COVID-69:

Quarantines Are For

Virgins!

By Opal Strykes
©2020 by Opal Strykes
All rights reserved. Copyright under Berne Copyright Convention, Universal Copyright
Convention, and Pan-American Copyright Convention. No part of this book may be reproduced,
stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted in any form, or by any means, electronic, mechanical,
photocopying, recording or otherwise, without prior permission of the author.
Author's note: All characters depicted in this work of
fiction are 18 years of age or older.
Once the panic buying started, there was no way to quell the public’s chaos
without a national shutdown. No stores could remain open, no airports could keep
flying, no taxis running, no offices working; people would need to stay home and
wait for the virus to come under control.

The biggest problem with viruses is their instability; what starts out as nearly
harmless can take on an insane rate of lethality in just a few generations. COVID-
19 had already proven to be deadly when preexisting conditions were involved,
and there was no telling whether it could grow deadly for the perfectly healthy,
too.

***

Maricia was in the supermarket, searching desperately for… well, anything, at that
point. There was no meat, no rice, no toilet paper, no napkins, no hand sanitizer, no
soap, no bleach, no canned goods, no milk, and for some godforsaken reason, no
mustard. What the hell was wrong with people?

It was vicious cycle: one person panics and buys too much of something, then
people notice and become afraid there won’t be any left, so they go out and buy too
much of something, and then more people notice that and buy even more excess
than their predecessors. Maricia was engaged in that cycle, searching for
something to put on her own shelves at home in spite of the fact that she wouldn’t
be starving any time soon. The fear that others would have something and she
would have nothing was enough to push her into a dangerous situation in search of
a solution.

At the end of her trip, she’d managed to scrounge up less desirable food items,
along with some staples that could be used to make the conveniences she’d grown
too used to. As an office drone, her workplace was one of the first to be shut down,
since nobody would particularly miss their presence; learning to bake bread would
be good for her.
Unbeknownst to her, she’d also gotten the least desirable item of all: a newly
mutated virus, courtesy of a shelf stocker with no paid sick leave and three kids to
take care of.
***

The primary symptoms of COVID-19 have to do with the respiratory system; those
infected report coughing, shortness of breath, and sore throats. Mild flu-like
symptoms are often present as well, but its main target tends to be the throat and
lungs.

What Maricia had didn’t give two fucks about a throat, or a pair of lungs, or even
giving her a real fever. Her temperature went up after a day of exposure, sure, but
it wasn’t the uncomfortable, sweaty heat of disease; instead, she found herself
flushed with arousal, though lovemaking was the farthest thing from her mind at
that point.

It also had some pronounced physical effects on her body. Her lips swelled
slightly, from the thickness of a pencil to that of the lipstick tube she’d suddenly
found herself awfully fond of. Pinks and reds seemed especially appealing out of
seemingly nowhere, when previously her favorite color had been a marigold
yellow; she smeared a bubblegum pink lipstick across her fattened, juicy lips,
ogling herself in the mirror with wide blue eyes.

Her breasts grew four sizes, though not all at once; throughout the second day of
her infection, she could feel a gentle pressure against the taut ivory skin of her
bosoms, and she would rip off whatever shirt she’d bothered with so she could get
at her nipples—which matched her new favorite lipstick, she later realized when
admiring herself in the mirror—and pinch them soothingly, letting her pussy drool
on the couch.

Every soft pouch of feminine collagen, like her thighs and buttocks, felt extra
sensitive. On the third day, after waking up from a vivid wet dream and
desperately needing to put something inside of her tight, rarely-used cunt, she
stopped to look at herself in the mirror. Her breasts and butt were approximately
the same gargantuan size, and she took a deep breath before giving her ass a light
slap. Just as soon as her palm hit the soft flesh, she squealed, face turning red.

Before her infection, Maricia had been a timid girl who believed in the importance
of romance over sexuality, and now she was paying the price by not having
anything particularly phallic in the house. As she searched, panting with a growing
need, she let her hand wander down to her clitoris, which sent instantaneous bursts
of electric pleasure through her entire body. She groaned, then ran to her bed,
attacking her clit with one hand while she pinched and slapped a breast with the
other. This would get her through the moment, sure, but even as she edged closer
and closer to a marvelous orgasm she knew that this wouldn’t work a second time.
She needed cock. No, she needed cocks, plural, lots of thick, throbbing organs to
stuff in every orifice until she was choking on hot baby batter. She wanted to be
chained to bedposts and used until not a man on earth had a drop of semen left to
spill.

The worst part, she thought even as her body rocked and her voice rang through
the apartment with a scream induced by climax, was that there were surely other
nasty infected whores who wanted the same thing. If she didn’t act soon, some
other bitch would get to the cocks that were rightfully hers.

Throwing on just enough clothing not to get arrested for public indecency, Maricia
fled her house, long blonde hair flying behind her as she searched for a sign of
what she craved.

