Chapter 1: Outbreak
Caution: This Science Fiction Sex Story contains strong sexual content, including Ma/Fa, Consensual, Heterosexual, Incest, Mother, Son, Brother, Sister, Daughter, Pregnancy,
Desc: Science Fiction Sex Story: Chapter 1: Outbreak - A viciously mutated super-bug causes family members to become closer than ever.
One of the worst things about my job was the amount of travel I had to do. Being a salesman meant I got to visit far-off locales, which sounded good ... Right up until you realise it was time spent in hotels rather than seeing the sights, and that the physical toll of the job meant I was sleeping off jetlag instead of partying with the exotic ladies in glamorous night clubs wherever I was.
I'd been out on the golf course one day with my boss and some of the execs, good-naturedly joking about how much I hated business class, calling them cheap for not getting me first-class tickets instead. At this, my boss's face darkened, and I feared the worst when he called the executives over for a pow-wow on the edge of the green. Rather than firing me, though, he told me that in the future I'd get first-class tickets whenever possible, and that he'd be throwing in a generous 10% salary rise on top of that. I smiled at the memory, remembering how hard it had been for me to stop myself from blurting out that it had been a dig, not a genuine complaint.
I looked around the cabin, most lights turned off or dimmed as the jet sailed the night sky. Satisfied that it would be dark enough- not to mention quiet enough, with the cabin crew also taking a break- to doze for a while. I carefully stood up, moving my laptop out of the way and putting it into stand-by mode as I dug the pillow and blanket out of my overhead locker. Looking down, I saw the couple in front of me had taken advantage of the wan light to engage in some heavy petting. With a momentary pang of jealousy for the toy boy- obviously younger than the handsome woman he was cozying up to- I sat back down, reclined in my seat, and tried to drift off.
This, however, was not to be, as the couple in front of me moved from petting to joining the mile-high club. Their gasps and pants were interspersed with the slapping of flesh against flesh, increasing in speed and volume until the woman began to moan, caught up in her pleasure. They began to whisper to each other, snatches of conversation I could barely make out, though they too grew louder over time. I could have sworn they were calling each other "son" and "mommy," but dismissed it as my imagination being over-stimulated by my voyeurism, hearing dulled by my exhaustion.
Eventually they abandoned stealth altogether, slamming their bodies together violently and moaning at full voice. Someone must have gone back to complain to the air hostesses, two of whom barrelled down the aisle, lighting their way with regulation-issue torches. They stood near the furiously copulating pair, one of them making an apologetic face as she glanced my way. The other cleared her throat, their attention doing nothing to cool their ardour. The first air hostess reached down to tap the woman, now bouncing up and down atop her lover, on the shoulder. She whirled, a look of fury in her eyes, and back-handed the air hostess, striking her down. "MINE!" she roared, devoting her attention back to her impressively vigorous sex.
I leapt from my seat, helping the second air hostess lift her dazed comrade from the aisle floor. She tottered off, supporting her unsteady companion, telling me they'd gone to get some help from the air marshals assigned to the flight. The couple had become more vocal yet, this time screaming "Mommy!" and "Son!" at great volume. Gulping, I grabbed my blanket, stringing it up across the gap between the chairs of the couple in front of me and those in front of them. I managed to get it to stay up, forming something like a tent-fortress to spare the rest of the passengers the embarrassing sight of a woman and her lover acting out some bizarre incest fetish in a public place.
It took far too long for the air marshals to arrive; by now, everyone in the cabin was awake, riveted to entertainment on display. I could hear giggling from behind me; looking down the aisle, I saw a cluster of young men and women from business class watching the proceedings with amusement.
The air marshals went into action, arresting the pair for public indecency. It took two of them to cuff the savagely fighting woman, and they had to draft three male passengers to subdue the young man when his playmate was stolen from him. A space was made for the pair, one at the back of the section, one at the front, and on separate sides of the aisle. Both seemed confused when they were apart, desperate to get back to screwing each other. I stood careful watch over the young man with one of the marshals, who called ahead to our destination and let them know what was going on. One of the air hostesses bustled up, looking decidedly queasy; she handed the marshal a passenger manifest, then fled.
The rent-a-cop beside me snorted, leafing through it. Locating the seat numbers for the amorous pair, his eyes grew wide. He nudged me, directing my attention to the names and addresses. Both shared the same surname, lived at the same address, and had given the same next-of-kin, the relationship listed as "husband" for the woman and "father" for the male. I was stunned. They actually were mother and son.
Thankfully, the rest of the flight passed without any further event. If anything, it worked in our favour; local law enforcement used their jurisdiction to clear the landing routine as we approached, bumping us to the top of the list instead of having us ascend and circle, waiting for a runway to become available. Yawning, I made a brief official statement to the Police, gave them my details, and headed home.
As the taxi pulled up in the drive, I noted that the lights were on inside. Unlocking the front door, I was surprised by my sister and mother, who had apparently been up late watching one of their favourite weepie movies together. Yeah, I know- living at home at my age, but when you're only in town for a few short days at a time, getting my own place didn't make any kind of sense. I paid my mother an exorbitant amount of rent for my room, over her objections; I declared that, as a single mother, I had an outstanding debt to repay, one with no fixed number on it. My sister, meanwhile, was a few years younger than me, and was entering her final semester at Uni. She had found it expedient to stay at home while she studied, and her grades suggested it was a good choice.
I gave them a hug, and pulled my customary gifts out of my hand luggage; a snow globe with a local attraction to add to my mother's ever-growing collection, and a Swarovski crystal cat for my sister. I fended off their shower of tank-you hugs and kisses, making a show of being tired to forestall any lengthy conversations. In time-honoured tradition, my mother asked "Was it a good flight?"
