Breakout!

“We’re still human and we have human rights!” Rose ranted, pacing around the cell floor doing occasional jump-up hand-claps on all pairs of her hands at the same time, for exercise we weren’t otherwise getting.

It had been over a month and a half (which we now knew from having our handhelds) in what by any euphemism was in actuality prison hold. Whatever patience there had been had worn from thin to nonexistent.

“Does someone need a soft, squishy warm cuddle?”

“Leave it to Helia to keep us all sane” I shared, wrapping a tentacle around her in my own gentle, friendly embrace of her and her positivity as Rose silently accepted her kind offer.

All of us needed hugs. More than that, we needed our lives back.

The familiar sound of a certain pair of boots approaching ended the hug. “How are my good girls today?”

“Fiiiinne” several of us (with me in the lead) replied, in our usual submissive girlish tones several of us used when speaking with Officer Hetch.

“Better when we know how soon our civil and human rights are going to be restored.”

“The progress of medical science moves slowly and methodically, Ms. Bush. You should know that.”

“Margie and I are the med students” Sara politely reminded Hetch.

He didn’t take criticism well, unless he could abuse his position of power with a perving opportunity. I still felt something for this odd older man—don’t judge!—therefore was willing to take the fall. In this case starting with my mixed demure/slightly flirty eye-averting smile, with slight upper body sway intended to be noticed by him yet remain below his consciousness. In Hetch’s case, this noticed below consciousness range was conveniently broad.

“Looks like someone’s puttin’ on more weight in the best possible places” he leered my way.

“I love my food” I fully smiled, briefly flashing direct eye contact with him. It was my way of thanking him for the extra portions we all received.

Apparently already having had as much of an eyeful as he felt he needed at that time, Hetch was already moving away from our cell gate when he uttered his departing words, “Whenever there’s a vaccine or whatever else allows mutants such as yourselves to be amongst un-mutated humanity without transference, all our lives get back to normal.”

Virgil started banging his dick head against the wall, as usual out of frustration. I still don’t know how he could do that without being in pain or giving himself an intense headache. “That’s what they promised us about COVID-19! Never happened like that!” Bang, bang.

“We’re not falling for that bullshit again.”

The intensity of the furious, fiery look on Rose’s face as she spoke in an unmitigated snarl unsettled me. While I agreed with her and Virgil, given our forced lockdown, it didn’t seem an option for us to do anything.

Hours of soft near-whispered highly discreet discussion throughout the course of this day into the evening persuaded me otherwise. When even peace-loving Helia agreed with the plan—actually a whole set of contingencies and if-then options—I was in.

Opportunity unexpectedly presented itself early the following morning near first light, in the form of hearing Hetch’s boots.

“Since when does he work the early shift?” Virgil whisper-asked me, trying not to awaken still-sleeping Rose, Sara, and Helia.

“I don’t know but pretend you’re sleeping and lemme handle this!” I tried not to hiss, hoping Hetch hadn’t heard us as he approached ever-closer.

A quick thumb-up and Virgil leaned back against the wall, doing better than usual feigning sleep far sooner than nearly anyone could actually fall asleep.

As usual Hetch gazed first at (sleeping) Helia, then me. Normally his eyes would have quickly moved on to Rose, then Sara, ending with Virgil before circling back to me, since I was the one he liked most who let him stare away. Seeing for the first time my full-on flirt smile with total direct eye contact kept him locked on me. Before he could say anything (as he appeared about to do), I held up my index finger to my lips in a Shhhhh motion, thereafter using the same finger to beckon him in and over to me, my smile even broader.

He looked slightly confused along with obviously excited, leading me to add my index fingers pointing directly at each of my gigantic boobs, in case there was any question what I intended.

Proving he could be quiet if he wanted and needed to be (even with his ass-kicking big boots), Officer Hetch silently opened the cell door, slipping in and over to me—no mean feat, given the need to remain out of contact with women of unusual size and shape Helia and Sara, sleeping down at ground level. He showed all signs of his heart racing as I saw his chest heaving once he was standing directly in front of me.

Thankfully I happened to be down on the floor this morning rather than up in a bunk. Even so, and even with my udder not especially full, I still somewhat towered over Hetch—himself a tall man. Indeed, his height relative to mine was ideal for a face-plant directly into the prime center depths of my deep boob cleavage… if he could get close enough past my udder and tentacles.

