Mega Tits 1

by DrkFetyshNyghts

  MEGA TITS 1

  The further nightmare adventures of Dorothea in a world of fetish, BDSM, Bondage, Control and Torture.

  How did it all begin? Where did it all go wrong?

  How could this happen to the stunning Dorothea?

  The full and shocking prequels Mammaries 1, 2 and 3 are here.

  http://www.a1adultebooks.com/ebooks/a569.htm

  PART ONE

  A Second Chance - Part One

  © Copyright DrkFetyshNyghts, 2012

  The right of DrkFetyshNyghts to be identified as the author of this book has been asserted in accordance with Section 77 and 78 of the Copyrights and Patents Act 1988.

  All rights reserved.

  Except for use in any review, the reproduction or utilization of this work in whole or in part in any form by any electronic mechanical or other means, now known or hereafter invented, including xerography, photocopying, and recording, or in any information storage or retrieval system, is forbidden without the written permission of the author.

  All characters in this book have no existence outside the imagination of the author and have no relation whatsoever to anyone bearing the same name or names. They are not even distantly inspired by any individual known or unknown to the author, and all incidents are pure invention.

  This electronic book published by Fiction4All

  Imprint: FetishWorld

  http://www.a1adultebooks.com

  Chapter One

  Dorothea, or Jugsalina as she was now totally known was possessed. Not in the demonic sense, although that could be argued as being the case. Wendy wasn't inside her 'bodily' and yet at the same time she WAS inside her breasts. She WAS her breasts. It was like as though that little woman Wendy had BECOME the very fabric of those hooters. Had morphed into those enlarged, engorged tortured hooters and they WERE actually Wendy. But also not, at the same time. It had become increasingly difficult for Jugsalina to think logically – or to think at all about anything. But – trying to work out what part Wendy was playing was increasingly an impossible thing for her to do. Her life was being changed in more ways than one. Wendy had morphed into her mind – her mind wasn't what it once was. Her mind now consisted of memories that were greying out, and it consisted of Wendy. Wendy was in there. She was more than in there. There was a time, not that long ago that Dorothea's day consisted merely of thinking and working out how best to enhance and display her honkers for teasing purposes. That made her weep really – the thought that that was all she had to think about at one time. Simply get up in the morning, pamper herself – make herself desirable – make herself be someone that people, men and women, boys and girls, needed to look at once, then twice and then more and more. It wasn't even as though she didn't know what she did to people. It was like she had a second sight or something. She just had to catch someone looking at her in 'that' way and she just knew what was going through their minds. It was like she just had to see a guy looking at her, sizing her up and she knew that he would be just wanting to be buried, testicle deep in her creamy, slippery pussy whilst at the same time be hanging off her nipples by the lips and teeth. She didn't need some sleaze bag to come up behind her, smooth his hand over her ass and then whisper, in that hissing wet, obscene whisper what he wanted to do with her in exact terms – because she simply knew it. She knew it and it made her smile. But it had also made her wet between the legs. Those were the days. The days when she could get away with all of that, and more. The days when she could dress her honkers, enhance her delicious legs and then use them – use them basically for anything that she desired at any time what so ever. Those were the old days though. Those were in the days when she 'could' think and when she could do what she wanted, when she wanted and how she wanted.

  “Please, please please Miss Hooter Tutor, please please I know – I just KNOW what an utter complete failure I was the last time round. I know that I failed my honkers – I know that I failed you and I know that I failed Wendy, and the twins badly – so very badly. But please, please please Miss Hooter Tutor, please, please let me enrol in your outstanding, revered establishment once again and prove to you, to my udders, and to my owners Wendy and the twins that I can be what I truly am, and always know I have been since a very early age. Please, please Miss Hooter Tutor – please, please give me that chance, to prove to all of you that I can be what I am supposed to be. Please. Please.”

  There was no question about the fact that Jugsalina was 'begging'. There were simply way too many 'pleases' in there for them to amount to a simple request or a dignified request. A simple request would have been just that – a request. A one off question or request. This was a repeated, and repeated, and repeated and somewhat tedious dripping of words from between Jugsalina's full, glossed lips. And even then it wasn't just the repetition of the words but rather the tone – the begging, pleading, almost childlike quality of the tone of voice that she used. It was almost a whimpering and a wining that tended to grate of the nerves of anyone in the nearby vicinity. In itself the begging could have been labelled as bizarre, and more than slightly off-shoot given this was after all one grown woman, to another. But it wasn't just the begging, or the tone of voice used by an obviously mature and grown woman speaking to another. There were other things that would make anyone from the normal world look twice and more. Jugsalina was still silktex enhanced, as she would be for the rest of her natural life. Whatever timespan her natural life had on it. But she 'looked' naked. The silktex corset thing around her middle had taken on a flesh like quality to it. Indeed one would not be able to tell what was the silktex and what was the flesh. Where the corset ended and her upper torso began, if was not clear to see. The only thing that would make people look, and then look again was the fact that Jugsalina didn't appear to have any genitalia. But that would be due to the fact that where there should have been her hairless smooth slit of a cunt, there wasn't – the organic life form that seemed to be the silktex had simply attached itself – morphed into itself and sealed it off. It was an almost impossible thing also to spot the things that were snaked up inside her. The things that had slithered out from the silktex and then right up inside her – making itself a part of her femininity – they couldn't be seen. The thing that was nudging and shrink wrapping her cervix – the stuff that had grown into and lined her womb and then the stuff that was inside her bowels, and bladder. None of that could be seen – except – just very occasionally, with the movements of her stiletto'd feet, there would be the faintest of unnatural bulges from her tummy – and then her lower tummy. The bulge, almost lifelike in itself was not big, or alarming in anyway – and it moved slowly, kind of travelled with her natural feminine movements. Subtle movements that would need to be spotted, and then tied in with the rest of what was happening for there to be anything amiss.

