Quarantine Prison Life

The sun was well up by the time I decided it was time for Rose to belatedly join Sara and myself in the land of the awake. I’d assumed that some insistent jabbing of her third-from-top right breast with my front inner left tentacle tip would have done it, though it wasn’t until I ran that glans up and down her right-side breast column from top to bottom and back repeatedly several times that she actually awoke.

Annoyed, she used several of her right arms to try and slap my tentacock away, with mixed results.

“If you don’t get up soon, there won’t be any morning left” I pointed out.

“Why should I care? Just another day like every other day in here: a big ol’ nothing!”

“The tentacock cuddle you’re giving me feels nice.”

She pretended to fall back asleep, still cuddling my tentacle end into her fleshy boobaciousness.

Nearly midday on this third day of being locked up, we were bored out of our skulls, languishing in hopelessness.

The first day there’d been plenty of excitement, as we introduced the prison staff to the necessity of each of us needing to milk ourselves and/or each other daily. They did not take kindly to it at first, until we each made it crystal clear that preventing us from doing so would likely lead to a milk explosion, with or without our death, and that our milk was like the notorious tainted stuff: it would mutate anyone who contacted it.

It took them looking up Sara’s and my status as medical students before the mutations for them to truly accept what we said. We were instructed to dump our milk into the cell’s toilet, which we assiduously did (because we’re good girls in the eyes of Officer Hetch, wanting to remain in that status).

On this first day we all had plenty to talk about, and plenty of time in which to do so.

The second day was when it viscerally sunk in that we were going to be here awhile. We all still had plenty to talk about, and without any tech and nothing else to do, plenty of time as on the first day and since. They can call it quarantine or anything else they like, but by whatever name, it’s still a prison: locked in a cell with bars on the windows, few furnishings other than our bunks and the toilet, all bolted down securely. We weren’t allowed nor offered clothes—they even took my elastic hair band, for goodness sakes!

I thought I knew why: Officer Hetch seemed to be in charge, and he was a perv. So here’s what’s really weird: I was kinda into him, this older man in power. Once he showed his face on this second day of our captivity, I found him more cute than creepy. Sara was shy and despondent, and he didn’t seem to be into her anyway. He was into Rose, but the feeling was not mutual: she made a point of hiding her vulva and turning her most succulent boobs away from the barred door whenever he came around. I on the other hand hid nothing. I was only 23, without tons of experience with lovers yet. Nevertheless, I already knew how to read people sexually into me, at least a little bit. Hetch enjoyed looking at me, especially my boobs and head. Never did I cover up nor turn away fully, only now and then playing slightly coy so he wouldn’t perceive me as a harlot. Alright, I’ll be honest: I flirted with him, from the good girl persona. Never would I have done that if he crept me out, but because I was at least somewhat into him like that, I gave him vague signs that maybe someday something he might like might happen between us—if he and his staff were good to all three of us.

Then again, the occasional other mutants we saw passing by our cell were nude too, so maybe it was an order on high as much or more than Hetch’s predilections.

The second day was also the day we figured out that 1) meals were regular and pre-ordained, as in no choices for us to make, 2) while in no way superlative nor gourmet, the food was better than what we’d heard and read about prison food. Sara found it a mild cut above hospital commissary food. I additionally figured out that 3) mildly whining to Hetch about still being hungry just after a meal brought us all bigger portions. I think he thought it would grow all our boobs bigger, which actually was true.

So far on this third day, currently transitioning from the end of morning to the start of the noon hour, there were no new developments. Apparently we’d run out of things to say to one another, else we were too down to make the effort to converse.

I made another attempt to wake Rose up, sliding my tentacle in her huggy grip back and forth as I said, “You’re the one who was always telling me how morning was the premium part of the day. Why would you want to sleep through it?”

“Morning is premium when one has something to look forward to doing! Now if you’ll excuse me, I’m going back to sleep, hopefully back into some dream far better than this reality.”

“Lunch is almost coming, and it’s milking time.”