How did I answer that one? Evasively, I decided. "It was ... interesting. Tell you about it in the morning." Yawning, I dragged my travel bags up the stairs behind me, retiring for the night. Back in my own bed, sleep was easy to find.
When I finally came around, I was awoken to the distinctive sound of a megaphone-amplified voice. I could hear a helicopter circling overhead, something that was unusual to say the least. "I REPEAT," the unseen voice yelled, "IF THERE IS ANY RESIDENT WHO TRAVELLED ON PACIFIC FLIGHT 109B INSIDE THIS HOUSE, THEY MUST IMMEDIATELY IDENTIFY THEMSELVES."
The hell? I thought, muzzy from my long sleep. Glancing at my clock, I saw it was almost mid-day. Behind me, my bedroom door creaked open, my mother and sister looking at me with trepidation. I shook my head helplessly. "Dunno what they want, honest. I didn't do anything." I shambled over to my window, pulled back my curtains, and unlocked it, lifting the bottom half up on its sliders. I leaned out to yell back "That's me. What do you want?"
Someone below me swore. On the street, I was shocked to see a veritable squadron of Police cars, uniformed Constables taking cover behind them, peeking out with what looked like shotguns aimed at my house. "CLOSE YOUR WINDOW AND STEP AWAY IMMEDIATELY!" the megaphone-wielder ordered. After I complied, he continued "WRITE DOWN YOUR MOBILE NUMBER SO WE CAN CALL YOU."
I opened my palms towards the terrified women outside my room, gesturing to let them know I still had no idea what was going on. Pulling out some company stationary from my desk, I used a chunky red felt-tip pen to scribble down the number they wanted. I picked up my mobile as I held it to the window, waiting for the call. As soon as it rang, I answered, eager to get to the bottom of this, for the mental and physical wellbeing of my mother and sister if nothing else.
"Um ... hello? Is this a, a ... Samuel Baxter?" The voice at the other end of the line was feminine, clearly worried. I confirmed that it was. "Oh, good," she continued. "Well, not good," she amended herself, flustered. "I am Doctor Regina Hall, from the Centre for Disease Control. I'm afraid I have some bad news. Have you been watching the TV?" I told her no, growing more worried by the moment. SARS? Ebola? I racked my brain, trying to figure out what I might have been exposed to. Now sure I wasn't in any legal trouble, I switched the phone to speaker mode, gesturing for the girls to come and join me.
"Well, I'll get straight down to it. You were exposed to some kind of infectious agent last night on the plane. Is there anyone else in there with you?" With a concerned look for my mother and sister, I let her know there was, who they were, and that they stood beside me right now.
"Oh. Oh, dear," she sighed taken aback. "Can't be helped now, I'm afraid. Umm ... look. We're going to have to quarantine you in your house. Do you have enough food for, let's say, a week?"
I looked over to my mother, and mouthed storm shelter. She nodded. My mother had an absolute phobia of storms, having been caught outside in one as a young girl. Even though we lived nowhere near Hurricane Alley and rarely got anything more than a few rumbles when it did storm, she insisted on having a well-built, well-stocked storm shelter added to the house's basement. Although the food was tinned or dried, we had our usual store laid in the larder and fridge, and could mix the food between preserved and fresh to extend our supply. My mother nodded; I conveyed the information to the unseen Doctor Hall.
"OK. So what we're going to do is this. We're going to have to cut your house off from the municipal water and sewage, but we'll bring in a mobile treatment unit and separate water supply, so no worries there. We're also going to have to put up some containment plastic around your house. We'll get the scaffolding in right away. Now, if you'll kindly go and turn on your TV and tune it to the emergency announcement channel, we'll bring you all up to date."
We trouped downstairs, fired up the big TV in the lounge room, watching the announcement in terror-struck silence. " ... just repeating, this is a public service announcement from the CDC. Last night, we received the first reports of a new pandemic. It is airborne, and extremely infectious. Any citizen identified as having contracted it, or having potentially been exposed to it, is being quarantined to halt the spread. This," the man identified by the news bar at the bottom of the screen as the Director of the CDC, "is my colleague, Doctor Hansen. She will discuss the pertinent medical details."
She stepped up to the podium, lit by flashes as photographers tried to capture her in the best pose. Not that it would be difficult; she was petite, curvy, and freckled- the exact opposite of the old lab hags I had endured when I went to Uni myself. I'd have paid attention to her even at the best of times; now, desperate to find out what I was up against, I listened intently to her.
"Good morning. Ladies and gentlemen, it appears as though we are up against an uncategorised infectious agent. It bears the hallmarks of a bacterial pathogen, but we have so far been unable to isolate either a bacteria or virus responsible, nor to successfully apply a treatment of antibiotics or anti-retrovirals. However, I stress that we have only been in action for the past," she paused, checking her watch "seven hours, and we are hopeful of making some progress with identification within the next twenty-four hours."
"The condition is categorised by, and I apologise in advance for my frankness, uncontrollable sexual desire in those it infects. Subjects immediately prioritise mating over all other concerns, and can become quite violent if anyone should try to separate them." She pursed her lips, obviously wanting to add something else. Apparently, she reconsidered, simply saying "That is all the confirmed information I have for now." After she stepped back, the message looped; I killed the TV's power.
Biting my lower lip, I looked over to my mother and sister, tense with stress. My mother asked me what had happened on the flight, and I recounted the live-action re-enactment of Taboo that had taken place in front of me. My sister wrinkled her nose. "Like, mother and son? Gross!" I was inclined to agree, but I pointed out that if what the CDC said was true, they didn't really have much of a choice.
We sat there, awkwardly, confronting the awful possibility that it was going to happen to us...