Very carefully moving my tentacles away (so as not to strike and awaken any of my cell mates) helped. Leaning forward helped even more, not only bringing what he most wanted of me closer, but also thanks to the gravity hang making my boobs appear that much more bodacious.

“How do I… not mutate?” he asked in a whisper.

“As long as you don’t get any of my milk in your mouth or otherwise in you, you should be OK.”

“Does that include out of your nipples?”

“Unfortunately yes.”

“What about on my skin?”

“Don’t know for sure. Safer to avoid milk-to-skin contact. I have a lot of other places on these for you to feel and lick and kiss and stuff—whatever you’re into.”

“I’d like to be into you, but I don’t know if that’s safe, or if you even still have a place for that.”

“I’m still a woman like that, but it’s very inaccessible. No way I can move such that anyone can get in me there without waking all the others up. Let me know in advance and bring a condom, and maybe we can work something out.”

“I’ll get you in a nicer cell” he smiled.

I noticed Sara stirring. “We need to stop whispering and you need to get into me before they wake up or anyone else comes by.”

My point was well taken: he redirected all energies away from speaking towards fondling. I know that somebody reading this is going to get upset, but I’m here for the truth as I lived it: I liked Officer Hetch’s hands on me—sorry, not sorry! Whatever he’d been doing or not doing before feeling up Rose was all different: his hands felt clean and dry to me. I didn’t have to pretend to be turned on for this part of the plan to work: I was turned on!

So many things I wanted to ask him: how long have you been a boob man? Tell me about your pretty tats (and ideally spill to me if any of them are gang-related, as they appear to me to be). What’s your career path been like? Some things wouldn’t have been appropriate under any circumstances which might allow my and my peers’ eventual freedom. None whatsoever were appropriate when we had to keep quiet.

It’s not exactly correct that we had to keep quiet—after all, I was executing one option amongst our agreed-upon plans. More that Hetch’s early morning appearance with the others asleep allowed me to improve upon this particular contingency plan.

I also under certain conditions might have asked him about his sex life, based upon how hungry he seemed for my boobs. Passion overtook him—obviously!—and was making serious inroads on me, requiring me to double down keeping my wits while at the same time being enough into the genuine feelings to react in an organically genuine manner.

Minute by minute his breathing grew louder, his groping and fondling more intense. Out of my peripheral vision I noticed Rose waking up, flashing her a surreptitious wink to let her know that I had everything under control, and to stand by silently, ideally not moving and keeping her eyes more closed than open in case Hetch for some reason looked her direction.

I shouldn’t have worried where Hetch might be looking: his entire world currently was my mammoth mammaries.

“Hhhhh!” he gasped, as a small squirt of right nipple milk hit his wrist.

I was already wiping it fully off him with a small clean damp rag I handed to myself from tentacle to hand before he’d even finished gasping, smiling and giving him thumbs-up to silently let him know he’d be OK.

A fresh wave of lust crashed over him, then partially over me. I retained enough presence of mind to look over towards Virgil when Hetch did a face-plant into the prime, grandly-expansive top skin real estate of my left one. Obviously still awake and apparently having been in silent communication with Rose, he remained still enough to not draw attention, sharing a slight nod and his own wink, with me winking back.

“Huuhaa?” came out of Sara as she suddenly awoke, wide-eyed.

Thankfully Hetch was making enough of his own noise getting lost on and in me that he didn’t hear, or at least didn’t notice, or if he did notice, didn’t care.

In lieu of a butt slap which might have made noise, Rose used her lower left hand to crunch-grab Sara’s nearest ass cheek, reminding her that one of our preferred escape contingency plans was currently under execution.

“Aaaaaahhh!”—a moan escaped me, suddenly and unexpectedly feeling the bliss of Hetch’s kisses on my boob tops, first left then right.

This woke up Helia, whom unlike Sara, picked up on what was happening right away.

I don’t know what was going on in Hetch’s mind, or if there was even enough blood left up there for it to operate properly. His fully-clothed hard cock most certainly had its engorgement rage on, given the hot firmness I felt heating up my tentacle root area. He got louder and louder, to the point where even he had to know that every one of us in at least this cell would be awakened.