“I can hold it another hour or several.”

“Yes, but Sara could use some help, having so many wonderful teats but only two hands and no tentacles.”

“So you go ahead and help her out” Rose replied, using her arms to cradle as many of her boobs as possible as she turned away from us, facing the windows and the wall.

“Please, Rose?” Sara pleaded with a sweet whimper. “Tent’s tentacles are rad for most things, but your hands feel so much better on my teats.”

“Allll riiiiiiggghht” she groaned in exasperation, turning back over then oozing off her upper cot towards the floor, bottom end first.

“You’re just trying to turn me on, aren’t you?”

“My mere existence turns you on, tentacious sweetheart” she replied, blowing me a kiss just before her center of gravity plopped her upper body down fully towards the floor.

Once awake, up, and milking, Rose felt slightly better about life. Part of that was needing to be close to Sara for the milking. Wholly capable of milking herself, she asked Sara to do it, as an excuse to remain pheromone-close.

Something else I easily saw they both enjoyed much of the time they milked was either of Sara’s gigantic glandes tips tentatively touching Rose’s very big labia lips, along with nearby exterior vulva and inner bottom boob surfaces. Lacking my nuanced tentacle control, Sara had to work with Rose to both be positioned for such contact to happen: a mutual goal they wordlessly agreed upon and achieved.

Outright fluid-sharing sex—both coupled and solo—was out of the question on account of unpredictable mutations and what might be our captors’ unknown responses to them. Even if that had not been the case, privacy was incomplete at best. If it wasn’t sight lines to other cells or those passing by in the hall, all the hard surfaces guaranteed that all kinds of people (mutated and not) would hear us.

Later that afternoon, to alleviate boredom, I slithered a conveniently-near tentacle tip gently up against Sara’s glans lying on the cell floor.

She noticed, looking up at me, smiling.

Over about a minute, my remote touch teasing grew more obvious. Eventually it became outright vigorous: my tentacle circled around the end of her floor-resting giant cock, lifting it and shaking it like a hand as I punned, “Gland to see you. Gland to see you.”

Little did I realize the pun-fest I’d just started. Sara set down her other penis so she could use both hands to move the one I was playing with, to be part of the fun. “That’s a mighty gland gesture of you” she laughed with a slight snort.

“Glandly, any time.”

Rose got in on the game, “It’s you who’s benefitting most, so I think you owe Sara a glandtuity.”

“That’s the worst pun yet!”

“Au contraire, dickie-tippie-tentie: it’s the breast so far!” She flailed her many all around as she said this.

“Aaaauuugh!” Sara and I groaned together.

Fun, but didn’t last long enough to while away even a single hour.

“Nnnnnaaaaaggghh! This is insaaaaaaannne!”

The tedium of boredom on day 4 of our lockup had Sara frustrated to the point of whip-swiveling back and forth such that her penis shafts alternately whacked the cot vertical support posts.

“Centripetal acceleration still works” I quipped in an appropriately bored tone.

“See? We’re smart young women well-versed in basic STEM curricula and med students! What sense is there having us locked up in here when we could be at least interning in a lab running assays and stuff and be part of the solution!?”

“Lots of solutions in those assays.”

Rose sounded even more bored than I did, “Better have an office manager-type position for me, else I’m voting against.”

“How kind of you to wake up before lunch.”

She waved me off, apparently figuring my snarky jab wasn’t worthy of any more of a response.

“Well at least by lazing around sleeping most of the day, you’re puttin’ on weight in all the best places” by which I meant her boobs and Uddy.

“You should talk, Ms. fatter pair and bigger udder than ever! You’re not exactly breaking a sweat doing laps in here.”

Our lethargic verbal sparring spurred a thought in Sara. “Why is it that they haven’t had us outside in the exercise yard even once yet?! Even convicted prisoners get that!”

“Ask Hetch, next time he deigns to visit us.”

“Nahhhh, Tent’s gotta do the asking, since she’s warden’s pet.”

