Part 5: The Greatest Sin

"Let me get this straight, you believe that this airliner, this Flight 69 was the means by which Patient Zero escaped the Amazon?" remarked a joweled, bushy-browed general whose weathered skin and pock-marked face soured with uncertainty. His dull green uniform was bedecked with a glittering assortment of stripes and insignias reflecting a lengthy career not on the battlefield, but one of political concessions granted by concealing and procuring mysteries and wonders with implications for his Nation's security.

Colonel Caldwell breathed deeply, trying to calm his jitters under the critical glare of the assembled cabal of skeptical officers. He smoothed back his slick, blond hair, and mustered his resolve; the situation might prove even more severe than the current evidence led him to believe; the country - perhaps the World stood on a precipice if his reports were not believed, if action was not taken soon enough.

"We must remember that Air Italia flight 69 was unusually close to the location after landing on the same day at a remote airfield to make emergency safety inspections."

"Close?! the airfield on the map you showed us was over a hundred miles away from that part of the Amazon Basin, and unequipped to handle an aircraft of that size." sneered a shriveled, air-force general with a circular map of wrinkles radiating from his beady, suspicious eyes.

"The gauges had given anomalous readings, and while small, that airfield was their only option. At present, it is difficult to explain how Sorrentino and Jimenez crossed that much territory so quickly, perhaps they had help." Caldwell turned back to the screen, swelled up his chest to appear more confident as he used a laser pointer to illustrate a list of schedules.

"Consider nonetheless, that the plane was in the area at the same time, and Flight 69 apparently suffered transponder failure over an hour into the flight." The pursed-lipped colonel turned back to sweep the conference table of wrinkled brows and double-chins. "There is substantial evidence that the Infected females possess enhanced reflexes and strength, it is within the realm of possibility that acting in concert, they could have subdued the baggage handlers or maintenence workers that were tending to the 767, and could have slipped onboard in the cargo compartments. From there, I believe they found a means to hijack the flight."

"Did the Flight transmit any of the standardized emergency frequencies used to signify duress amongst the passengers or crew?" asked a hook-nosed old Admiral with especially bushy salt-and-pepper eyebrows.

"Erhh... no... but..." Caldwell swallowed. "The plane's transponder was disabled under mysterious circumstances, it's conceivable that a similar agency deactivated their communications capability." The room erupted with grunts, murmurs and voices of skeptical disbelief. The Colonel paused to collect his thoughts.

Here in this hidden, underground conference chamber with three levels of personnel screening and security barricades, there were also a wide panel of view screens on each wall, allowing the assembled generals and spymasters to tap into transmissions from around the world, including the goings-on in other Black-Budget, unacknowledgable military compounds such as this. With all the secrets, mysteries, and anomalies these men had been concealing and exploiting for their lengthy careers; why did he get such reluctance? Why was there such an uncooperative attitude? This bunker, and others like it were far more secretive and secure than the fabled, "Area-51", and they contained wonders lost to the Ages that were at least as exotic as this current Outbreak. Why was Caldwell having such difficulty convincing them?

"Colonel, the majority of us remain unconvinced that this... incident, whatever its true source merits the full sanction of this Body." The thickly-joweled speaker was an old, N.S.A. hardliner leftover from the Cold-War; like several others in this room, he was officially 'dead', that he might better play clandestine games of deceit and death in an international sphere that few Americans could truly comprehend.

"I am not convinced of a connection between your Outbreak and the accident on board the Italian airliner." His southern drawl reflected his disbelief. "There are others who are capable and qualified to investigate the unfortunate... loss of Flight 69. You have more work to do if you intend to convince us to employ our own resources to investigate this issue."

Caldwell nodded. "Understandable." He removed from his briefcase a glittering compact disk which he placed in a small player. "Luckily, the subject currently in our custody, the Simcox woman was very forthcoming in my Interviews with her. I've considered the possibility that she seeks to manipulate us, but her information has been verified. She has been in direct contact with others of her kind; and there is every reason to believe that the other infected persons are perpetrating a conspiracy to spread their contamination." As Caldwell suspected, mention of the word 'conspiracy' provoked a visible shift in posture from the N.S.A. spymaster.