As anticipated (at least by me), he couldn’t resist diving face-first deep into my cleavage, delivering a loud flupping huge boob motorboat for the ages: FLBLUBULULBBLUFFLBL!

With all eyes in the cell other than Hetch’s and my own on me, I silently counted up One, Two, Three!, then yelled out “Milk spray!”

In barely a second all of us with udders blasted concurrent streams of milk all over our head captor.

“AAAA–” was as much yelling as he was able to get out before Sara slammed her hands over his mouth, shoving him bodily (with a little tentacle help from me) against Helia’s soft milky front, such that he remained tightly sandwiched between them, unable to move and second by second ever-more soaked in mutant milk.

Things kept on happening fast from there. Thankfully Virgil was excited enough that he didn’t need his hands to hold his head, allowing him to get down off the upper bunk (where I often slept), right about the time I tentacle-lifted Rose off her bunk over near the fixed (non-door) bars of our cell. He joined her as Sara and Helia and myself moved as a unit with trapped Hetch in the middle over to where they were.

Rose took great delight pulling a set of handcuffs out of Hetch’s back pocket, wrapping their chain around one of the bars before securely cuffing each of his wrists behind his back. During her multiple handiwork, Virgil found and purloined Hetch’s master key set and sidearm.

The more he struggled the more milk we shot at him, drenching him and his clothes nearer full saturation.

“Now?” inquired Sara, regarding our next move.

“B!” I yelled, referring to one of our what-if branch options for this contingency action.

Momentarily confused when Sara’s hands suddenly fully withdrew from his face, just as Hetch was drawing a breath to yell at the top of his lungs (we presumed), we udder girls udderly inundated his mouth with multiple blasts of milk he could not avoid—thanks to Sara’s head lock holding his head stationary.

“Drink it down, Officer Hetch” Rose took great glee in kind-voiced commanding him. “It’s great-tasting milk and you’re going to mutate anyway, so might as well enjoy it.”

With tears in his eyes, he sadly acquiesced. I almost felt sorry for him, until I remembered back to the day of our capture when he referred to me as “the octopussy”. After that refreshed memory, I didn’t feel sorry for him at all.

Once we drowned him in enough milk that he fully ceased even trying to renew struggling, Rose took further delight tying the ball gag she and Virgil assembled together from rags into/over/around Hetch’s mouth, ensuring it was plenty tight and double-knotted.

It amazes me to this day that no other guards passed by this entire time. My duty, apart from participating in milk spraying and being in command, was first acting as backup in case Hetch broke loose (thankfully not necessary), then blocking the cell door open with multiple tentacles so it couldn’t possibly close, and being on the lookout for other guards.

Sara took far too much delight appropriating all Hetch’s portable electronic tech that she could find. “Let’s see how you feel without your handheld!” she sneered.

Of course there was not only that, but his 2-way walkie-talkie transceiver. Not long after she had it in her hand, it unsquelched, bursting to life: “Welfcheck Capt. Hetch. Sir, where are you?”

Adrenalin shot through me, and later I learned through the rest of us. Sara looked like she was heading into a breakdown.

Before the rest of us knew what was going on, Virgil’s nearest hand snatched the device out of Sara’s. “Block C, calming down my good girls, so they’ll stay good.”

His nearly spot-on impression of Hetch’s voice made our jaws drop.

“Hairy-Dicked Gorilla Woman and Antler Pussy Man in D are acting up again. Mitigation?”

“I’m on it. What else?”

“Are you OK, sir?”

Virgil coughed twice then replied, “Didn’t sleep well last night. Carry on; back in a few.”

At first we didn’t know where he was going, heading deeper into Block C rather than towards any possible exit. He waved us—especially Sara—all over furiously, until we caught up with him.

“They’re tracking Hetch’s movements on one or more of these” he referred to the 2-way he held and the mobile Sara held “I’m sure of it. Therefore, one person impersonating him has to carry them both.”

“We can’t go deeper inside!” Rose ranted, barely softly enough.

“We have to free as many others as possible so we have strength in numbers!” I ranted back. “We agreed on this!”

