The Turning: Part Three

Halle wakes up, blurry, and drags herself to the bathroom. That dream still clings to her—her foster mom spread open in ways no normal girl would imagine. Water does nothing for the thudding in her head, and she’s so thirsty it hurts. Downstairs, Sara’s already boiling; the step-mom chose the honeymoon spa, so Sara’s force-drafting Cassie and Blaire to babysit “loser sister” Halle the whole weekend. Sara hears clunking and finally Halle stumps down, empty bottles swinging in both fists, mascara everywhere. Absolute train-wreck, drooling over her own tits. Two filthy looks later they pile in the car and choke on country silence until some rotting castle looms at the end of a gravel road. Sara and Blaire recoil while Cassie fusses over Halle snoring in a nest of crushed plastic. Cassie hauls the soaking mess upright. The heavy door groans; a silent orderly in a blackout mask one shade paler than her fresh shiner lets them inside. She cranks a screen and Dr. Hellisbeth Elixor’s smirk fills the room, laying out day-by-day addiction rules. Cassie and Blaire get whisked off. Sara gets the Bridal Stress-Relief Package. Halle staggers alone. The orderly waves a drenched thong under her nose and holds it firm until the girl inhales a lungful of warm, tangy musk—then everything whites out. Halle comes to on cold steel with her ankles already braced open. The Doctor admires every symptom like a proud trophy. “Patient zero,” she purrs, stroking Halle’s trembling belly. Halle blurts questions, begging for an explanation. Dr. Elixor only smiles, peels out of her lab coat until heavy tits bounce free and her slick cunt glistens, then sits on Halle’s mouth and rides the hunger the virus lit. Juice coats Halle’s tongue, drips down her chin. The doctor twists a nipple, grinds faster, and sprays the girl’s tongue with another gush. Still swallowing, Halle shudders and her own cunt jets hard enough to splatter tile. The Doctor catches every drop in a specimen jar. “Exactly the formula I need,” she moans, already plotting who’ll drink it next.