Caution: This Sex Story contains strong sexual content, including Ma/Fa, Consensual, Oral Sex, Anal Sex, .
Desc: Sex Story: Chapter 1 - There's a plague about. Any woman who catches it needs sex. Has to have it. With any man who's around. So why the hell is Jack looking for a cure?
"I think I've got it," said my wife.
I was reading the newspaper. "Got what?", I asked, absently.
"That infection there's all the fuss about. You know."
I did, of course. Suddenly she had my full attention. And not just my ears - a bulge formed in my trousers.
"Er - yes, I think so. Anything I can do?"
She looked at me with suspiciously-bright eyes. When she blinked, I could see the teardrops beginning to form. She spoke slowly and distinctly, trying to keep herself under control. "You can fuck me. Right now, please!"
I fumbled with my shoelaces.
"No time for that, you bastard - keep the trousers on!" she shrieked. She already had her pants off, and was crouched on all fours on the rug.
I unzipped, and knelt behind her. Reached between her legs and started fingering her clit."
"Hurry up, Jack! No foreplay - please, just get on with it!" She was nearly hysterical by this time. I hurried. Before she'd finished speaking, my cock was inside her, ramming away well. She didn't seem pleased.
"No! NO! UP THE ASS, YOU IDIOT!"
I gulped. We'd done it a couple of times before, out of curiosity, but she hadn't liked it. I'd enjoyed it a lot, as an asshole is quite a bit tighter than a cunt. I got a kick out of bringing Sue to orgasm, though, so I'd never made an issue of it. She preferred the cunt, so I did too. I stood up.
"WHERE ARE YOU GOING? GET BACK HERE NOW!"
"I'm getting some cream, love."
"FUCK THAT! I NEED IT NOW! PLEASE!" Her face was buried in the rug, her hands clasped tightly behind her neck. Her fingers were white with the strain.
I knelt back down, and probed her asshole lightly, then brought my cock up to the target. I tried to push it gently, but as soon as she felt it inside her, she rammed her butt at me and nearly knocked me off balance. I was up to the hilt in her ass, and I wasn't fucking her. She was fucking me. All I could do was try to hold position, as she slammed back at me over and over again. I came in seconds, great spurts of semen shooting up her back passage. We both crumpled to the floor, spooned together, with my cock still inside her. Her breathing was ragged. Well, mine wasn't too steady, either.
Eventually, I disengaged and found her some tissues, then poured us a couple of drinks while she cleaned up.
"Do you want to talk about it?" I asked. "What was it like?"
"Like a red-hot knife! Like an army of fire ants, all crawling around in my ass and biting!"
"But it's OK now?"
"Fine now." She smiled, a little weakly. "A bit sore, but there's no way I could have waited while you found something to lubricate me. Get some KY, and keep it in your pocket ready for the next time, please."
"There'll be a next time, then?"
"Oh, yes. Until they find a cure, we'll be doing this every couple of days."
I knew that. The infection - the 'fuck plague', in street slang - hit suddenly, as it had with Sue. One minute fine, the next, the red-hot knives. It had been reported first a month ago. So far, no cure had been found, though a good fuck made it go away for a day or two.
"But... the ass. That's unusual, isn't it?"
"No, Jack. It isn't. Just doesn't get talked about in the papers much. One of my friends has it both ways, front and back. Her boyfriend's delighted!"
"Well, I'm not! I don't like to see you hurting. Maybe I can do something about it."
"Medical research is a little out of your line, surely?"
"I do DNA research. This is some sort of new critter. Maybe I can find something in its genes that can stop it."
"I wish you would, Jack. Until a half-hour ago, I thought it was funny. Sort of like a dirty joke. I'd heard what it was like, but hearing about it and feeling it are nothing like the same thing. Nothing at all. If you can make it stop for good, you'll be making a lot of girls very happy."
"And grateful?" I asked, with an expectant look on my face.
"I'll be grateful for all of them, love. No more 'headaches'. No more 'not in the mood'. Just find a cure, and you can have me any time you want, any way you want."
"It was that bad, huh?"
"It was. And I don't want a lot of pretty girls being grateful at you!"
She didn't mean it, of course. Women never do. But there were other advantages in finding a cure. Rich and famous, for instance. Anything I worked on, in my own time, outside my sponsored field of study, was mine to sell.
I grinned. "Come on then - what are you waiting for?"
"What do you mean?"
"I mean, put your knickers back on and come with me to the lab. The sooner I get started, the sooner I can claim my reward."
"Now? I'm worn right out!"