Virgil held out his free hand, “Gimme his smart-ass phone please, Sara.” As she did so he continued, directed mostly towards me, “How about you and I free as many of our peers as we can whilst Rose, Sara, and Helia get the hell outta this building and find us some kind of ride?”

“That‘s what we’re doing: Q, 8, 16.”

I’m not going to explain those codes, as going through all our contingencies would put me as well as you asleep—if I could even remember them all. Suffice it to say that I was calling out how we’d proceed from here on out, with this new unexpected wrinkle of needing to pretend to be Hetch until we freed a critical mass of rebel mutants slightly modifying our best-laid plan options.

Virgil was already unlocking cells in one direction while Helia was calming down still-trapped mutants she and Rose passed in the other direction before Sara got it together to catch up with them and I hurried along to help free our mutated peers and explain our plan as Virgil did the unlocking.

“We’re gonna kill ’em allllll!” snarled Hairy-Dicked Gorilla Woman, a.k.a. Joyce Joyner, as we freed her and Dave Hunter (Antler Pussy Man) from their cell.

“Save it for anyone who blocks your escape” I urged.

To my surprise, Virgil spun a key off the keyring and handed it to Joyce as I spoke, once I finished, saying “You’ll do better helping us free as many of our fellow citizens from this hell hole unConstitutional detention as fast as possible before taking the time and energy to whack anyone.”

“Don’t we need that key?!”

“No, because we’re a team. Any cells we can’t unlock with the rest of these de-facto their key must be able to unlock. Let’s go!”

Hearts racing, we all rushed around opening cells as swiftly as possible. Thankfully and to my amazement to this day, in the midst of all this Virgil somehow figured out the key patterns well enough to hand off more keys. Later he explained that he’d found a pattern of 2 keys per block, so once a group of freed mutants on each block able to move about and strong enough as a unit to keep the guards at bay were handed the keys, they could take care of the rest of that block, freeing us to move to another block freeing others, the process repeating.

This all worked well until: “Hey! What’s goin’ on here?!”—a guard on patrol found some of us.

“Spray him with all of anything you’ve got!” I bellowed, taking aim as fast as he was taking aim.

The wide array of mutant liquids temporarily blinded him almost immediately. His attempt at shooting blind, hoping to hit at least one of the now many of us (over 20 freed mutants in our immediate area alone), thankfully and amazingly failed. It did, however, succeed in igniting the caged-up rage of someone whose gender I can’t even guess, using a muscular strong arm with what amounted to an attached bracelet of small boobs to bodily grab the gun from the guard then, against my wishes and too swiftly to allow objection, knock him to the floor and blow his brains out at close range.

The cheering made me nauseous, but we had people—human beings!—to free! More keys passed out, more blocks operating on their own, without needing us. All I could do was keep up with Virgil (and hold his head up when necessary), and hope that we were at or near critical mass and as a group of prisoners seeking our freedom could overcome any resistance we might meet.

It startled me when my device went off with Rose’s text tone.

I stared at the message briefly before typing out my response.

I showed the messages to Virgil, simultaneously stroking his clit so he could keep his head up.

“Yeah, we should go” he agreed. “I see daylight at the end of this block, so I’ll hand off the rest of these once we work out which keys work this one.”

Our sergeant-at-arms Janel with a full 12 arms and her partner-in-escape Trent, who could also do passable Hetch impersonations, gladly took over the remaining keys and Hetch’s tech. Somehow I doubted that anyone needed to portray Hetch any longer, given the utter lack of communications over the 2-way for a good 10 minutes at least, along with all the very obvious, loud ruckus.

Barely 2 minutes later as Virgil and I rushed down Block H towards daylight, Rose had more.

I locked my device and ignored it for now, holding it tightly in a tentacle to keep both hands free and keep unlocking cells with the one key I had. Virgil had the other, briefly kissing and making out with joyously-freed mutant peers in order to stay hard enough to keep his hands free of holding his dick head. Nothing anyone could write, say, or do—other than blocking our progress towards the light, which wasn’t going to happen with a good 50-some freed mutants hell-bent on escape—would nor could change our goal and trajectory. Besides, we were only about 10 cells from the daylight end of the block.

