Settling In

{I don’t have to get up yet} I thought with a barely-awoken smile, the new morning after a great (and essential!) night’s sleep greeting me in the form of sonorous cedar waxwings and friendly early morning sunlight.

Indeed, lying there in bed this first morning in my new home—owned home, at the ripe young age of 23!—I experienced afresh the freedom of being unknown to the outer world, here in my secure enclave. Equally delightful: no new changes to my body overnight! “Maybe this environmental interaction theory is correct” I said aloud to myself with a smile and gentle happy sigh. Briefly playing with my tentacles and brushing my hands over my giant boobs I further said to myself and the bedroom, “I could get used to this, long-term”.

The bed rocked and rolled as I shifted around my huge, unwieldy body into another position (for circulation and comfort), soon drifting back asleep.

This entire first day (post-arrival day) was all about recovery and rest, which I deserved and sorely needed! Humming happily and occasionally softly singing, I did some more organizing and minor furniture adjusting at points during the day. More than that I was now awake and rested enough to take in the wondrous beauty of my new home indoors and outside more than yesterday when I was bone-exhausted.

The kitchen became better organized, as catching up on skipped and/or light meals over the preceding days was as important as resting and sleep. I still had enough food to get by, though I was already making a grocery list. Thinking about which service I would utilize to get groceries delivered all the way out here and how much it was going to cost me almost had me going back to bed, thus I put those thoughts out of my mind for another upcoming day, refocusing on the what of the shopping list rather than the how.

My second full day awakening in my new home delighted me as much as the first (day prior): still no new mutations/growth of existing mutations! “Good body!” I praised other parts of myself as I awoke further, verbally and with loving pats and brief caresses.

Today I mixed physical restfulness with intellectual work: beginning the process of setting up my online service offerings, as well as learning more than the basics I already knew about making websites. {I’m going to have to dig in deep with Javascript, to have any hope of making decent web apps} I realized.

No matter now: some people and small businesses to this day had no need for more than a basic Web 1 passive text and pictures site of one or a few pages, as long as it was a responsive design that worked on small screens and with touch interfaces as well as cursor interfaces. That I already knew how to do.

The pattern of no bodily changes continued, to my delight! Now 5 days into living in my new home, I’d recovered enough to redirect my focus towards remodeling. This too started out with research reading: studying and learning how to safely and properly frame and build wooden structures.

Start of the next week—Day 7 of waking in my new home—I was outside measuring and otherwise working out what needed doing with the unfinished addition. This was a day with a lot of calculations, measurements, and standing outside in the unfinished space carefully visualizing. Around dark, I made a list of needed materials.

Day 8: still no bodily growth! Yay! Double Yay!

Some raw lumber was on the addition site, and usable. More needed to be ordered. Thankfully there was a truck making a delivery nearby late this same afternoon, so I was able to add my order and have it dropped off just out of sight of the highway near the start of the dirt access road to the lake, where it made a turn and became foliage shielded.

The following morning I could hardly wait to get up and get to work.

Thankfully the unfinished addition had not been framed, making it easier for me to transform it into a much larger single space: a room where I could spend many hours of quality time, accommodating to my new body. Large enough and spacious enough for me yet still cozy, a place where I could relax, eat quietly, watch videos, etc. Rec. room, Den, Family Room—differing names for this similar concept of a more casual living space.

Bizarre as doing construction work nearly nude was, it was my of-necessity reality. A hard hat and my homemade boob sling (a.k.a. bra bag) was about it. As a construction newbie, I needed to work slowly, methodically, and carefully in any case. This was a great start; the first of many days of construction, hopefully to the point of getting a roof on the space before winter!

Over this day and the ensuing days, with more practice, my ability with my unusual (if not unique) appendages improved. Every day surprised me with how quickly I was gaining the ability to fully make use of all my changed body had to offer and could do ever-more things at once.

It’s accurate to write that I was getting further accustomed to my new condition. As well, the fact of being alone and not having to worry about others intruding proved a tremendous relief—a massive reduction in stress, to be sure! This likely would not have been possible had the mutations not stopped. Every morning and several times throughout the day I thanked whatever unknown forces which had mutated me so severely for giving me an extended break—hopefully a permanent break, here in my new rural environment. {If living away from people well outside any city is what I need to do, so be it} I thought.