"Ok. I can start off here, but I'll need some equipment. I'll go and get it."
"Oh, no you don't! I'm coming with you. And until there's a cure for this, I'm staying as close to you as I can manage."
"You'll be all right for a couple of days. Everybody says so."
"And supposing while you're out my cunt catches fire? Do I wait here screaming for you? No way! I'd be out of the door and raping the first man who came along."
"What? Even poor old Ellis from next door?"
"Even him. He's eighty years old, takes ten minutes to pass by our window, and smells like a badger, but I just know I'd not be able to stop myself!"
She chuckled. I chuckled. Then, suddenly, we were both howling with laughter at the released tension, and the vision of poor old Mr Ellis lying prone on the pavement with Sue sitting astride and riding him for all she was worth.
Eventually, we mopped our eyes and headed for the laboratory. It was out of hours, but as a senior researcher I had 24-hour access. To all parts of the building, which was useful, as our first stop was the medical research section.
I pointed to an examination couch. "Pants off, on there, butt upwards, please."
Sue complied. I applied a neutral lubricant to her anus and to the speculum I was holding, then inserted it.
"This shouldn't take long," I said. "Sorry for any discomfort."
"Don't worry, your lordship. It's been stretched recently, remember?" I certainly did!
With the anal sphincter stretched open, I was able to shine a light inside. As I'd expected, there were some purplish nodules, pinhead-sized, on the rectal walls. I carefully scraped some off, and put them in a small jar containing warmed nutrient. After I'd taken the speculum out, Sue sat up and looked at the jar.
"Don't you mean 'those are they'?"
"Tonight's been pretty weird. I'm taking a time-out from grammar. None of my students are around, you're not going to say anything about tonight - are you?" - I shook my head - "so if I want to break the rules, I will. If I feel the need to wantonly split an infinitive, I'll just go ahead and do it. So - that's them? Did you get them all?"
"That's them, yes. But I didn't get all of them. There are hundreds, and from what I've heard, there's no point in trying to get them all. They just grow back."
"Yes. There's a little research going on right here in this lab. You're not the first lady with your problem to lie on this couch. So, first thing tomorrow, I'm coming in here to pick some brains. Find out what they know that I don't, add in whatever I know and can find out, and we'll see where we go from there."
I dropped the speculum into the steriliser tank. This was the Medical Research section's biggest triumph - a liquid that sterilised thoroughly, without heat. Bacteria, viruses - even the little almost-alive prions - every particle of organic matter was taken apart by it. It had been sold all over the world, and had made a fortune for our laboratories. A godsend to the medical profession, it had also been used by at least one murderer as a high-tech way of disposing of his victim. Still, as I pointed out to Sue at the time, there's no such thing as a completely benign scientific discovery. Everything good can be used for something bad, given enough imagination. I picked up another speculum, and a fresh nutrient jar.
"Right. Back on the couch, face up this time."
"What for? Nothing wrong up there... yet... Oh. I see."
"That's right. I'd like to catch some in the early stages if possible."
She lay down without protest, knees up and wide apart. I used the speculum and light again.
"Anything there?" asked Sue.
"As a matter of fact, there is. There were hundreds in the rectum, but there seem to be thousands here. Only they're pink, not purple. So, maybe not active yet." I took my samples, closed the jar and removed the speculum.
Sue sat up. "Are we done yet? Can we go home?"
"I intend to work here all night. But I'll take you home first."
"No way! Like I said, I'm sticking right next to you!"
"Not a chance. You've got your work - there are a lot of kids looking to you to help them get their degrees. And I've got mine. Which I won't be able to do with you hanging around looking for sex all the time, like some overage groupie!"
"Overage? At least I've still got a full head of hair, not like some people here." She knew where to aim the low blows, all right. That's what ten years of marriage does. "And I won't be after sex all the time, mister! Just when I need it!"
I grinned at her. "And where were you when I needed it? All those years, all those tears, pleading, bleeding..."
"Not the same, and you know it. You just felt a little bit of pressure from your gonads, that's all. NOT red-hot fire-ants!"
"I give in! Just don't hit me again! Seriously, though, you can't give up your work and haunt this place... look, since the 'treatment' lasts nearly two days, suppose I give you a workout every day. Then you're safe."
"Both sides? Every day? Are you up to it?"
"You bet I am, love! I know we normally only make out once a week if I'm lucky, but I'm good for a lot more than that!"
"Can you prove that? Right now?"
