Bio-Corrupt-ology – Lockdown Written by Septia. “Gyyaarg.” I scream and throw myself at the barred door. Crusted dirt crackling under my fingernails like dry plaster as I tear at the planks nailed over the wood. Convulsions warp my body, waves in the storm of my body. I throw myself back, rolling against the wall in desperation. I come face to face with the calendar; all days crossed out, with the x's continuing down the dilapidated wallpaper. With my luck, a rescue team would be coming tomorrow, when it was too late. “OOuuraauuurrg.” A groan from outside my barricade, another infected at my door. They had yet to break through, but soon… it wouldn't matter. After weeks of staving it off, I was about to join them… “Grryaa, stop.” I scream. Another throb of muscle contractions bore through me. On damp paper legs I stumble to the bedframe, falling to my knees.. I clutch the frame like the cliff that anchored me to reality. My eyes glaze over the mattress tanned in my sweat and grime. The rest of my body mimicking its appearance: sinuous patterns of layers upon layers of dirt colored my skin in a dingy hue to match the wall's mildew. But now, as my breath reared up like a steam engine, a gloss of fresh sweat bore across my arms, down my side and thighs. The new perspiration washed out etchings through the layers of sweat and giving my decrepit form a luster of burnished marble. Hissing in breaths through my teeth, I stared in the room, at myself, what had become of me? Doomed to perish in this place that reeked from lack of showers, soap… and functional plumbing. “Gnnrrahhaa, aaargh,” I wheezed through gritted teeth, and I slam my head in the mattress. My heart thumped in my chest, harder, faster. I feel it pump the contagion through my bloodstream, the stress only hastening the circulation, seeping through every cent of my body. Harder, harder, exploding in my chest. I reel back, wrapping my arms around my torso on sheer instinct, to contain it. But the pressure on my arms tore into me, against the sensitive flesh they were knives tearing through sinew. “Ghhraaah hell,” I shout, but the sensation lingers, the heartbeats coursing through them with my searing blood torching my nerves. As the feeling blossomed, I stared on, … at my chest jutting outwards like a pair of grapefruits. Crescenting up against the blemishes on the fabric, tensing the shirt and straining the tears I had accumulated over my volunteer imprisonment. “I-I. I’m I mutating.” I stammer, horrified. A convulsion tears up my chest, a gradual rip of woven threads coming undone scratching trough my shirt as my chest jostled, a grind of polishing rubber echoing under the muffled hold of my flesh as they grow. I wrap my chest tight again, sinking my forearms into the pulsing tissue beneath my shirt, feeling it fold around my arms like cantaloupe sized stress balls, even as the pain shoots through me again. The ache roars, the tissue under my breasts swells in time with my heartbeat, desperate to hold back the virus as firecrackers brassed off in my tits. It burns with a cacophony of frying jerky in bubbling oil. My muscles torched, reforged and burned again to promote germination, becoming something new. I clench my tits tighter to my chest. A quake spikes through my spine as the combustive mutation of sensitive skin is halted by my own might. The pain akin to having torn out a tooth, then roughly jabbing it back in to a bleeding cavity. The pain is, the pain is… “Y-yyeees,” I wheeze. The broiling bulk in my chest keeps swelling over, caressing over my hands, with the rushing of new arteries pumping infection through the inflating milksacks. My boobs warped in my arms, breaching up over my hands and sagging down, swelling outwards with a shriek of stretched latex, warping wider and taller, blowing up like mushroom caps. Before my eyes. Soon it was my breasts that clutched over my arms. The strain of each pulse of inflation white-hot through my forehead, numbing, soothing, but rolled under a blanket of ache. I couldn't… hold. I can't hold it back. The pressure was too much, I crashed, and my chest blew up into airbags. At once, my arms are sweep sideways from the force. My jugs bust through the straps of my shirt, an expanding bulwark of sweat steamed skin the size of watermelons ramming through. The atmosphere undulates with the shreedding shriekstears of a lawn mowere running over a pile of laundry – my shirt is no more. The pang of expansion freezes the moment for me, glaring down at the bagging mammaries protruding out ahead of me. They hang in the air, swollen half an armlength ahead of me, like the globs in a lava lamp, weightless. Reality crashes into me, and my chest follow suit. My bust sledged into the bed frame, the bulk of my brand-new boobs slamming into the wood to the sound of an anvil wrapped in cotton. The tree beams in splinters, reverberations carried thought the frame as my arms grasp it for support, the wood indenting around the zenith of my bosom, the straight wood cracking into an obtuse angle. I feel the splintering stir my chest. “Mgmms, my tits, hurts like as…” I wheeze out, still hearing the throbbing, the convulsions in my breasts bending the