“Ffffffffffffffffffffffff” I sighed loud and long in relaxation, 13 days after arrival at the end of another long day of construction work on the new addition. Moving this big body requires a lot of energy.

Having finished work on the site around sunset, I decided I deserved a little break. I prepared a nice dinner, taking a refreshing shower as it cooked.

My plated dinner along with some of my favorite whiskey—the hard workingman’s beverage of choice for generations—traveled with the rest of me ensconced in several of my tentacles and hands on the way out to the porch, looking forward to enjoying the sunset and mild temperature, celebrating this second week of my new life.

It was a truly idyllic evening, resting comfortably on the deck, looking out over the beautiful lake, illuminated by the dimming rays of the colorful sunset. Now finished with dinner, I set aside my plate—nearly back in the house, thanks to my tentacle reach.

{I am comfortable, and totally nude, harming no one and with nobody bothering me} I thought with a smile, feeling the whiskey buzz along with the warm inner feelings of the baked chicken dinner digesting.

Maybe it was the alcohol, maybe it was that I felt safe, or maybe it was just that for the first time since the transformation began, I felt comfortable with my body. Whatever it was or wasn’t, I found myself caressing one of my tentacles. Was it possible that over all this time I’d had tentacles I had never done this before?

Yes.

Especially since the tentacle tips mutated into peni?

Major Yes.

It felt very nice. I picked up and moved the foreskin up and down, and the feeling was even better. My mind went where one might imagine it would: {Wait a minute… if this is how it feels manipulating just one, I have seven more. The scientist in me demands that I find out whether the feelings are additive, multiplicative, or fitting some other pattern}.

So it began… my first self-pleasuring since mutating. Hard detached analytical science faded into the background, yielding to immediate immersive sensual experience. Indeed, getting my second hand on a second tentacle tip felt good enough that I no longer cared which enhancement factor was the best curve fit. Small, growing waves of pleasure rippled through me, unleashing a hunger I had too long ignored.

Breathing shallowly with excitement, passion drove me to experience something I never ever could have felt in my former body, and even my past lovers couldn’t do: licking the head of my own huge dong—any of the 8 of them!

“Aaaugggh!” I gasped with sensual bliss, shuddering in pleasure from the intense, wonderful sensations.

Strong tingling like an urgently rung bell in my huge nips and indeed various places all over my giant breast glands drove me to relegate the licked penis head back to an anxiously waiting hand, allowing my singular mouth to glom onto my huge left nip.

Suckling myself was nicer than I could have imagined, even if not as directly intense as licking any of my cock heads. Glancing past my wobbling gelatinous gland, my eyes reminded me of another outsized set of parts of myself likely to appreciate sensual contact: my outrageously huge udder teats. Truth be told, until now I’d done my best to ignore them—they were wholly unnatural on a human being, and far more sensitive than I would have preferred.

This sensitivity which had been such a deficit as I went around my domain in the course of everyday life and accidentally brushed or rubbed or even banged or bumped my teats against majority unyielding, unpleasant surfaces suddenly became a huge benefit: subtle caresses with my tentacle tips and adjacent end regions drove me wild with wave after wave of intense pleasure! Not only did each teat feel amazing on its own from the inside, so did the penis tips and adjacent skin caressing them! Win-win double-down win!

There was no stopping this advanced sensorial exploration and adventure: the pleasure train was barreling down the tracks! {How much more can I have?} I had to wonder in the moment. {So many surfaces! So many stellar sensations!}

Hours and hours of pleasure ensued, rolling around on the deck in as many different exciting positions as I could get into, striving to feel as many new amazing things as I could possibly feel.

There came a point where I became obsessed with my peni: I needed to give pleasure to every one, neglecting none! These parts of me which had once been my greatest fear (before I had them), then a great nightmare (once I developed them), now became my 8 BFFs. Indeed at one point I surrounded my (upper human) head with their 8 heads, glad (glans?) to see and feel them. Each in turn got lustily worked over, until I exploded inside and out. As soon as I came, passion compelled me to claim another and work it to bursting. That was great, but there came a time when I lost track, no longer having any idea which I had been been working with before.

