Living, Loving, and Mutating Together

Rose and I remained an item living together in my house from that day she came over for support. The most difficult thing for me was keeping our intimate time to about half an hour of cuddling together in my bed before she took off to her bed in what had been the guest bedroom, left over from the prior homeowner. The risk of further mutation so soon from more sex was too great, hence this arrangement.

In terms of milk production for sale, I went at solo sexing myself one day when she was back over at her house where her sewing room remains fully set up and equipped with all the supplies she routinely needs, after which she rejoined me for milking. Her seamstress skills are truly impressive: in what to me was no time at all, she came back over to my-now-our house with her bra modified to hold her increased boobage, looking good and according to her, quite comfortable.

Looking good more than ever applied to Rose in general. Three days after being so upset about having mutated further, she seemed totally content with her changed body. The fact that I now knew beyond any doubt that she loved big boobs as much as I’d learned to love them and that hers continued to swell may have contributed to her contentment. I still have visions of her on this day helping me with the new room addition as though it just happened: looking so serene as well as focused, holding up that rafter board high above her head as I nailed it in at the other end. All 4 boobs so full and round and elegantly swelling out of her 2 bra tops, her freshly-fleshier thighs and butt curved out just enough to make her even more of a knockout. I was glad then and I’m still glad today that there weren’t any woman-attracted sexual predators around—other than me! Had there been, Rose and I would have had our work cut out for us keeping them at bay if she was disinterested in them. Had any such people been present and had Rose been interested in them, we might have had an orgy. Which in and of itself might have been all well and good, but would have blocked progress on construction, delayed things further with my subsequent milk generation and needing to be milked, and very likely would have accelerated Rose’s mutations, possibly taking them some whole other unknown direction. It’s really something to be able to work with her as a team doing construction, with the benefit of each of us having someone who’s our sexy lover to look at now and then as we work. Oh how I wish we could have had a week or two of immersive honeymoon-style full-time sex and cuddly romantic loving, ignoring any consequences!

Despite not being able to live that dream, this first week living together full time with Rose was a blissful time I still remember fondly.

Life got “interesting” during our second week living together. Hearing atypical gasps and sounds of movement from Rose’s room made me wonder what was up, besides the who of her being awake and up.

Soon as I slithered into her room I saw what it was: she’d mutated again—suddenly. Significantly bigger boobs than the night before, with the quad of nipples on her upper left grown to finger diameter and nearly second joint of finger length. A brand-new pair grown out of the vertical center of her belly, already bigger than her original pair before she started mutating, just barely resting atop her curvaceously fleshy thighs.

In no way were the new pair of breasts or the suddenly-huger nipple quad the most dramatic changes: Rose now had a second pair of arms grown out of her lower torso! Strange indeed seeing this pair of apparently parasitic fully-formed albeit minimally muscular arms emerging from her sides (as arms normally do) right about the height of what were now her middle breasts.

I concluded they were parasitic from the way they slowly meandered aimlessly as she stared at them in stunned disbelief. “’Morning, Rose.”

“Hh-hhh-hi.” She finally looked up and made eye contact with me, the shocked expression remaining.

“Can you feel anything in your new arms and hands?”

“Everything!”

“Can you control them at all?”

“Nnnn… no. Whhyyyy?”

“We don’t know why” I smiled, easing myself down next to her as cuddly-close as I could get, wrapping a couple of tentacles around her since my arms couldn’t possibly reach.

“I don’t know how I feel about… having these things that grew out of me overnight and just move of their own volition!”

“They’re part of you, Rose. Try and make friends with them, as I initially needed to do with my tentacles when they came in.”

She snapped her head towards me for full eye contact, anxiety permeating her voice, “Did yours—your tentacles—wander around aimlessly when they first came in?!”

“The first pair that eventually acted like legs surely did! They indeed did their own thing for awhile until I learned to control them.”

“What do I need to know to learn?!”

“Start by taking a deep breath or several and regaining your composure.”

I had to set the example by doing this myself, not only as an example but to keep myself teacher-like calm.

“Relax. Use your regular arms and hands to reach down and gently caress them, maybe hold these newer hands in your experienced life-long hands, but let the new ones move if they want.”

As I’d hoped, her new appendages settled down, moving only slightly in a slow, restful rocking motion.

“They look so thin and… frail” she whimpered.