bed, sloughing onto the sweat soaked mattress. Staring at the mammoth mammaries billowing off my torso, warping the bed to its presence, titillation rummaged through me. They were almost bigger than the largest tit's I'd ever seen, almost. A gummed crackle sprouting across my skin from the dirt patches stretching across my breasts, glued together by ageing sweat, the crust cracking on the swelling lumps of sagging breast meat ringing out like crumpling frosted gingerbread cookies underneath a T-bone steak. A scratch of tension spiralled through the wood, my chest bubbling in growth, the whirlpool of firecrackers thrashing inside them as they filled out, bubbling outwards in its brand new girth, wedging harder on the frame. The trickling bits and nibbles of the virus on flesh was corroding my chest, breaking down muscles, glands, and fats, and using that slurry of strain to weave new muscles, stronger bones, denser blubber. And I see it, the bubbling under my skin as it churned and brews like a cauldron of fudge, the bubbles of contorted flesh warping my chest outwards, in every boiling inflation of my chest. It never sank back fully to where it had before, but instead warping the limits, pushing them further and further, outwards. The cracking escalated to fractures, sparking into cracks. The frame's obtuse angle grew sharp, my bust cratering it around its weight. I stumbled forwards as my chest demolished the supports of the bed, the opposite end raising in the fulcrum of my chest before it came crashing back down, the whole side of the bed breaking apart and the wooden beam snapping with a shower of splinters over the floor. I was caught by my own airbags, bobbing me down on the wrecked frame, plumping up wider than pumpkins. That was a size… larger than any I had seen, and they are mine. “More… m-more…” I wheeze through a headache, a stroke of panic tearing through me as I arched my back, standing up form the ruins of the bed frame. In the swing I knock my chest into the nightstand holding my journal, the boobage crashing through it like a wrecking ball and launching the furniture onto its side. A dent, in a vague rounded sculpt of my bust, marking its side. I stumbled back to the wall, arms reaching down to cup my jugs. Spikes of pain flourishing under the strokes of my fingers like nails hammering through my veins. But my digits adjusted, moulding the ache, strokes playing on the aches that plagued my skin with goosebumps. It was a whole beanbag of boobage trailing down my torso. I pant out the ache, my dry lungs flourishing in a caustic humidity. My panting let my tongue drool past my lips, saliva trailing from the rug of muscles to dollop over my chest, slobbering down the crusted surface of grime. Though now it was shifting, dirt breaking down under fresh sweat seeping over my chest, budding up through the radiant warmth from my tits and swathing down in a film of viscous moist of funk. I stand with my back against the wall, just breathing, soaking, delicate rugs and brushes splaying the ache through my tits like a piano serenade of fangs tearing through my flesh. I wanted more. The pain was simple, it was good, such sharp emotions… I rubbed my tub back into the wall, its coarse texture good on my back. I kept grinding along the wall, hoisting and handling my chest. Residual beats of growing pains swirled through them. Why was it stopping? My heart pounds, weighed down by the bulk it had helped forge at my front by the vigorous wills of my breasts. Drooping down to my navel in a plush voluptuous arch. “Wh-why did it stop. I want, m-more. It feels, g-good,” I wheeze out as my caress grows rough, kneading into my jugs as I scrape my back harder into the course wall, tearing off the scraps of my shirt still trailing down my back as I bump into the door, the planks boarding it up rugged, dressed with crooked nails, digging into my shoulderblades. My joints flexed involuntarily at the rough grating, and I groped harder. The oscillations in my head roiling through me, and still there was nothing. Frustration started to build. “Mfmm, is that all you got? I need more, you can't leave me cold now with just a ta pair of knockers I nnedmsm need mfmappaa…” I groaned out as a spike of tension pinched my spine like a rope, and the knot laid twisted my crotch. I tore at my skirt, tugging it against my thighs, but met resistance. I even unbuttoned it, still no success. It laid snagged on my hips which laid warm to the touch. I tear off my panties, ripping one leg of it clean off and flicking it away, I tuck the skirt out of the way to stare down, just past the hills of my chest, my pussy laid twitching. That's where the ache spiked, it ripped through my insides like soggy toiletpaper. I scream, pinching my thighs shut over my snatch in the gruelling ache. But it keeps intruding. A tremor of convulsions ruffle my legs, and I can feel the bubbling heat under the skin of my thighs as they swell to the curdling squelch of polishing leather with slime. The ruffling bolstering of my thighs, gradually adding bulk, sculpting my baseball bat physique to that of fat chicken-drumsticks. Broadened thighflesh swell tubby with blubber, grinding my thighs