From orgasm 23 I lost count of orgasms as well. According to reading I’ve done since, this likely was a good thing: orgasms need to be left to happen or not happen as they will, with pleasure focused elsewhere rather than on the arbitrary goal of an orgasm.

I spent almost all night discovering the sexual joys and possibilities of my new body, truly wondering why I’d held off so long. Glorious as the feelings were, societal and upbringing guilt made me wonder at times for brief fleeting moments whether so much amazing pleasure could be “wrong” or “bad”. Thankfully for the most part these were indeed fleeting thoughts, leaving as quickly as they came—far quicker than I deeply, repeatedly came, over and over!

Eventually exhaustion won, as it must. I had to go to bed.

The sleeping portion of that night was very weird, filled with a lot of strange dreams. Despite sleeping soundly, in my dreams I felt odd, powerful sensations.

Drip, drip, dribble dribble dribble dribble squirt, drip

Something was very wrong when I awoke in the morning, which I realized from nearly the moment of waking. I heard and felt the dripping at the same time, instinctively clenching my bladder shut, thinking that‘s where my leak was from.

Only after calming down and waking up more fully did I comprehend what was going on. {It can’t be urine because I feel the liquid coming… out… of…}—soon as my mind started putting 2 and 2 together, it didn’t want to finish the equation—{Oh fuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuu…}.

I had to know, so I opened my eyes and looked.

“HHHHHHHHHH!”

You expected me to do anything other than gasp? Seeing my gigantically distended udder, grown more than halfway to the ceiling and equally to the sides?!

In no way could I see what was going on at the business end(s), but I could feel it and hear it, and knew well what udders usually made. As if that wasn’t more than enough to derail my day if not my life, I became aware of the exceedingly obvious fact right in front of me that my boobs not only were nearly double in size from their standard hugeness of the night before and the recent past before that, they were now super heavy and {Oh nooo!}—oh yes: full of milk! I knew for sure it was milk after catching a nip drip on my index finger and licking it.

By this point drip, drip, dribble dribble had become 4 separate continuously flowing streams, likely wrecking the wood floor of my wonderful new house!

{Why did this happen?!} I ranted in my mind as I struggled to figure out how to handle the unfolding very messy situation. {Had this something to do with the fact that last night I was playing with myself? Maybe I activated a special gland?}

My mind continued to reel as I strove to work through this latest serious problem. At this size it was impossible for me to leave my bedroom: I couldn’t pass through the door!

Every moment the situation became more acute. Beyond the milk flow flooding emergency, I noticed my breasts and udders were so full that they hurt. Barely able to move due to the growing pain, I quickly tentacle-grabbed whatever towels and bedding I could reach from where I was. I was making milk, there was too much of it inside me, thus there was only one option: I had to milk myself.

Seven hours later I was still milking myself. It was tedious, tiring, and boring, but at least it relieved the pressure, which eased then eventually eliminated the pain. Over the hours the size of my bodacious breasts and shockingly enormous udder had been decreasing, albeit at a tediously slow pace. With the towels and bedding soaked in no time, I was filling trash cans and any other containers I could nab with the milk. Once I could move enough to get near the bathroom, I was able to get at least some of my milk down the drain. What I’d do with all the milk in the trash cans and so on, I had no idea.

The inherent racism in Paleface Pails, whose tag line was “White Buckets for White People” made me gag. However they were relatively local, and most importantly promised to deliver to my doorstep within the hour, without bothering me.

The pails absolutely were boring white, and absolutely helped contain my overly-exciting (and not in a good way) milk.