“They look so healthy and well-formed, for something which grew from nothing overnight” I hastened to emphasize. “Give them a chance, Rose. Look at your growing array of bodacious boobs. It’s only this newest pair that’s come in already larger than your singular pre-mutation pair. Given what’s happened with me, chances are outstanding that your new arms will continue to grow until they’re at least as full and strong as your originals. Love them! Welcome them on your body! Give them time and space to finish growing in, gently guiding them with your mind as that ability comes online for them. Any interest in breakfast?”

“I need some mirror time.”

Rose spent almost two hours in the bathroom, examining her latest body revisions.

As with the first round of sudden major changes which brought her over and into my life full-time, I wound up checking in on her while she was still inspecting. “Findings worth sharing?”

“My new arms are already filling out fully like my existing ones!” She looked more shocked than pleased, though her voice sounded pleased.

“Excellent!”

“And my legs are shorter but my torso’s longer, and somehow this is happening so I’m the same height. It took me awhile to figure out what exactly had changed, even though I knew that walking felt different. It wasn’t until I needed to use the toilet and sat down and saw how much higher up my head was and how my legs felt more fully stretched out that it started to dawn on me, and it wasn’t until I stood back up and realized how much farther I had to reach to wipe that I truly worked it out.”

“Might not your lower hands have easier reach?”

“They have a lot to learn yet” she replied, giving each a squeeze with its nearest mature hand.

“Ready for breakfast? Or would you rather just go for brunch or lunch at this point?”

“I really need to skip the coffee today and have some Calm Clouds tea, or at least chamomile or mint.

Over tea and toast (which was as much food as she was willing to consider), Rose felt the need to confess something.

“I know why this sudden mutation happened.”

“Why?”

“I couldn’t help doodling and suckling myself last night” she blushed.

“No need to be embarrassed. You had a need, and you took care of it.”

“I’m such a…. I’m so horny so much of the time! Oh Tent, how are we going to survive this—at least me?! I need sex, whether solo or, preferably, with you!”

I totally related, nodding to indicate this.

“But these mutations… they’re intense!”

“Life is full of tradeoffs, my beautiful multi-armed, multi-busty friend” I smiled, pouring her a fresh cup of tea with my left outer front tentacle.

“I hope someday I can do what you just did, other than with an arm and hand rather than a tentacle. Not that I’d entirely mind having some of those, as long as they had fully functional penis ends like yours.”

“I’m making do quite well, though truly, opposable thumbs have a lot of advantages over tentacle cocks.”

“I so wish you could run any one of your big, thick, delicious tentacle cocks up and down my column of cleavages between my fat, succulent boobs and cum and spray delicious milk in my face” she lustily growled, “without us mutating to oblivion.”

The arousal from her vivid imagery excited me nearly beyond control. “But if I did that, I’d need to take one of my other big, thick, hungry tentacles and slide it slowly and sensually in and out and in and out, and then bring another pair over for your new hands to try and play with, maybe with yet another pair caressing your newly extra-succulent hips–”

“–Oh fuck it, I don’t care about mutations!” she yelled, pushing her teacup aside and throwing her legs open. “Let’s do this!”

We did, as described. It was at least as wonderful as each of us had envisioned.

Thankfully—and to be honest, mysteriously—Rose suffered no especial sudden new mutations from our spontaneous morning tea time sex. Days later, all that had happened on her was the already-anticipated gradual growing of her breasts, further thickening of her lower body (which I found very sexy), and maturation of her new arms into ones she could control and start building up strength-wise. Her quad nips grew dramatically in length and somewhat more in diameter, though it was not possible to know how much of that would have happened without our sudden sex romp.

“You’re going to need something when the temperature drops, Tent” Rose strove to persuade me. “I know it’s still nice now, but when the cold snap hits, wham!: you’ll want plenty of warm clothing, blankets, and very soon thereafter highly productive home heating.”

Here we have another memory as clear to me right this moment as I type this as back when it happened. Nothing seemed more natural to me on this day than walking along a side branch of our lake access dirt road on 4 of my tentacles (dick tips safely away from the ground) with the other 4 holding my udder off the ground, as Rose gesticulated and used her walking stick with her upper arms and hands at the same time carrying our fruit collecting and plant pruning tools bags with her lower arms and hands—part of their strength training. Either one of us alone was mutated enough to make most people’s heads explode, yet here we were out and about together living our shared life, almost like we still inhabited conventional human bodies… other than admittedly walking slower, since I was still learning how to move my tentacles in more of a true walking motion (only possible outside like this where there was enough room). Thankfully Rose’s new shorter stride matched my slower pace.