"From her account, and my own investigations, I've been able to piece together the last hours of Flight 69. The Simcox woman seems to be motivated by a prideful arrogance; I was able to get a detailed account because she apparently believes her conspiracy to be unstoppable. This interview should more than address your concerns, Gentlemen."

It was, at its core, prideful. Sister Bellini had come to this growing understing about herself during her five years in the Order, these past years of serving the Church. But in truth she longed for the chance to prove her compassion, she had always sought out opportunities to give aid to those in dire need. But returning as she was to the Vatican on this flight... well, she should be far happier than she was. During long nights of prayerful soul-searching, she had a sense that she was spending her time aiding and feeding the destitute from the way it made her feel about herself: Pridefully smug. But she was young, and still had time to overcome her self-righteousness, and to care more fully, more completely about all the poor, lost souls she had dedicated herself to protecting.

Was it sinful the way her heart leapt when she heard the sobs, the moans from the on-board lavatory? She could hear a woman crying... sobbing from inside the tiny compartment. Who could it be? All her Sisters were accounted for; the rest of the passengers on the 767 airliner seemed to be military men. Must be one of the flight attendants; oh dear... the wracking sobs... the poor girl must be so distraught! Sister Bellini waited by the lavatory door, pensively contemplating her options. Was this concealed outpouring of emotion related to the plane's technical problems?

They'd been forced to make an emergency landing in a remote airfield to avoid engine failure; the small strip near the Amazon Basin was scarcely equipped to handle a vehicle of this size, so the beleagured technicians were shuttling to and fro outside the great aircraft; frantically attempting to expedite their maintenence, while the captain and crew wrangled with aviation authorities and arranged servicing. The inconvenient and irregular conditions on this minor airfield would complicate the mission and add many hours to the flight.

And during that time, Sister Bellini could soothe this poor, tortured soul that wept so bitterly, gently she opened the door to peer in on the girl.

'Saints preserve us!', she thought. The girl was completely nude! There was a gaping panel in the side of the wall inside the cramped washroom. Could this girl have... have somehow slipped onboard from outside? Her skin was a healthy bronze and her curvaceous body was fit and athletic. The glistening sweat that shone on her skin caused her auburn hair to cling to her scalp in a way that no doubt most men would find extremely fetching. Possibly a native Brazilian; but her nationality didn't matter: Sister Bellini would love her all the same.

"P-please... h-help me... I need..."

"Of course, Child. We will help you in any way we can!" Insisted the Italian nun, placing a concerned hand gently upon the girl's bare shoulder. Her skin was unusually warm to the touch. "What do you need? Tell me your troubles." Taut muscles near the girl's shoulder blades tensed as she shifted; her posture seemed to reflect some burden... pain? angst?

"I need you... I need someone to... to..." Was she ashamed? Why did the girl not express her need? She must be suffering some deeply-grained emotional torment.

"Suck."

"Eh... say again?" The girl had been speaking English, but that word seemed inappropriate. Was she lapsing into some native tongue?

"MY TITS!!" snarled the bronze-haired girl as she whirled around, thrusting ripe and firm mammaries into view. The aggression of her pose, the fire in her eyes made the bulging hemispheres of her canteloupe-like teats seem as menacing as they were erotic. With a speed that seemed preternatural, and a wiry strength as irresistable as the sleek eroticism of her naked flesh, Sister Bellini was pinned to the lavatory floor, the exposed breasts in question bulging into her face; a nipple rigid as wood nestled in the space between her lips.

Instinctively, the embattled nun attempted to push free, yet her arms failed to obey. As she writhed in lurid captivity with this nude madwoman, a tingling warmth seemed to spread from her hands... in her face... how bizarre; there was a hot rush of soothing comfort wherever her skin had touched the unclad flesh of the girl. There had been a moisture, no... it was not sweat, her attacker seemed saturated with something lighter, smoother, sweeter-smelling... when it touched her, Bellini felt... OH! There! A sudden jolt of electric ecstasy pummeled her brain. The nun could not resist smiling as a euphoric burst melted away fear and surprise.

