Grace was riding down the back roads on a bicycle. Part of her wanted to get out and walk, but she knew she might get picked up if she ordered a taxi. Shadowtech owned all the vehicles, automated or otherwise in this planet. Bicycles hadn't changed much in three hundred years, so those were mostly safe as long as they weren't computerized.
Grace was of two minds as she went downhill in a towel and nothing else, the bicycle seat grinding pleasantly against her pussy lips. She never was very athletic, but it seemed the virus was giving her enhanced bloodflow. On the one hand it gave her great cardio, on the other hand her nipples and pussy and clit were all supercharged.
"Mmmmm," she purred to herself as she imagined a big cock splitting her muff. Or a tongue, or some fingers. Anything really.
So far her soccer ball sized hooters were still contained under the tied towel. But because of hte wind on her bike, the towel was lifting up to reveal her snatch and her dumptruck ass. she was'nt into super bimbo territory yet, but it was coming.
She needed a safehouse and she knew just the spot. She was starting to enter a rural area of the planet known for farming. The building in question was an antique farmhouse from the first days of space colonization.
On the front porch were two women. One was so obese that she weighed as much as a full grown horse, having to use anti-gravity devices to shift her massive belly. The other was a towering muscular amazon with biceps bigger than Grace's waist and abs you could grate cheese on.
"You're infected," drawled the fat woman, her seven chins wobbling.
"State your name and why you're here," said the buff amazon, "And you better not be a man. tHis is a woman's only establishment.
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