeks and chin.

"More," she begged, her mouth closed.

In response, he let a dribble of spit land on her face randomly with every stroke he made into her. His pace was maddeningly slow for her. His legs were positioned to make it hard for her to thrust back with any force. She did extract one of her hands at one point, using it to smear the spittle on her face all over her, down onto her neck and breasts. When he saw what she was doing, he let the other hand loose and it joined the first. She smeared the stuff all the way down to her hips, where one finger managed to touch her clit. The contact, so long sought, was like a sledgehammer of pleasure, pulling a scream from her and tipping her into her orgasm.

Her whole body began to shake under Harold, the glitter of light in the fluid covering her, becoming a multi-colored rainbow. Her cunt spasmed and gripped at the cock that was still sliding into her, sending Harold into his own climax. Cum erupted from his cock and filled her, so it felt. He cried out as his cock pulsed five full streams of semen and several lesser pulses, all filled with alien bacteria. Spent, both collapsed on the bed, Harold having just enough presence of mind to do it sideways, so as to not crush Liz.

"That was so fucking fantastic," she moaned.

"So, you like it messy?"

"God, yes. Thank you so much. Most guys are grossed out."

"What's so gross about a woman's face when she's in heaven?"

They both laughed a little at his intentional missing of the point.

"Do you want to clean up, or do you prefer to sleep messy too?" he asked.

"I like sleeping in everything left on me from sex, but it usually trashes the bed."

"I do know how to wash my sheets," he replied, tracing a finger though the slick liquid covering her.

She wriggled against his touch, giggling. "Careful, you will have to follow through with any promises that finger makes."

"I'm up to it."

"Unfortunately, I'm not. I have to work tomorrow morning. I suppose I should get back home."

"Okay. I'll give you a lift."

"No, that's okay. My friend will come and get me. She's going to want all the details and the ride will give me a chance. You stay here, I'll call her on my cell."

"If you're sure?"

"Yes, I am. You were wonderful Harold, and I want to do more someday. Are you having your yard sale again on Saturday?"

"Every week, like cock work."

They both laughed again as she rolled out of bed and retrieved her clothes and cell. In reality, she knew better than to call her roommate. She should be in bed with her own guy and would resent any call less than life threatening. She called a cab and was shortly on her way home.