Before she could find a reason not to, a primitive reflex asserted itself, and she sucked upon the proffered teat, her mouth filling with an airy liquid with the sweetness of honeysuckle, and the contentment of a pleasant dream.

"MMph... n-no... mustn't..."protested the last vestiges of decency and morality that were quickly fading from the mind of the corrupted catholic. "It is... a sin... *MPH*-*SLURP*..."

"A sin, sister?" The ripe, red lips of the girl, likely in her mid-twenties whispered mockingly to Sister Bellini. "Indeed, there has been a sin; the Great Sin of celibacy! You will understand in mere moments..."

It was a small, convenient compartment where the stewardesses prepared and mixed the cheap refreshments doled out to the hundreds of passengers. Up to 450, but in this case just a little over 300. And for the moment, Lisa Sorrentino would remain in concealment here. Slipping through the guts of the ship after disabling a maintenence worker, she had arrived in this alcove to await her first prey.

The first flight attendant to fall victim was a slender italian beauty with coffee-brown hair that nearly matched her natural tan. Her only real flaw had been her small-chested figure, much like Dylsia's had once been. But now, as her student had blossomed, so too was this little gem now throbbing, moaning, ripening as her envigorated mammaries thrust themselves forth. The grunting girl was slumped against a refrigerated food-storage cabinet riding out the storm of ecstasy brought on by the fertile expansion of her bosom.

Lisa caressed her newest 'daughter' as she tore frantically at the buttons on her uniform; desperate to allow her electrified tits to breathe free. An enraged nipple was playfully tweaked... no, this one would not be precisely the same as Dylsia: her breasts were swelling into broad, ripe globes sure enough, but her aureoles were more pronounced, her nipples more pointed; these breasts tended to thrust forward more than bulge outwards. Lisa decided to thrust her tongue into the transforming woman's own mouth; to silence her yet again while her cries of forbidden lust grew louder.

This one... her name tag read MARIA, was taking a bit longer to Turn. Her boobs had already sprouted from nubs no larger than strawberries, which then widened into a diameter more like small coffee mugs, and almost ten seconds later attaining a girth just a smidgeon larger than volleyball-halves. Could she grow yet more? Her legs kicked as her skin moistened. Lisa nodded in understanding. The Over-Instinct, which she and Dylsia had named Gaia, gave her knowledge. The very touch of women like her, Women of Nature could be an intoxicating weapon, meaning that Maria's transformation was both irreversible and nearly complete.

Another test, then. Yes... Lisa slipped her hand under the dark blue skirt of the woman as she Turned, and sure enough her legs and crotch were drenched with pungeant, feminine arousal. Lisa's lips fastened upon the throbbing nipples, began to suck... and slurp, pulling and teasing with her mouth.

It took less than five seconds before she tasted it. A fragrant honeysuckle nectar with a dash of cinnamon. Euphoria flared in the former Dr. Sorrentino as she felt the distinctive touch of the infectious ovum-spores that had now dominated every cell in her body. And after the infection had run its course, Maria now manifested the same transformative nectar in her own, burgeoning boobs.

The former paleobotanist stood her conquest up on her feet, holding her steady while Maria's brain-chemistry completed the necessary changes, amidst frantic fluttering of her eye-lids. Yes, Maria would return to her duties, or appear to do so. In truth, Lisa felt it was selfish of her; she wanted to remain naked, gloriously naked as long as possible, but she would cause too much of a stir should she present herself to the humans nearby. No, she was never ashamed of her enticing, feminine bounty, but better to keep the prey complacent until it was too late to stop her and Dylsia. Still, it would not be practical to ambush 300 people, and somehow make them all suck from her nipples. Lisa (and now Maria) needed a more subtle, effecient way to convert the masses. What to do... the naked, eroticized professor scanned the surrounding shelves, cabinets, and refrigeration units... what to do... hmm... the drink tray...