Just as she’d suspected, other sluts were on the lookout for something to grind their
hot cunts against. Some lacked the self-control to even find a man, and had begun
pressing themselves against fence posts and water spigots.

Then, Maricia noticed a contrast to all the female curves on the street: a man, one
whose face she recognized but body she didn’t. Apparently the virus improved
everyone it infected, not just women: Jared, an assistant manager in her office, was
the sort of guy who went years at a time without getting laid due to his awkward
mannerisms and pudgy body, which no doubt was exacerbated by a below-average
penis. But now, his body looked average at worst and his cock was ten inches hard.

Stripping as she went, Maricia prepared to launch herself at him, but another skank
got in the way, first stuffing as much of it down her throat as she could manage
before pulling away and spreading her asscheeks.

There were more men, horny beasts wandering out of their houses in a daze, and at
one point Maricia was two feet away from a door when it opened to reveal a foot-
long rod.

This time, she managed to jump onto him, knocking the man onto the ground while
she pressed her dripping vagina against his cock, asking permission silently. He
gave it to her by grasping her hips and pushing her down on his cock, forcing every
inch inside of her at once without the least bit of care or patience.

She shrieked in pleasure, her eyes the size of dinner plates, and with help from his
hands bounced up and down on his cock. Maricia could make out a somewhat
familiar face, a man who’d delivered a few pizzas to her house in the past. He had
been nice enough, but painfully normal, and never had Maricia thought she’d ride
him like her life depended on it.

Another man stumbled to the doorway, sizing up the situation before taking his
soft cock in his hand and offering it to Maricia’s lips. She took it as soon as it was
presented, wrapping her mouth and tongue around it before bobbing her neck back
and forth.

It made sense that a delivery man needed a roommate.

While both penises stiffened inside of her, her walls contracting in pleasure with
every jerk, a third man stumbled by the scene, and after a mild hands-only scuffle,
had enough room to stick his rod in Maricia’s mouth, too.

Two cocks in one hole was difficult, but she needed it more than she needed to
breathe; the spit dribbled from the corners of her mouth, coughing not from a virus,
but from the way two heads tickled the back of her throat at once.

Then she felt her back end shift, and the delivery boy moved his body so that his
chest was pressed against Maricia’s enormous heaving jugs. A fourth cock entered
her unlubricated asshole, but there was no room to scream. Her eyes rolled into the
back of her head, accepting her fate as a cumdumpster.

The delivery boy’s cock seized up, thickening for a second before releasing its hot,
musty fluids inside of her cunt, but the sensation of accepting his seed was
interrupted by a second rod prodding her anus. Could she fit two in that hole? It
was the tightest one, not built for such intense penetration, but if they found a way,
she wouldn’t try to stop them.

How many men were there, anyways? She’d originally thought that there wouldn’t
be one man for every woman, but now there were five cocks inside of her, and as
more hot breath reached her skin she knew there were only more approaching.
After the delivery boy pulled out, she was hoisted into the air; with some fussing,
six men divided themselves among her holes equally, tearing all three open with a
voracity unknown to most of mankind. All she could feel were the intensely
pulsing cocks, her body at maximum capacity and drooling every fluid it had to
offer in order to ease the ordeal.

When one man came, leaving his thick, sticky residue inside of her body, another
man would come by and fill the void that he left. She lost track of time after the
tenth load dumped inside of her pussy; she could feel her uterus was slightly
strained, working overdrive to deal with the onslaught of sperm cells looking for
their opportunity. Her own reproductive system was already desperate to start
making babies, but the vigor of the six men handling her at any given time totally
overpowered her body.

The sun threatened to set in the sky, and as though working on a clock, the orgy
began to disperse. When one man came inside of her, there was no one to replace
him; the final six deposited their seed into her well-used body, then retreated to
where they had come from, in need of food and sleep to regain their energy.

This left Maricia gasping for air on the steps of a stranger’s house. Her pussy was
dripping with excess semen, the countless loads blown enough to fill her uterus to
max capacity and push it out a bit, giving the appearance of her being four months
pregnant. Her asshole was still spitting out the white liquid, which pooled on the
concrete and coated her ass in a thick film that stuck to every pebble it ground
against.

Her throat and jaw were sore, the imprint of dozens of cocks made deeply on her
lips. Even as she breathed, her mouth mimicked the motion of sucking a shaft as
though she couldn’t breathe without one.

After a few minutes of rest, though, her body responded more strongly to the
human need of energy conservation and regeneration than it did to exhaustion. She
got to her feet, trembling, then walked back to her house, sighing gently as the
vitreous fluids dripped from two holes, painting a gooey white trail from the
delivery boy’s house to her own.

She hoped that he would use that trail to find her again; though she was done for
the day, she knew that this was nowhere near the end. The virus was still strong in
her system, and not until the zygote was planted onto her uterine wall would it
allow her to rest; COVID-69’s sole purpose was frenzied human reproduction.