together. The bulk they take up spreading to cleave them apart by sheer lack of space between them… This cleft forced open my thighs, unveiled my crotch, and the bulging ache that rummaged through my insides. I felt it, warping my birth canal, an intrusion that crept towards my lips. An extension of my own spine curling and cramming its way through me, shrills of ache sprouting all the way through my brain. I stare, watching globules of murky jam percolate through my slit, leaking a thick and curdled, greasy tar that forms into a puddle on the ground... as, it, emerged. My nether lips spread with a smattering strain of tearing open molten cheese, a knob of flesh protruding, curving the lips around it as it emerged, thick as a gold ball and slathered in oily brown goo. I panted with my breath caught in my throat. My thighs blooming with heat as my snatch is cleaved by this erupting meat, peering forth and sloping downward as more of its pale body emerged. “I'm g-giving birth to a dick…” I wheeze out as it jutted out a good thumb through my snatch. But there was… so much more. I felt my pussy screech as the meat flexed. The mast engorged, swelling up from a bratwurst to a coda can, moving in such fluid motions it appeared liquid when it inflated, spreading my pussy like a mantle behind it in its march outwards. The slathering of fluid draping down and scraped off from my pussy, sludge slathering off with the smear of jelly spouted out of a straw. “Is that the best you can do?” I wheeze out through my teeth, reaching down to flick at the long mast protruding through my trench. It throbbed, shaking the foundation of my pussy all the way back to my cervix. This short-circuited my legs, leading me to drop down the door as the flesh obliged to my wishes. With the noise of filling a condom with cement, the meat bolstered. The rosy tip peeked upwards as the mast flexed tenser, surpassing the girth of a wine bottle as it elongated, arching its way upwards, surpassing the limits of my lap and edging its way up to my belly button. The black dregs and mucilage that drool off of it is humid, fresh and sloppy, drooling down like jam and splattering against the rest of my body, which was fried and sticky from the grime build up over ages – a fresh, newborn filth compared to the dry, crisp, caking desperation that clad my body. My pussy is gonna split open... I slumped down on bent knees, thighs buffing against each other, and swung my knees to the sides as my rump reached the ground. I am a gruelling mess getting plowed by my slimy dick, birthed by my insides. A wave of lust scattered through my brain, the jerking motions of the meat protruding and bloating triggering a primal satisfaction I have not felt in weeks. Thuds from outside rammed at my back. They were here. I hadn't exactly kept quiet, the infected knew I was here, and some wanted in. Their hammering on the door drive the boards into into my back, I moan harder. “More. More, screw my pussy harder, the bitch hasn't gotten a workout in ageism,” I wheeze out, groping and tearing at my tits and my own cultivated dick, but more splitting ache seeped through me. Staring down as my pussy – already warped to a rounded tub around my cock – engorged at the bottom, skin contorted in a dip towards the ground. The lips sculpted like a dumbbell before the lips peeled back over it, birthed through a wave of bile emerged a scrotum; two thick, broad orbs of juicy flesh the size of cantaloupes, barfed out of my pussy and slobbering over the ground as my cock only grew above them. “Mgmgapah aaooh heck,” I wheeze and straddle myself against the door. The balls heaving together with the extruding shaft testing the foundation of my snatch. But, the dick soon didn't need them anymore, surpassing those limits. With a juggling bloat and surge of fluids coursing through my dick I watched it inflate, past my crotch, pumping up towards my torso. But it didn't swell with air, or water, no, it bloated with pure, beefy, brawn. I felt my pupils roll up, ino my forehead, gasping and drooling cups of saliva over my chest, staring at the growing pillar before me as its girth bulldoze my pussy. “Bigger,” I stammered, after weeks of isolation this intense infuse of agony of having my snatch split in twain had whatever depraved scarps of my soul belting out an opera. “Bigger, mooorre,” I wheezed as my dick plumped up before me, tongue lolling further and further out. The meat was magnificent, its juicy girth towering above my shoulders with its sprout echoing with the meaty stretch of tying ribbons out of truck tires. And yet the palpitations of my head rushes through my grand dick, skin rippling in the shaking swells emboldening its stature. While below I feel my legs budding, spreading wider under the bulk of my balls magnifying in turn, throbbing in heat as they anchored me to the ground, like a pair of lead cushions. The cock head reached all the way in line with my chin. Twitching, teasing. In pained panting I stared, drool sloughing down my arm, and down onto my… hand. I started, but it was too warm for drool. It was too thick. I stared down, and saw a tendril of muscle sloughed over my thumb. A long carpet reaching up along