The end of ground-level Block H did indeed open to the outdoors, and absolute pandemonium in the prison yard. A good 60 to 80 enraged mutants, some armed with whatever they could grab in addition to whatever their body might provide, engaged with the bravest of the incoming National Guard, plus one or two state patrol officers. Tellingly none of the prison guards were part of the skirmish, the ones I could see all milk (or other fluid)-covered, running for their lives to get away.

I couldn’t look for more than brief seconds at the melee, focusing on finding the parking lot as well as my device with Find My activated. The parking lot was indeed obvious, more so with the prison guards all rushing that direction. The moment I spotted it, Virgil and I rushed that way too.

“Don’t hurt me! Don’t hurt me!” one of the fleeing guards whimpered and cried like a frightened child as we neared.

“Help us get our motorhome out of here and you have nothing to fear.”

I’m not sure exactly where that came from before it emerged from my mouth, but it was the best possible reply I could have made. No idea who this man was, but whomever he was, judging from his uniform and all he was carrying he had some authority up around the level of Hetch (give or take). Shaking in fear of us and his forthcoming mutations (which I knew given how wet he and his clothes were), he stayed with us until we found the motorhome and pointed it out to him.

He pointed out his very official-looking police cruiser. “Follow right behind me and we’ll both be out soon!”

“Thank you! Take care!” I replied, with Virgil joining me smiling.

“How do I survive this?! The mutations?!”

“Think good thoughts about what you’d most like to have happen. Some people prefer their mutated selves to their former standard human forms.”

With more helicopters overhead, some using loudspeakers to blast, “Mutants stand down! Resistance is futile!”, Virgil and I dashed to the motorhome whilst our leading-out guard rushed towards his vehicle.

Sara held the door open, urging us to run even faster. Didn’t matter: we were on the steps in seconds.

The engine was already running by the time Virgil and I were inside and Sara swiftly locked the door, calling out, “Roll, Rose!”

“Nothing’s moving!” she yelled back.

“See that cruiser with its light bar just lit up?” I yelled.

“What about it?”

“Follow it! He’s a head guard terrified of us, hell-bent to get himself and us off this property! And he’s going now, so GO! Right behind him!”

Rose got a few horns and a brief siren blip from other guards trying to squeeze in between our escort and our motorhome. There was nearly a collision as two such vehicles tried to ram their way in before we saw the end of a rifle emerge from our escort’s car pointed at the interloper to the left, and heard loud and clear over our escort’s audio, “Back off, Jack! You too, Paul! Fall in line behind the motorhome if you want to get out of here alive—that’s an order!”

Driving out slowly, pushing our way through incoming National Guard units, sandwiched between those who had been our captors had not in any way been part of any of our contingency plans. As is often the case, the best-laid plans get laid to waste by unanticipated reality.

As if this noisy crawl wasn’t enough sensorial overload, from well before Virgil and I boarded, Sara, Helia, and Rose each did all they could to garner as much information from as many disparate sources as possible, to best plot our way forward: written word, audio and video streams, on their respective devices and the old-timey motorhome over-air radio. At the moment it was all a cacophony, adding to the overload of senses and mind. Rose was at the wheel and seemed to know where she wanted to go once we were out, and that was plenty good enough for me.

So spoke a somber-looking man with little hair (in a shaved head kinda way), identified on the open caption as Minnesota Department of Corrections Director of Communications Sven Didjanoh on the video live stream Sara, Helia, Virgil, and I were watching as Rose inched along through the traffic jam of those of us trying to escape against the National Guard units trying to get in and hold us all back at the same time.

Amidst this ongoing narrative and the growing cacophony of vehicle horns, sirens, and yelling (amplified and unamplified), a far louder and more terrifying sound drowned everything else out: a National Guard helicopter was falling from the sky, out of control!

The terror of hearing then seeing this disaster unfold out the motorhome‘s big rear window is with me to this day. The disabled ’copter free-fell directly into the crowded prison yard we’d just left! A loud CRASSSSHHHH! and moments later flames we could see above the growing line of cars, trucks, SUVs, jeeps, armored vehicles, etc.

Gunfire—a series of shots—from directly in front of us along with Rose yelling out “Oh shit!” immediately drew our attention back up front.

“What?!” I demanded, scanning the windshield and other windows for damage (not finding any).