The big rig cargo truck ground to a halt on the gravely road. The woman fumbled in the dark, reaching for her cane... no! There was no cane! No cane, because she did not need one! And never would again! Old habits were hard to break, and the woman rose to a sitting posture on the tarp-covered crate she had been reclining on, remembering what had occured, reminding herself of the incredible changes that had befallen her.

She knew what was coming, why the truck had stopped. But still, she wanted to remind herself, to experience her new reality again. Delicate hands ran over the silky smooth skin of her throat, above her bosom. A single finger ran down between the sloping valley of cleavage created by globes of glorious tit that nearly reach to her elbows with arms fully extended. Her skin... so young! So soft and firm! She had the flesh of an air-brushed, magazine fantasy woman, yet with boobs and ass more ripe and firm than any merely human woman had a right to possess. Filtering light from the creases in the shipping compartment played across the sculpted curves of her statuesque legs, toned muscles tense with hidden power, yet still retaining a feminine softness.

With a metallic grind, the backdoor of the truck's compartment slid open. Revealing within the compartment a nude, dusky-skinned woman who could not have been older than her mid-twenties, and a plain but short Brazilian man bound and gagged, wearing utilitarian clothing with copious pockets for practical wilderness travel. Thrashing violently, the man loosened his gag just enough to be heard.

"No P-Priestess... you can still... resist... don't... surrender to the effect of..." his admonition was drowned out by her musical, feminine laugh.

"Oh Pablo, you continue to amuse me! As if I would ever go back to what I was! Content yourself with the plans I have made for you, and spare me your pathetic attempts to dictate a sense of duty!" She stood gracefully, the Priestess glaring with haughty triumph over the bound captive. "For seven decades I guarded the Trust!" Hissed the voluptuous female with the face and figure of a woman in the prime of her beauty. "You cannot imagine the sacrifice! I will not be judged! But look at you, Pablo! Even through your pants, I can see that your cock has grown again! At least 5 centimeters longer! Do not deny what you would do with that cock were I too release you!"

"No... m-must... preserve... the Trust..." murmured the Brazilian, his sweaty face contorted with some strange, intense exertion. It was as if the short, wide-faced man was straining to prevent his own penis from erupting out of his tented pants.

"Nonsense! You cannot resist me now; no man can! And I deserve this reward for my long years of service! The pleasure of a man's touch, a man's hard rod inside me... these joys I have EARNED!!" The Priestess growled. And Pablo, for his part, could do nothing but grunt with exertion, apparently caught up in a silent war against the volcanic urges in his own penis.

"Please..." murmured the bearded man who had opened the sliding door of the truck's cargo compartment, his simple plea echoing a throbbing need as intensely potent as the burn in Pablo's own groin. The trucker's patience was at an end, and he gazed with slack-jawed wonder at the naked goddess posturing her impossible charms for the benefit of both men. The Priestess understood; she could see through the dingy denim jeans he wore that the Truck-driver's own manhood had attained a frightful rigidity that threatened to rupture his zipper. And yes, his manmeat had also begun to grow mightier, more enduring, more fitting to a woman of the Priestesses' beauty.

A heady musk filled the air, sharp and tangy and as unwholesome as it was enticing. The cloying scent erupted from the nude woman's cunt, now drooling with feminine juices. Her silky legs rubbed against each other as she posed for her new pet, the only affirmative needed for their union was the rude grunt of savage estrus that emanated from her throat.

It was more a cry of relief than desire, as the burly, bearded trucker rushed into the cargo bay, pulling and tearing at his zipper until his engorged penis was at last free. The Priestess was speared by the mighty rod even before her chosen mate was able to fully encircle her slender waist in his hairy arms. A stabbing inferno of velvet pleasure overwhelmed her, as she wallowed in the carnal paradise of the rut; the timeless joy of the mutual thrusts and fondlings as their genitals locked in perfect completion.

The Priestess began to lose herself; the magnitude of her pleasure was such that her mind seemed to drift away, away from the hard and harsh world on warm wings of breeding lust. Whose legs were they? Were her own legs entwined around the torso of her mate as he pumped into the moist sanctum of her womanhood? Or was she encircled in his own flesh as she opened herself to his lust, passion, and seed? The rutting pair operated on pure instinct, and it seemed like too much of a bother to keep track of her position during the mating. Only the sensation mattered; the joy and the eternal connection between living creatures fostered by the sexual imperative.