“Haven’t seen anything in my size from Tent’s End nor Abercrombie & Tent” I teased her back on this walk on that memorable day.

“You silly milk maiden!” Rose grinned, leaning over to give the side of my udder a substantial playful sideways shove. She’d forgotten that my left side tentacle was there holding my udder up, so she wound up shoving that part of me instead. “Someone who quite likes you knows how to sew.”

“In other words you’re saying you’re going to have me in stitches?” I was in a silly mood around this part of the walk.

Quickly she ran around in front of me, not only arresting my forward progress but giving my actual udder skin a powerful blowfish, followed by a strong suckle and light teethe on my udder’s nearest teat. “Yes I’m going to have you in stitches: my well-stitched custom clothing!” she declared loud enough for the whole forest a good 50-some meters in every direction to hear, quickly trotting back over to my side so we could resume our walk.

For the better part of a week, I saw surprisingly little of Rose during the daytime. Her extensive sewing room remained at her house, with really no place for the sprawling setup in my house, even with the additions. She didn’t mind because she was so focused on getting me into garments, and to a lesser degree making a few pieces or alterations for herself. I didn’t mind because it freed up time for my paid work projects—the ones other than generating liters and liters of milk. We took meals together and continued to sleep under the same roof, so it wasn’t like we weren’t spending time with each other. She also sometimes made daytime cameo appearances away from mealtime for quick additional measurements of my unique body.

Thankfully for reasons as unclear as what was behind all these mutations in the first place, my body wasn’t dramatically growing, and certainly not mutating in new ways. Same with Rose: breast growth (all of them), quad nip growth to a point where they really could only be called teats, and ever-greater parity between her life-long arms and her new ones was the extent of hers.

Although I only squeezed into her place to see her at work once, that along with what she shared with me during evenings and mornings made it abundantly clear that her dexterity with her new arms was already on par with her existing pair. Despite lacking the inclination and sufficient practice and skill refinement to make my own clothes, I have in the past sewn, and understand the general concepts. I certainly knew enough to be highly impressed with how much more efficiently Rose could (and did) work with two sets of hands and arms.

“Is this sort of work something you’d enjoy doing to earn a living?” I asked her on that one time I paid her a visit.

Needle in left hand, other 3 hands fully occupied, she paused and looked up at me, “It’s a lot more fun at a relaxed pace for a special friend. I won’t totally rule out doing a limited amount of custom work for difficult-to-fit people, but there’s a reason the mass-produced pieces are machine-cut and often machine-sewn.”

Move over, mom jeans: thanks to Rose, I have tentacle jeans! Woot! Woot!

Just look at that smile on my face in the picture above that Rose snapped when I first tried them on. The fit—oh my gosh! I feel nearly ready to hob-nob with those entertainment industry types who have their jeans tailored, just like me! Did you know that celebs get even their basic everyday life clothing tailored so they can always look great so they stay on-brand? Neither did I. I’m learning a lot from Rose.

Not only do these look great, they feel wonderful! I’ll stay nice and warm this winter for sure, even working or playing outside! Everything’s reinforced, so as long as I don’t go sex-mad, my udder will remain safely contained without me needing to support it with any of my tentacles. The inner lining of my udderalls and ends of the tentacle legs (which Rose insists are socks, though I don’t know that denim socks are a thing) is as soft and cozy as it gets, and still breathes! Not only do I feel more like a person, I feel pretty! Take that, mass-market clothiers!

This very sturdy and comfortable custom bra top completed the package. I know it looks like the cups aren’t padded, given how my giant nips shine right through (and they were assuredly at “low beam” rest when Rose took this picture), but trust me, they are. Super comfortable and no more painful nip impacts against unexpected obstacles nor nip freeze when it’s cold. Luvs my meat mountains roaming free for comfort and rest and sexy play, but it’s both relief and a necessary option for other aspects of daily living to keep them protected and warm, and contained!