my arm, plated against my shoulder until… it reached my mouth… My tongue. It had grown even longer than my dick, and as I panted it only unfurled, piling down and slumped over the ground. I stared up at my dick, wheezing with more tongue than I knew what to do with. And my pussy, streaming… the focal point through all this growth, pinched by the girth sloughing through me. “Ffffmore… d-do it. I want enough d-dick to screw over everyone. Everything,” I wheeze in slobbered obsession… The hammering from the door pounding at my back. I clutched one arm along my sack, the other harnessing my dick, stumbling to my feet as I felt them pulsing with my heartbeat. “I don't need a pussy anymore with thismmh, dick…” I hiss as I turn to the door, and ram my cock into it. The thud shaking through the door as it paints its bile on the boards. Humping into the wood, tongue and balls dragging flat on the ground, using the door to stroke and jerk off my pecker… The grinds leave my pussy howling as the throbbing monolith swells from boa to an anaconda, tearing through the flesh of my pussy, ripping the seams apart and steamrolling it to meld into my thighs with a splutter of crimson grime. I was more dick than woman, were it not for the mass of my tits sloughing forwards. The absurd boobs radiating heat throughout them as they sloughed over my mast. I felt my nipples tense, contract, convulse and stretch, pliant like putty through the roaring beat of my heart. A similar ache to my pussy simmering through my nipples as they warped wider. Through the luscious velvet embrace of my tits swallowing and massaging my mast as I bore it down to the door. The hinges squealed and the barricade buckled under the throbbing horsepower of my cock and tits, pressing my jugs tighter, tighter, slamming them over the twitching monolith… Till the tense screams of the wood burst into shatters. The bars over the door breaking as it bent beneath my dick. Soon after the hinges snap off, and the unfettered weight of my lust totals the door – the door promptly went form vertical, to horizontal. It swung down in an arch ahead of me, the collapsing door crushing into the handful of infected banging at my door. First the wood clapped them to the ground with a smack of rump steak dumped on a counter, before my dick followed through with my chest and clapped into the wood, pistoning the door flat to the ground. A moist cascade of churning stirred as everything below the door was milled into mince meat. A brown and crimson bile leaking from under the boards. I panted, sloughed on the now horizontal door. My eyes twitched, breath picked up. I was horny as balls. I scooped up my dick and tumbled onward, “I'll turn the lot of you into penis pancakes if you don't get outta my way,” I growled. Standing tall I felt everything appear smaller, though with a dick matching half my height everything was relative. I stumbled forwards with a length of tongue dragging over the ground. Balls, dicks and breasts flopping wildly in thrashing juggles as I ran. I didn't care about mindless, pleasure driven mutants. I, needed, to jerk off. ~ 1 ~ The sink buckled as I rested my nuts on it, the porcelain creaking, but the restroom was cramped as it was. I massage and hug my mast, but I needed more, more… I sucked it, I kissed, I slapped my tongue against it… and my tongue started to curl. It wraps around the filth slathered monstrosity, lapping up slime and squeezing my dick into a choke-hold. The beat of my heart rang through my tongue, and I felt the need to ejaculate, lifting and swathing around my shaft. I whirled my tongue tight around my shaft, massaged and smothered it with my egregious bosom. Until the pain and tension concentrated to a singularity in my balls. The sink cracked and dropped to the ground as the surge of lust speared through me, out the tip, and painted the ceiling above in a slobber of cement thick frosting, piped hot and fresh through my gorgeous dick. Having weeks ofbeing pent-up from isolation, and then extracted in one fell swoop, I felt all energy drain from my body as I slumped back on the toilet with my dick hurling up cum. The toilet bend under my weight as my rear swamped the seat twice over. Below, the pipes scraped as my weight displaced the toilet deeper into the ground. I sit, panting, staring. My tongue slowly reeling back. Trailing thought the cock muck and white spunk splotches from on high. I sweep over my skin, swabbing the dirt with strokes of saliva, old sweat moisturised and marrying with new drops of saline excretions, all cluttered in patches of mud, dust, and dirt clinging to my body. Tongue caressing in swirling patterns down my cock, winding around my thighs and lapping all the way along my arms up to my hand. I catch myself wearing the biggest, dumbest grin, as I clench my fist around the tip of my tongue, feeling the lil’ bugger swim and wriggle in my grasp. More thuds from outside, with that deluded groan of the infected. “Oh-oo-occupied,” I wheeze out in reply. I had gone weeks without a cleaning, so, I stare at the winding rope of my tongue swabbing along body like a flat worm. I was going to hog the bathroom for all the time I required to freshen up.