Part 11: Riding Out the Storm

The mood back in the cabin of flight 69 had turned less towards the mischievious frivolity of loosed sexual inhibitions, and more towards a dedicated mission of copulation and impregnation. Each of the transformed females possessed innate hypnotic abilities that paralyzed the fit and virile military men before any of them could think clearly enough to mount a resistance; and with the spores in their drinks, their libidoes had been heightened to the point that resistance was the furthest thing from most of their minds.

Rhythmically, the youthened and ripened nuns ground their groins against the hardened rods of the officers. Most still wore their habits, a symbol that they were no less devoted now, only that their devotion had changed. Sleek, glistening skin dripped with sweat as this sisterhood of lust millked the seed from all the men who were still men. That it seemed, lent a certain urgency to their couplings.

Clenching ass-cheeks and hot pussies churned upon erect, engorged penises with disciplined, rhythmic efficiency, each nun desperate to feel as much cock as possible before they ran out of men. If the corruped clerics hurried, each would still receive many more loads of semen before the plane had nothing but females. The task was made slightly easier by that fact that the transformed former men seemed obsessed with lesbian sex, at least for now.

Major Jason Baines was a curious, cunning officer with an eye for detail and analytical ability that had impressed his superiors to put him on a promotion track even with only limited combat experience. Ordinarily, Jason would have been the first to remark upon the incongruous nature of the transformations; some of the fallen soldiers turned into female versions of themselves, but about half had hair or eye colors completely different from what they'd been as men. Yet Major Baines was unable to register this fact, consumed as he was in the throes of his own transformation.

The dying embers of his rational mind told him that he should have resisted this horrible, erotic attack that had gotten him in this mess. But, for all his discipline, he was still a man... for now... and... and something in his drink... there was some weird additive, impossibly sweet, and whatever it was, it had gone straight for his groin, searing him with a sexual yearning more powerful than his will to live, his seven-inch cock had bulged with such steely hardness, that it seemed strong and taut enough to use as ammunition. And in the end, the nun had been the aggressor. He could have sworn the woman had been a dumpy old forty-something abbess frought with worries and wrinkles, yet the dimpled creature with a mole between her breasts, revealed as she tore open her own habit in front of him seemed scarcely old enough to buy alcohol. To Jason's credit, he did put up momentary resistance as the youthened slut tore open his pants and began to deep-throat him. But his rough, gnarled hands upon her raven-black hair soon changed from a restraining, pushing motion to the encouraging strokes that signalled to the woman her fellatio had suceeded.

What could he have done when the dark-haired goddess leapt into his lap, impaling her womb upon his slickened shaft with an aggression matched by none but the most skillful whores? What recourse was there? Indeed, the only thing Jason could have done was to cum, to cum with more force, more accompanying grunts of feral gratification than he ever imagined possible. His body and penis beyond his control he spurted, jetting virile strands of fertilization into the feminine sheath devouring his member in a dripping wet cavern of velvet pleasure. But then she had cum; as if the act of ejaculation, the feel of his seed inside her triggered a different sort of climax. Eyelids fluttering, the depraved nun dug her fingernails deep as she pressed her cunt ever tighter against his raging meat. It was almost... almost as if HE was the one being seeded.

And so here he was, writhing upon the carpeted floor of the cabin, dodging the thrashing legs and prostrate bodies as he felt his manhood, indeed his humanity slipping away. Before he knew it, all body hair had gone, and Jason could feel the inflating tension in his chest, nipples already sprouting to a feminine, thimble-size as he felt the quivering tremors heralding the expansion of his chest. The pleasure was so overwhelming, so consuming that it caused his body to tense and grimace as though it were pain, yet he never wanted that delicious sensation to end. Wallowing in the throes of the Change, Jason made the mistake of running a finger over his crotch, the intensity of the stimulation was like an electric jolt, Jason quivered and lay barely moving for several moments, unable and unwilling to slow or resist the transformation. Had the pleasure not been so severe, he might have marveled at the way his own blond crew-cut had darkened towards just a shade lighter than black, but he was not aware of this as the sensations grabbed hold and strangled his reason, morality, and logic.

What he did notice was that some of the men, the older generals had passed out during their Change. Was it better or worse to be conscious during the Turning? No... he... he had to fight this! They were... somehow they were turning him into a woman! His hands slapped to his smooth chest, where C-cups were emerging in plump ripples even as he clutched them. But the feel of hands grasping these tits, the teasing feeling of growing nipples pressing Jason' hands... it sent another paralyzing shudder through him, and all he wanted to do was lie back and ride out the storm. No... no... couldn't... couldn't... give in... no... no...

Eyelids fluttering, mind growing dull, Jason clutched his medals, clutched at the nametag on his jacket... Baines it read... Jason Baines... he was Jason Baines... Baines... but... but... it all seemed so silly. The popping sound that came from the abrupt opening of her new cunt was almost drowned out by a feminine shriek of delight. How ridiculous; her name was Jocelyn! All this military junk seemed so meaningless! She giggled with innocent glee as she ran her hand through her groin, contented that her pussy had come in at last.

But the needs within Jocelyn's freshly-minted cunt had not abated; there were still cravings, overwhelming urges... she ran her hand over the tiny mole between her grapefruit-sized boobs as she grappled with a strange bombardment of images as her racial memory asserted itself. In a rush, she absorbed the nature and mandate of Gaia, rapidly adapting to her circumstance and new role within Earth's ecology. But there was more, more she needed besides sex with men, something that went beyond the lesbian orgy that was surrounding her, a new need was - *OOF* The girl that leapt atop Jocelyn must feel the need too, for a newcomer had just embraced the feminized Major with a determination in her brown eyes; a singular receptiveness in the way she opened wide her legs and purposefully pushed her sex against Jocelyn's. Yes, this would be Captain Jamal Gainsmore, once a short but densely muscled black man with a trace of Irish on his grandmother's side; now become a wanton, female slut with wavy hair just a touch on the red side, even as the expression on her face showed just a touch of human sanity amidst the frothing cauldron of Gaia-lust.

Jocelyn was dominated and stimulated all at once; pinned down by her new lover as their sexes seemed to lock in place. She did not know precisely what would occur, yet she was driven now by a ferocious aggression to submit to the advances of this fellow soldier. These two drives creating a delicious contradiction that made her erect nipples tingle all the more.