One of several gifts of my mutations which fills me with gratitude and begs me not to question why is my lack of back pain carrying my women (my boobs are too big and grown up to be called my girls). This was true without the bra top, though having it helps additionally. It helps even more with maintaining consistent cleavage, so I can finally store things there. For other busty women cleavage storage may be convenient or cute or sexy or showing off. For me with my difficulty reaching past myself most directions, it’s a necessity! (It will be kind of you not to ask me what happened the one time I stored a chocolate bar in there. Rose still laughs about that melty gooey incident.)

I remember kissing and hugging and especially hand-massaging Rose well into the night, as the start of my expression of appreciation for her amazing work, and this great gift of the final result!

Ever awaken with a sense of foreboding? Not even a week after Rose finished my stellar new winter outfit, I had this unshakeable, awful feeling when I awoke, based upon nothing factual.

Rose was already awake; I could hear her moving around.

Instinct drove me to get up and go to her room, maybe so she could comfort me and help me settle down. What I saw the moment I entered her bedroom suggested a comforting role-reversal:

Seeing Rose suddenly more heavily mutated did not especially surprise me, given my own experience. Seeing the intensity and depth of her dazed, shocked expression hit me like a punch in the gut.

“Tent?”

The weakness of her voice upset me further. “Good morning, Rose. Changes since last night, yes?”

She nodded. “My feet are gone.” She kick-waved the stubby amorphous lumps of meat which her legs had become, with nothing more than slightly smaller round ends where her feet had been. The effect was somewhat like a lying-down infant learning how to use their legs. “The changes… why so fast?!”

Her sad, whimpering tone compelled me to rush over to her side, multiply caressing her with several tentacles as well as my hands. “I don’t know, sweetie. The same fast-slow-stop changes in random patterns is what’s been happening with me.”

“But you’re a med student, right?!” She grabbed my arm, “Is it going to be OK, Tent?! Is it going to be alright?”

“One day at a time, Rose. Sometimes one hour at a time. Have you tried standing up at all? Or walking?”

She shook her head, rotating and shifting off the bed with care.

Standing up was easier than either of us had expected: her foot lumps squished out, providing greater floor contact area and thus stability, at the price of some height loss.

Walking was more problematic. “There’s so little range of motion, and lifting these things is so hard!” she noted as she practiced pacing a few steps around the room.

“Let’s do our morning bathroom stuff then meet up in the living room. It’s been a long time since I’ve investigated whether anyone’s figured anything out yet about idiopathic spontaneous mutations.”

Understandably, Rose didn’t bother getting dressed, even though the morning was chilly. I was already all comfortably set up on the couch in my new warm outfit, resting against my plush center rear tentacles and getting into research on my boobtop computer when she slowly shuffled into the room.

“Anything?”

“Not yet. How do you feel otherwise, apart from the shock of the sudden changes?”

“F-f- fine” she hesitated. “Really good, actually. As terrifying as the suddenness of all this is, I’d be lying if I didn’t say that I’m quite loving this new pair of insta-boobs.” She groped herself there with her lower hands, whether intentionally or not emphasizing her point. “How is it that this new set of girl jugs can come in full-sized overnight and not have wicked tiger stripe stretch marks?”

“Has to be the same or a similar mechanism as when it happens elsewhere on your body, and all the many places it’s happened on my body. Had I made it far enough through medical school and was life settled down enough, it’s something I’d love to research.”

She stood there holding her by-far-largest upper left breast, looking ever-more like an udder, especially right then as she tugged her/its upper right teat. Despite the areolae, those big long appendages each as thick as 3 of her fingers and longer than her longest (middle) fingers could no longer rightly be called nipples. Part of me wished she wasn’t doing that, given how watching her do it excited me, distracting me from what little meaningful research I was able to accomplish. I redoubled my focus, hoping she was enjoying herself as much as it was starting to appear.

“Nothing new” I reported to her maybe 10 minutes later, closing and setting aside my boobtop, with the assistance of my right rear tentacle moving the device to a distant table with ease I now took for granted. As I type this it’s crazy to think that even back then, I was already accustomed to being able to reach most of the way across whole rooms with less effort than most people exert leaning over to reach a side table. Then again my tentacles don’t have opposable thumbs.

Rose remained standing where she’d been this whole time, again looking lost. “Cuddle time, please?”

“Sure. Want anything to eat first?”

She shook her head.

“Hot chocolate with little marshmallows in it?”

She nodded fervently, just shy of crying. In our not-all-that-long time of living together, I’d already learned that this was her go-to comfort beverage in cooler weather.