  But those massive mammaries were not covered, or dressed in any way. They were naked – obscenely and disgustingly naked. And, although there was no visible 'seam' that would say that they had been artificially enhanced, or grown, they looked abnormal. They looked grotesquely like they had been 'produced' within some kind of mad scientists laboratory – which was closer to reality than one might assume. It wasn't just 'as though' Jugsalina's honkers had been enlarged but the outer flesh and supporting flesh had not been enlarged or stretched accordingly – it was that that was the very case. Breast flesh stretched so thin, so membrane like that it was all but translucent. It depended on which part of which movement that she was adopting or carrying out – or which way the light fell down across the enormous grotesque globes that would determine how much of the udder inners could be seen at any one time. The linings of milk ducts almost a sheer and pure white through the flesh – and then there were the veins, and the natural bumps and lumps.
The main breast flesh all but see-through and then tipped off with volcanic like areola and rock hard, rubbery teats for nipples. The areola dark and with raised speckles that were more like raised lumps that added to their sensitivity. The nipple teats almost black, thick and long and with tips that simply looked too sensitive to be anything but painful. The tits, those tits hanging enormous and heavy – swinging like massive pendulous bags of fun. But not bags of fun for Jugsalina – anything but bags of fun.

  It was a sight, a scene of utter and shocking contrasts. This was a woman who was in obvious and completely utter distress having her hooters enhanced and 'grown' in this way. There was no way that she would not be suffering. Just with the weight of each breast individually, much like the weight of a small or average child – with two of them, this weight doubled, or more. Then there was the swing – the pendulous, weight enhanced swing that seemed to occur with the slightest of movement. The downward weight, putting pressure behind those frighteningly huge nipple teats that looked like they were designed to feed adult versions of babies. And yet, the obvious – the oh so obvious distress, and pain somewhat masked by a wide and severe lipstick smile. One might be fooled for the shortest of time by that smile. But it wasn't just the smile – it was more than the smile. The smile gave that air of positivity – but then there was more – like a deeper and more profound positivity that came from within as opposed to from across those painted full lips.

  “I'm not sure that you mean it Jugs. I don't know why – I just don't know what but I am not one hundred percent convinced that you are meaning what you say. I mean, lets be fair, you COULD just be saying all this – just so that your miserable life will be spared for just a bit longer. Because I know that you know what the result of you failing your first stint at my 'special needs school' might mean. Let's just explore that for a minute. Let's just explore that option. You failing those disgusting udders of yours. Failing Wendy. Wendy and the twins then having t heir little family conference and deciding that there is no future for you with them – or with anyone. I mean what happens then hmm? What happens if you have come to the end of the road with them? What happens if they decide they have come to the end of the road with you. That you have ceased to be entertainment for them – that in fact you have not learnt the error of your ways – that you are in fact a hopeless case? What happens then, hmm? Do they simply reduce those fun bags of yours to their original teasing tormenting state, undo the work they have done on your mind and then simply let you go back into the outside world? Is that what they do, hmm? And to they just whistle, like they might do to a dog, whistle in a special way so that all of that silktex that has become such a big part of your life recently, just dissolves away, slides down out of you, releases the corset effect around your middle and then dissolve into nothing. Is that what you think might happen, hmmm?

  Jugsalina's prose or positivity didn't slip. It might have even looked like the words, well-chosen words, deliberately chosen words had fallen on deaf ears. But they hadn't. What used to be Dorothea had heard every single word and she had computed every single word and what it meant. But she was on a mission. The silktex up inside her and around her squeezed her a little – like it was responding to its mention by Hooter Tutor. Jugsalina took a little gasp, and a sigh. Her booted, stiletto'd steps, although hobbled slightly by the size and the shape and the sheer pendulums of her udders, were measured and they were careful. It was as though she was parading back and for in front of Hooter Tutor – like she was 'presenting' her case. Like she was 'parading' her case to the principle of Hooter School. But that was the most bizarre sight and sound that could ever meet anyone. Certainly anyone from the outside world would gasp in shock and horror at what they were seeing – but even someone from 'this' world would do a double take, and then maybe a third one, just to make sure that they were in fact seeing what they were seeing. Dorothea's steps were long, stiletto enhanced strides that enforced a slut-strut – but with each step, as though she were 'marching' she would scoop a breast up – cupping one breath with both hands – the massive nipple down pointing in the cup. Once she had placed her hands, then hoisting the whole of the tit up and making like she was throwing all of that flesh over one shoulder – and doing just that. Throwing it over her shoulder – the momentum taking it over, and then another stride taking place as the tide came in as it were. Yet another stride in those tightly laced boots and the ride of hooter flesh reversing. The flesh pouring back over her shoulder and then back down. The momentum and sheer weight of the breast dictating the travel and the speed. The sight like something out of one of those bizarre Tim Burton films. The tit being thrown over her shoulder and then let to pour back down again and into the natural, or unnatural breast shape. Another stride or two then and Jugs scooping up the other breast and repeating the exercise. Scooping, lifting and then throwing it over one shoulder, kind of letting the tide come in and then letting it come out again all by itself. The smile staying on her face – that air of positivity coming from her even though each act of tossing her breasts in this way must have been have been leaving a terrible toll on her.