“Our escort just–”

“–Outta the way, Minneapolis 11!” loudly blasting over the loudspeaker of our escort’s vehicle cut Rose off. “Let’s see how you like tires you can’t drive on!”

Before any of us could even begin processing what that was about as the State Patrol car numbered 11 slowly peeled away on its deflating tires (shot out by our escort), sudden silence from the ongoing droning of the live stream as another person stepped onto stage and showed something to Mr. Didjanoh pulled our attention back to the stream.

The look of devastation on his face as nearly all color drained out of it hit me hard.

Sara looked at least as messed up as I felt. “Have you ever seen anything like this before?”

“Like what?” asked Virgil.

“Someone speaking publicly who’s just… trashed!”

“Live action’s like that” Rose yelled from the front. “Shit’s goin’ down and we’re gettin’ out—I hope!”

“He promised us he’d get himself and our motorhome out” I called back.

“‘He’ who?!”

“Our escort.”

“How’s he going to get past the blockade of armored vehicles at the gate we’re approaching?!”

“I Don’t Know!”

Helia gently cuddled against me, squeezing my arm, settling me down and drawing my attention back to the screen.

“I knew she could do it if she aimed well and squeezed hard.”

I couldn’t believe what I was hearing from our currently-smiling resident pacifist! “Helia! Why would you suggest that?!”

“I was only the milk expression consultant” she pouted.

“She was just helping” Virgil corrected. “It was my idea, being the total dick-headed cunt of the group.”

Of that, there was no denying… at least on an anatomical basis.

With that, the live stream ended.

When I looked up and out the windshield, I couldn’t believe what I wasn’t seeing. “Where did the blockade go?!” My voice was loud more to be heard over the cacophony than anything else.

“Peeled around us and off-roaded, according to MPR to fight the fire” Rose yelled back, again to be heard.

“According to who?” asked Sara.

“Minnesota Public Radio. Annnnd… here we go! Through the gate! We’re out! We’re out!”

Now there was something worth yelling out twice!

BlipBlip went our escort’s siren as his vehicle peeled off to the right. “Take care, folks! And thank you for sparing me!”

Rose blipped our headlights and very briefly did her own very short horn double-blip beep as the rest of us rushed to open the windows as fast as possible, yelling “Thank yooouuu! Best wishes to youuu!”

We headed left onto Minnesota State Route 9, then before I knew it took a quick angular right.

“Where’re we going, Preem?”

“Same as before: north and east.”

“Why?”

I could see her shaking her head as she kept her eyes on the road and kept us moving. “This thing’s not going to blow over any time soon. We still need to lie low.”

“Why?!” Virgil objected. “They can’t lock us up any more!”

“What’re you all seeing online? Peace and love for mutants all of a sudden?”

“HHHHHUUHHH!” Helia gasped loudly, “Riots in Minneapolis! Shall I play it?”

“Sure” “Yes” “Uh-huh”

Several of us felt a sinking feeling inside.

“Did we not learn anything from 2020?!” Sara ranted, making Helia decide to pull her into a cuddle.

“Somebody rub my clit and get me excited so I can use my hands, please.”

I took care of Virgil’s request with great ease with one of my front tentacles, at the same time sharing the headline, “‘Mutant rioting spreads to other prisons’”.

“Run it” driver Rose requested.

“It’s just a written piece.”

“Well read it aloud then!… Please.”

“’Faster than the mutations themselves, north and south, east and west, the length and breadth of the state, mutated citizens held captive in quarantine are revolting and breaking free by any means necessary. “Every quarantine facility in the state, from Togo to Faribault, Rush City to St. Cloud: they copied what happened at Mustinka” reports Sven Didjanoh, Minnesota–’”

“–Yeah we know who he is.”

I nearly whacked Rose on one of her lower boobs for interrupting me, refraining only on account of her being our driver. “‘“Now they’re free.” When asked what the plan is going forward regarding mutant containment, Didjanoh replied, “It’s out of our hands now.”’”

“What else?”

“That’s it, other than the blurb about it being a developing story and to check back often for updates.”

“Dammit!”

“What?!” I whirled around and asked Sara.

“Get this: ‘Bigger problem than we thought: home-quarantining mutants at least triple the number estimated.’ How is it they could stay home without being run out then imprisoned like we were?! Or at least me!?”