But she awakened, all too soon something occured that weighed down her mind back to awareness. She was atop him, pinning his arms beneath her as her crotch ground into his manmeat. But it was her belly; a gentle fluttering in her womb, like butterflies beneath her skin. Her perfect navel showed a soft bulge as her fertile body expanded. Yes... there could be little doubt... Pablo's seed, plus the two sessions with this man, this trucker who would take them to Brasilia, it had been more than enough.

In a few more quivering moments, her belly had swelled beyond the first trimester of a normal pregnancy. And soon, it seemed as though one of her lovers had managed to smuggle a soccerball within her stomach.

"LIFE!!!" The Priestess shrieked. "IT IS LIFE!! I BREED!!! I LIVE!!! IT HAS NEVER BEEN SO SWEET!!" But her paramour was understandably confused; reason warred with lust as he gazed slack-jawed at the impossible, quickened pregnancy that ripened her already gorgeous figure. Fears of the unknown contorted the face of the bearded driver, yet his flesh, his loins could respond only to the raw, explosive femininity of the creature impaling herself upon his rod. His hips jerked, and he ejaculated. He spurted. Again, and again the Brazilian trucker spewed forth his vigorous manseed into the over-fertile body grinding atop him. The shock of a woman experiencing a complete pregnancy in less than a minute was profound, yet not enough to change his lust for a creature so seductive. Her lower lips, her cunt contracted and throbbed to draw in every last sperm.

"T-too late..." grunted Pablo. "The nightmare has begun!"

"A heavy burden indeed," Dylsia agreed, or rather the sex-creature that had once been Dylsia Jimenez. She stroked the shoulders of her latest conquest, a slim and tantalizing sculpture of womanhood, the glistening sheen of Bellini's flesh teased the bright lights in the lavatory, until it seemed as though the Italian former Nun had been dipped in liquid bronze. "To have to dress again in such tasteless clothes..." she gestured at the discarded Nun's habit crumpled on the floor.

The nude woman writhing on the floor had still not recovered from her final round of orgasms. Eyes squeezed shut, nails digging into the carpet, skin glistening with moisture - each muscle and tendon clenched as though to prevent her from being whisked away on a licentious tide of toe-curling bliss. At first, there had been the screaming, the moans of ecstasy that one might expect from a woman whose pleasure centers where being assaulted as no man had done before. And Dylsia had often shoved her plump boobs deeper into the mouth of her prey, in a belated attempt to silence the rapturous cries she made.

But soon enough, once the quivering heap of lust-drugged woman flesh had passed the seventh orgasm, she seemed to lose all semblance of awareness. It was sort of like gorging yourself on pure sugar; yes sugar is sweet and pleasing to the tongue, yet too much, too quickly can overload the senses and give one an adverse reaction. So it was with Sister Bellini; the joy of the forced climaxes that ravaged her body had been immensely pleasing, yet the lust, bliss, the sheer delight had compounded until it became more than her mind could handle. She degenerated into a grunting rag-doll of jiggling bounty, unable to speak except to grunt with indescribable sensations. Unable to move except to masturbate her cunt. The infectious ovum-spores had overwhelmed her, body and soul as the transformations completed.

Dylsia paused only a moment to lick the dripping slit of the naked, former nun before helping the new creature rise to her feet. Bellini gripped the edge of the sink furtively, her mind struggling to cope with the aftermath of the final, eleventh orgasm.

"But I... I never imagined... it would feel... like this!?" She hissed in awe, eyes widening as the majesty of Gaia imprinted itself upon her thoughts, rewriting, reenforcing, shifting the nuances of her character into a salacious reversal of her former personality. Firm fingers gripped the sink with taut intensity as the newborn female reveled in her appearance. Her flesh seemed to shine with her own newfound, inner eroticism as much as the sheen of sparkling moisture that new graced her skin. With a start she reached down to grope her hot pussy with a quivering left hand, her wet womanhood a seething cauldron of female arousal.