We had a wonderful time on that examination couch. Usually, when we made love I had to try very hard to delay orgasm, to give Sue a chance to enjoy herself. This time, not only was she in the right frame of mind at the outset, but I'd already had my balls milked once that evening, and could last more or less as long as I wanted. And I did. After her fourth - or maybe fifth - climax, I finally let myself go and filled her cunt with the same creamy goop that had done her ass so much good an hour or so earlier.
She tottered off the couch, standing with some difficulty. I junked the disposable covers and started to sterilise the plastic surface.
"Wow," she said, finally. "What turned you on so hard?"
"Usually, it's a week or more between our little outings. I'm trying not to cum too soon. So I have to think about anything except what we're doing. This time, I could just relax and enjoy it."
"So, what you're saying is that it's better twice in a day? Why didn't you tell me that years ago?" She chuckled. "Oh, yes, that's right! You have mentioned it once or twice, now I come to think."
I mimed wringing her neck. "Yes. Once or twice. Or maybe a few thousand more. You finally agree with me?"
"Oh, yes, Jack, yes! It's so much better! I'll tell you what - instead of once a week, we'll have to do it twice in a day, once a fortnight! How about that?"
"Fair enough, love. So, today's the fourth. Let's arrange the next double-fuck for the eighteenth. Will you be ready by then?"
She suddenly looked serious. "Joking apart, Jack. While I've got this... problem, I'll need you twice a day, every day. You won't let me down, will you?"
"I won't, honey. You know that."
"Yes, I do really. I'm just scared. You've no idea how much it hurt, or how suddenly it came on. About a minute's warning, then WHAM!"
"And when it's all over, you'll put me back into my kennel, I suppose?"
"I don't know... I'll try not to, love. Maybe not twice a day, but I'll try not to fight so hard. Oh, God, I hope it does end one day."
As we left the room, I looked fondly back at the couch.
"Want to buy it as a memento?" asked Sue.
"Maybe. Or perhaps just a small, tasteful plaque over it. Saying something like Jack Harper had the best fuck of his life on this couch."
"Make that Jack and Sue Harper had the best fuck of their lives," she said, demurely.
On the journey back, we discussed what we'd heard of the disease. The first known cases were reported a month before, in North London, a couple of miles from where we lived. It had spread rapidly; the number of cases was into five figures and nearly doubling every day. It attacked women only - to my great relief, as I wanted neither red-hot fire ants up my ass, nor the alternative.
Nobody knew who found that fresh semen 'put out the fire', but it was discovered very early on, and the word was passed like wildfire, probably by the men. Elderly women didn't get it - the oldest was around sixty. Young girls seemed fairly immune, though there were a few cases. One of these read like a black comedy. An eleven-year-old girl suddenly started screaming in the middle of a family meal. Her mother realised what the problem was, and begged her husband - the girl's stepfather - to do what he had to. He obliged. After he'd shot his load into his little stepdaughter, the girl came out of her hysteria to find him on top of her. She looked to the side, to see her mother holding her hand and trying to smile through the tears. "Oh, Uncle Harry. Is it all right now? I thought you didn't want me to tell mummy," she said. Uncle Harry was now in hospital suffering from knife wounds. Police were waiting to charge him with 'a number of offences of a sexual nature'. The mother had been questioned about attempted murder, but released without charge on police bail. The little girl, after much discussion with the social services and questions raised in parliament, was being serviced by the fourteen-year-old boy next door, who had been her friend for years.
"I'd like to find a cure, if only for that little girl," I said.
"Yes, but then who's going to tell her to stop?" asked Sue. "How can you tell a girl of that age that sex is ok, and necessary to stop the pain, then turn right around and tell her not just that she doesn't need to do it, but she's not allowed to - and won't be for another five years. Not easy! The word on the street is that she wants to move in with the boy."
Normally, in a case like this the child protection laws meant that we would hear nothing at all, or very few details. But the Fuck Plague was on everybody's lips. Everything got passed around, and grew in the telling. We'd heard of the secretary who raped her boss (and was given an immediate salary raise), of a girl running into a crowded restaurant screaming for a volunteer (a young waiter led her into the linen cupboard; she tipped him on the way out), and many similar stories. Urban myths, maybe. Or maybe true. If Sue's reaction was typical, then I was willing to believe more than I would have done the previous day.
Sue came up with one I hadn't heard. A company board meeting. A big company, one of the biggest in the country. The (all-male) board were sitting around after a good lunch, probably discussing how much more they could pay themselves without the shareholders sacking them. Suddenly one of their number started screaming. Thinking that the plague was spreading to men, the other directors kept their distance, except for one of them, who was gay. He took the victim into the executive washroom, and started to apply relief. Then realised that 'he' was a 'she'. She'd managed to keep her gender secret through a horrendous twenty-year climb up the exclusively male promotion ladder.