The day was nearly gone—lost!—and I still had milk in me, so I kept milking away, situated in almost exactly the same place as I woke up. {Great Gaia! Over 14 hours in the same place, pulling milk out of this giant udder, starting this morning the size of a car.… I’m bigger than a car!} I couldn’t stop myself from thinking. {What kind of life is this?!}

“Whhhewww” I sighed upon awakening the next morning, checking up on the state of my body. The good news: I was vastly smaller than yesterday morning, and didn’t seem to have all that much milk in me. Initially I considered the fact that I was nevertheless bigger in my udder and breasts than before my, um, night of adventure (we’ll call it) to be unequivocal bad news. Feeling the pleasurable sensations of the bedding and occasionally the air currents across my sensitive, enlarged nipples and udder teats as well as the skin of the adjacent body parts housing these items made me reconsider, resetting my evaluation to ambivalent on these points.

“You’re alive, you’re safe, you’re healthy as far as anyone knows, and unlike yesterday you’re not in pain” I told myself and the room aloud. “Be thankful and grateful.”

My solo conversation continued into the bathroom and beyond, as I got going into this new day, “You certainly do have a lot of secrets, don’t you, huge wiggly milky body?”

My body told me nothing in reply, via any senses. Unfortunately I would have to continue stumbling towards discovery by myself.

Back to a (relatively) smaller size, I could (and did) once again finally get out of the bedroom. Convinced via logic and previous mutation and growth patterns that there would be a next time pending where I’d be too big to leave my bedroom—and possibly very soon, the top priority became widening the doors of all the rooms. I grabbed my tools and resumed work, focusing for now on this specific aspect of expanding the house.

The truth was that I needed to refocus beyond what my body was doing: focus on one or more somethings to do consistently on some sort of routine schedule most days, like a real job. My virtual shingle was hung for web work, and there was a trickle, but not enough to keep my active mind busy throughout a full day. Furthermore, on-screen things were best done after dark, to keep my mind occupied from sunset through bedtime. I knew that getting out in the sun (or at least daylight when it was cloudy) and fresh air were essential for health, as was physical activity, and out here in the boonies with few medical resources and none I felt up to utilizing anyway as a severely mutated person, I needed all the health optimizations I could get!

Some screen time was necessary in terms of learning how to properly frame doorways, since as mentioned I had never in the past worked as a carpenter, thus had a lot to learn. My large size made working in tight spaces more difficult. Countering that, having so many usable appendages, 8 of them with long reaches, made other construction aspects easier.

The most difficult aspect of the door enlarging and re-framing was having to wait for delivery of additional lumber, hiding inside my house pretending I was away, so as not to be seen. Staining the trim moulding to match the existing finish was also problematic, taking time and requiring color matching. For now I left the doorways unfinished in terms of trim, needing functionality more than beauty.

Once finished expanding the house’s doorways, several days later I returned to framing the new addition.

I continued to learn a lot working in construction, and the truth is that I liked it more and more the more of it I undertook. Before this when I had no legs, it never even occurred to me that I could possibly devote myself to physical work of this nature. If I had, it would have been difficult to get myself around different places on a job site.

As weird as having tentacles at all was, having 8 large and powerful tentacles with which I could manipulate heavy objects, climb high up and remain safe and stable on complicated parts of the structure, handle several things at once was a whole category of advantages those in standard human bodies partially or fully lacked.

One thing most construction workers have that I sorely lacked and needed was/is work clothes. Lacking skills, interest, and equipment for sewing and most other aspects of clothing assembly, and unsurprisingly finding nothing off the shelf to order for my unique body left me in a difficult place in this regard. After the most recent of far too many ouchie ouchie scratches on the ends of my tentacles (glandes or adjacent), I had to take action, which story might amuse you.

The only way I could figure to get a skilled clothier to make construction-grade tentacle end covers for me was to portray the situation as a costume design, rather than actual work clothes. Posing as Madam Mysterious, Stealthy Purveyor of Kink, I contracted with Susie Super Sewer of Ohio to make my tentacle covers out of denim with reinforced seams, demurring that this project was for a client who required that their sex kink be kept secret.

The 8 well-made sturdy denim tentacle covers met my expectations, despite being slightly tighter and shorter than I would have preferred. Most importantly they were delivered quickly (on time) and were far superior to anything I could have made myself. Wanting to keep the door open for future custom clothing opportunities I lied a little, telling Susie that the garments exceeded my client’s expectations.