Rose insisted upon making us both hot chocolates (I prefer mine without the marshmallows), delivering mine to me then asking for a tentacle ride up close into and against me for our cuddle. Picking her up was easier than I’d expected. It wasn’t until much later than I realized that her body had traded muscle and bone for softer tissues which were less dense, including a lot of fat—at least on her many boobs.

We cuddled and sipped quietly, the latter at a restful pace. No snow nor storms and in fact it was sunny, nevertheless it was chilly, making a cozy cuddle in our shared home extra wonderful.

“Do you like my new boobs?” she asked a few minutes later, still holding her warm empty mug.

“I like all of you, Rose, all the time.”

“I’m getting more boobacious all the time, with more cleavage for you to run any of your tentacles through.”

“That you are. I didn’t want to get us into sexytime today, both so your mutations can settle down and because I’m on a deadline with the Morganmumfer Tile Works website, so there’d be not enough time for milking tomorrow.”

She tilted her head up to make fuller eye contact, “You’re going to keep me, aren’t you?”

“Always” I smiled, wrapping both my arms and many of my free tentacles around her.

Several minutes later she again broke the silence, “Do you have time for a walk today?”

“A short one, yes. Why?”

“I don’t know how many more days I’ll have legs at all.”

Her concern hit me at least 1/4 as hard as first thing this morning. Sure my work is important, but that’s not even on the same scale as sharing time with my wonderful Rose, doing things she soon might not ever be able to do again. Having lived my entire life legless until my mutation, and still not truly having legs, her outlook resonated with me deeply. “Yes I have time. Short, medium, or long—whatever you want. I need something more for breakfast, then any time after that morning, midday, afternoon, or whatever that you want to go, you let me know.”

The walk was wonderful, and bonding. As days then weeks passed, it turned out it was not the only one we enjoyed: Rose’s mutations came to a near standstill. Early on she modified her new jean leg ends with heavy reinforcement, basically giving them the padding, comfort, and protection of shoes. This made walking slightly easier, though it was clear to both of us that unless the mutations reversed or changed in some whole other way, she’d not be walking with the ease she formerly had ever again.

We were a great team, working and playing and otherwise living our lives together. Our together routine included cleaning (home, clothes, dishes, etc.), food prep, milking me, various aspects of home improvement, and assuredly other things that aren’t coming to my mind right now.

Rose continued to handle selling my milk via the co-op, which by the way for you who may be wondering is also the source of our food: milk picked up and food delivered to us on the edge of the highway where our private lake dirt road starts, with a text to Rose when the truck is nearing so she can get the milk out, then go hide and quickly pick stuff up after the truck is gone and when no one else is going by. As I think I mentioned already it’s a 2-lane rural forest highway with not a lot of traffic, so remaining unseen is relatively easy.

Her other main solo endeavor continued to be sewing. Even though neither of us were currently mutating to a large enough degree to require new clothes, making and modifying garments is something for which Rose has a gift. Beyond enjoying this work in general, she secretly liked fussing over her various custom bras and bra tops, I think so that she could look at and handle herself there more often, and generally fuss over her multiple endowments as a form of self-esteem reinforcement.

My solo endeavors were working on projects for my online business, and constructing a whole new building on my very big lot. Basically a one-room building with one big room: a great room, so to speak, for me to be all I can be, in an indoor setting. Minimally furnished by design, there was plenty of room for my tentacles to roam and scatter everywhere without me having to mind them carefully to avoid knocking into something. Yes, I’d set my living room in the main house up this way and had remodeled it with that large new addition room to be more spacious, but here there was not only space, but minimal clutter… and no furnishings which would be damaged when milking. Think about me and my milk and what makes me especially milky, and you will have figured out another excellent use for this new one-room building—a usage Rose and I enjoyed getting into, when we weren’t doing it on the bed, or elsewhere in the main house.

Here you see me proudly showing off the final result to Rose:

She’d of course seen it throughout its stages of construction, and had helped on numerous occasions earlier, on those rare moments when even with all my tentacles and my extreme reach therefrom, another person was needed. I was so happy with the end result that I asked her to come and look, and set up my device on a tripod to take this picture when my left front tentacle tapped it.

Minutes after this picture was the finishing touch: mounting in the middle of that front beam a wood letter-burnt sign with the name of the new structure:

Wooden Sign Hanging PNG Free Download Creative Commons 4.0 BY-NC