“Fair isn’t part of the equation, else I wouldn’t be a giant penis, vagina, ultra-nipply boobs, and little else.”

Virgil’s comment apparently pushed Sara’s flirty button, “Don’t make me dick you.”

“I’ll dick you back” he smiled.

“Don’t make the horny driver envious! Especially with all this traffic I have to deal with.”

It was true, close to the antithesis of our pre-quarantine journey: the roads were packed—in western Minnesota! Moving at or near the posted speed limit, thankfully, yet very crowded. Lots of people with worried looks, a majority appearing non-mutated from a quick passing glance. A surprising number of moving vans, trucks, and trailers, as well as family vehicles packed to the brim. Indeed many seemed to be heading due west, to the nearest state border. Yet others appearing equally on a mission were heading every other compass direction the roads allowed as well, with no pattern that I could see, apart from away from wherever they’d been.

“Oh wow!”

“What?”

Virgil turned his screen towards querier Sara, “Look at this picture of escaped mutants leaving Oak Park Heights.”

“That’s some seriously ticked-off folks” Helia shook her head.

“So were we” I said, with Sara adding, “With good reason!”

Even if we wouldn’t be locked up again, it still felt like we were back on the run, again heading north and east, as Rose and I and later Sara had been when milk was first discovered as the mutation vector.

Annoying as she can be when she gets impatient and/or bored, without question Rose excels at keeping her wits about her under pressure—especially on the road. With the same grim determination that kept us safe until caught up in the roadside dragnet, she kept us moving.

Precious few law enforcement vehicles crossed our path, thankfully none of them showing the slightest interest in interacting with us—this with driver Rose and the rest of us totally nude, obviously mutated!

News overload continued, as the rest of us struggled to figure out one or more optimal paths forward. The mutant revolt was the main story around most of the world, and just about the only subject being covered anywhere in North down to Central America.

“Oh come on!” Sara ranted.

“What?” asked Rose, over the noise and distance to/from the driver’s seat.

“This headline! ‘Will Mutants Take Over The World And Turn Us All Into Monsters?’ Then it starts out with ‘The nightmarish unthinkable is unfolding this very moment in the U.S. state of Minnesota, as thousands of deformed mutants rage out of prison, infecting all with whom they come in contact’. Deformed? Infecting all?”

“All I wanna know is how long it takes them to get to Hitler.”

Sara quickly scanned ahead. “Paragraph 3: ‘The leader of the Mustinka Prison breakout had to have had the charismatic leadership and military organizational skills of Adolph Hitler to pull off what they did’ said some wonk whose name and title mean nothing to me.”

“First person that says I resemble that remark gets a tentacle thwock from me!”

“What about calling you Che Tent?” Virgil laughed.

Rather than a thwock he earned a tightly-wrapped tentacle nearly dragging him deep against and into me, face to dick face, kissing close. “Only if I’m as perpetually cute as he is in pictures.”

Neither of us had been this intimately face-to-face before. Each of us took the opportunity to study details we’d not previously seen.

“You’re beautiful enough to launch as many ships as you want and beautify as many pictures as you’re in. And I’m getting hard, so my face is going to be deep into yours any second now.”

Indeed he barely finished speaking before we were kissing. I’ll tell you this: never before had I enjoyed kissing a huge dick even remotely as much as I enjoyed kissing Virgil. Vertical slit lips on a mouth that speaks and kisses are a whole other experience worth having.

Unlike our trip before capture, none of us had any need to ask anyone what time it was, nor where we were: our devices told us this and much more. We were in western Minnesota, tending central, and central not yet northern. It was getting close to noon—close enough that those of us not driving gathered around the largest screen we had, which actually was one of the big ones built into the motorhome. This one was up front, where even Rose could kinda sorta see it from an acute angle, and all of us including her could hear the audio.

Soon enough Gov. Luke DeOderway was introduced and approached the podium.

The way he twitched and bit his lip was telling.

We (other than driver Rose) watched breathlessly, seeing all color drain out of Governor DeOderway.

Helia and Sara shared smiles and hip bumps (her plusher, softer rear hip, in Sara’s case).

Little more of substance came out of the last few questions before the governor’s speech and press conference ended, as we rolled onward.