Thankfully my hair covered my turning-red burning ears as I blushed furiously and they both laughed. {Maybe I’ve been flirting too heavily with him} I remember thinking at the time.

“You go first!”

“No, you go first!”

Having seen the weekend pattern of far fewer personnel on Saturday, as pre-dawn light barely illuminated the cell in the wee hours of Sunday morning, we debated which one of us was going to go for it first. Passionate, sensual young women all, “it” in this instance meant self sexing, carefully not taking in any fluids, hoping to find release without mutation.

“Both of you go the same time and I’ll tickle your clits.”

“Rub your glans with my weenus instead, and I’m in on that” Sara asked of me.

“Which one?”

“Both!” she grinned, barely visible in the near-total darkness.

If I hadn’t previously concluded that I preferentially wanted to remain a penis-tipped octo-woman forevermore, this was the point where I did. It’s just about the sickest, raddest thing in the world to be comfortably kicked back and have totally controllable appendages able to reach across the room to sex two disparate lovers at the same time, which lovers are spaced far enough apart that they can’t even touch each other! I did have to be very careful not to get too excited, for obvious reasons.

Over an hour and a half later with dawn nearly upon us, we were all so edged-up that I bet even Rose would’ve gladly fucked Officer Hetch if he’d shown up and wanted in on that action.

Rose was the first to go off. She’d come to quite like having so many arms and hands, and boobs! The former caressing the latter with one fist in her vag most definitely had her quite liking cumming, repeatedly.

Orgasm found me next: a loud, powerful one, unfortunately spraying some milk that all of us had to dodge.

Sara went much longer. Her pair of breathtaking erections looked like they were loaded enough to blow the roof off! If it actually worked that way and we thought we could escape (we knew we could not), that might’ve been something nice. In our real world, even a strong stream from two of the biggest dicks in the known universe wouldn’t have as much as blown out the window glass. Sara was more of a dribbler, making it prudent for her to go off over the toilet. Close to one of the least erotic views I can imagine, yet apparently Sara’s imagination knew no such bounds, clearly envisioning something much more sexy and exciting to finally get her off.

For once we all had a legit excuse to fall back asleep right after breakfast. Sara nearly fell asleep right into her breakfast!

What at first we assumed was a weekend-only pattern of just one officer coming around every other daylight hour instead of a pair of officers proved to be ongoing as a new pattern well into the subsequent work week. All of us preferred this staffing reduction, which gave us the opportunity to better learn the names of the prison-patrolling officers still making the rounds.

Equally pleasing: no known mutations post-Sunday solo sexing! Now if each of us could find a way to keep it quieter, we’d be onto something nice.

Eueeurrreeerrreee… CLUNNNNnnnnggg!

“Another day, another cell door opening then closing” bored Sara quipped.

“Be still my heart with all this high excitement” Rose yawned.

“Why can’t we even have any intellectual contact with the outside world?! It’s not like that’s contagious!”

“People in charge might get the fire turned up underneath them for detaining and warehousing innocent citizens who have not been charged with a crime, much less convicted.”

I started giggling.

“What?”

“Imagining them giving us some old tower computer system running XP or something, likely with a hoary old LOLcat trojan or something.”

“I’d be OK with some hoary big Trojans for you ladies to strap on so you could safely poke me proudly and prominently.”

Rose’s bringing up the penetrative sex we couldn’t have made me sad. My mood spread, and soon none of us had anything more to say, as yet another meaningless day dragged on.

Enough days were passing that we lost track of how many had passed, and which day of the week it was. Didn’t much matter: everything for us was same-old same-old, literally: always the same, and getting old!

Whichever morning this was, Sara felt the urge to plant her forelegs up on the wall and look out a window whilst standing on her hind legs on the cell floor.

“Whatcha seeing?” Rose asked, more to have something to do via speaking than actually caring.

“Same thing as yesterday and nearly every other day so far: light breeze or still air in the morning, windier in the afternoon. Sun rises, sun sets, and the grass and trees grow, each making more progress getting something meaningful accomplished than any of us.”