I left Sue at home, promising to come back at eight o'clock for breakfast, a shower, a change of clothing, and to give her ass another reaming.
Back at the laboratory, I started some tests running on the nodules I'd removed from Sue, and then slipped into the Medical section to read up on their notes. Mostly, they seemed to be doing what I'd have done in their place.
One thing seemed clear. It wasn't semen that gave relief, but sperm. Men who'd had a vasectomy were no use at all. Their wives had to make other arrangements, with or without their husbands' knowledge. Another thing was that the purplish nodules were not cell clusters, but single large cells.
So, they'd taken their purplish cells, put them under the microscope and introduced fresh semen. Sounded dull when written down in scientific terms, but I could imagine the scene. Hilary, a large-chested blonde who, in spite of stereotypes was one of the best upcoming scientific researchers in the country, looking into her microscope and screaming at her assistants: "Come on! Come on! We need that semen NOW!" I smiled, wondering if they'd suggested that she help them get the samples, and whether her dedication would win out over 'office discipline'. Being wanked by a big-titted blonde would certainly be quicker than solo methods.
Reading on, I saw that there was reference to a video clip. I located it, and ran it on the big TV screen. There it was. A solitary purple nodule, occupying about half the picture. Suddenly, from the left of the screen, came a rush of sperm cells. They seemed to be attacking the big cell, hundreds wriggling their way through the cell wall in an almighty gang-bang. The colour of the cell changed, over about twenty seconds, from purple to pink. The notes explained that the cells remained pink for about a half hour, then began changing colour. After another thirty minutes, they were purple again. Forty or so hours after that, the problems started.
And the nature of the problem was this: the pink cell produced a stew of chemicals, mainly hormonal in nature. Or rather, quasi-hormonal. They weren't quite like any human or animal hormones currently known. Newly-purple cells produced more of the same. Then, after that forty-hour rest period, they produced a different mix, containing at least two very irritant chemicals. They felt like strong acid, and in fact they were slightly acidic, but the effect was similar to a spice reaction. Like the ultimate vindaloo, I thought. This was where the fire ants came from. Something that the sperm did turned the cell from purple to pink, and switched off the most painful of the chemicals. What the others did, nobody yet knew.
So, what had the sperm done? Penetrated the cell, yes, but that wasn't enough. They'd tried pricking the cell all over, but it remained the same angry purple. So, what was a sperm? Basically, just a parcel of DNA. And what was my speciality? Good. I might have the edge over them, after all.
And why women? Why not men? It seemed that testosterone inhibited the growth of the cells. Didn't kill them, but stopped them developing. It was a promising line of enquiry - any woman who didn't mind growing chest hair and a moustache, losing the hair on her head and having her voice drop a couple of octaves, could be protected from the disease. But this treatment wouldn't cure anyone who already had it.
Tests were currently being conducted with live sperm from other species - frozen bull semen was available in large quantities via the farming industry. Bull semen? I thought about it, and grinned. It was logical, I supposed. They were obviously looking at a system for injecting semen to abate the symptoms, rather like artificial insemination. Bulls produce more semen than human males do, by a very big factor. With the added advantage that there was no risk of pregnancy or sexually transmitted disease. Sensible, but I reckoned that most women would find it pretty distasteful.
There were a few notes on how the disease was being spread. Nobody was too sure, but there seemed to be a general drift with the wind, so it could be airborne. And that was where the team stood so far. Not a lot to go on, but pretty good for a condition which was unknown a month previously, and only recognised as a threat in the last few weeks.
I tidied everything, and went back to my laboratory.
The machinery was clicking away, cheerfully analysing the chemicals produced by both the pink and purple cells. What was the purpose of all these hormone-like chemicals that they were producing? This might be the key to the whole thing, and it didn't look as if anyone else was looking for it. They were researching only the irritant secretions, not the 'harmless' ones. I sacrificed one cell of each colour, to start a full analysis of the cell structure. Enzymes, nuclear DNA, mitochondrial DNA, the works. The idea was to try to show a difference between pink and purple, then work out how to turn purple into pink without all that squelchy sex stuff. I figured that most of the men on the planet would shoot me rather than let me find the answer to that one!
With everything set up, there was nothing for me to do for a couple of hours. I set an alarm timer and went to sleep on my office chair. It woke me, I checked the results, set up a few more tests, set the timer and dozed again. My normal way of handling a nightshift when I needed to be firing on all cylinders the following day.