  “N-no Miss Hooter Tutor Ma'am, no not at all Miss. This useless pair of udders on legs just wants to be taught by the very best Miss Hooter Tutor. And that is you Miss. You are the best teacher of creatures like me that exists Miss and if, 'if' you just grant me a second chance, a second term at Hooter School, I promise, I promise from the bottom of my heart that I will take in all that I am taught – and that not only will I pass my final exams this time round, but I will excel and be an example to others of my kind Miss.”

  There was that voice again. Childlike, whining almost whimpering and yet sincere at the same time. Dorothea was indeed presenting herself – bringing attention to her udders. She had learnt – despite the self-deprecating humility she was showing here to Hooter Tutor, she had learnt, she had learnt a lot. The problem was that she had failed her final exams. Not just failed them, but failed them so badly that even in her state, her mental and physical state, she could not work out just 'how' she had failed. She had put her all into her time at Hooter School the first time round – even though she was coming to terms with the shock that her body and mind was being subjected to on a daily basis since she had come under the control of Wendy and then Hooter Tutor – even then, she had been sure that she should have been able to pass the final exams at the School. By the time that those exams had been taken she was pretty much resigned to her fate and she pretty much knew the importance of passing those finals. She had had it spelt out to her more than once and in no uncertain terms what might, or could happen if she failed. So she should have been able to work it all out. Maybe a sign of her diminishing mental and bodily state – the wear and tear on her mind and body – the inability to think logically. If she had been able to think 'logically' or if she had been able to apply that logic, then maybe she would have come up with the answer herself. Maybe, just maybe she was never meant to pass those final exams. Maybe it had all been fixed so that she would fail them. In fairness, it was solely Hooter Tutor who uttered the words 'pass' or 'fail' and then recorded them as such. It wasn't as though Dorothea could then get her results examined by an independent person or board. Maybe, just maybe she was being led down this path deliberately – just as part of her journey. Maybe it was always going to be that she did two stints at the fucking terrible Hooter School – and at the mercy of that fucking Hooter Tutor and her fucking Head Hooter Girl. But that scenario, that deliberately failed scenario would not have entered her mind, let alone tumbled around inside there. Rather she would have been on a single mission to pass those finals at all costs. It would have been part of the way she was being conditioned – that 'bond' would have already been formed. She would have 'wanted' to pass out the first time. She would have wanted to impress Wendy and the twins – not to mention Hooter Tutor and her task-tress Head Hooter Girl.

  Hooter Tutor watched Jugsalina, almost like she was emotionless, but inwardly impre
ssed as she watched those fabulous udders being tossed over Dorothea's own shoulders – the momentum taking them over – the hugeness of the massive teats smacking Dorothea's middle back and then the slow slide back of that tide of almost see through flesh until it flopped down in front of her. That udder then waving and jiggling and waving to its natural state as she took another one stride before scooping the other hooter and throwing that over her shoulder. It would be difficult to compare the sight of this presentation and this begging and pleading and yet outright positivity to anyone – simply because there was nothing to compare it to – but Hooter Tutor smiled inside – not outwardly, but inwardly she smiled. She liked the way this former tease, this former tormentor of men and women alike seemed to be used to her own hideous mammaries. It was as though Dorothea had been tossing those sacks of fun over her shoulders for years and years. Like she was comfortable with it. More to the point she was impressed, and thigh clenchingly pleased with the way Jugs used her mammaries as part of her pitch for a second term at Hooter School and a second attempt to pass her final exams there. She sat back on her chair watching as Dorothea slut-strutted first one way past her and then turning and passing her again. Time after time and not tiring – that positivity not slipping or sliding away. The effort and the exhaustion sometimes obvious and yet that air, that positive air around her maintaining itself at all costs. But not even Hooter Tutor could see right into her psyche. Oh she would know more or less at any time, as would Wendy, what the woman who used to tease and torment was going through – but they would not be able to see that little tiny spark, or hear that little tiny voice deep down in Dorothea's psyche that would be the voice, the tiny little bit of resolve that she had left. One day she would get out of this – all she would have to do was play along. Go along with it – just play along – keep that silktex stuff happy – let the goodness and the positivity flow out of every one of her pores – but then one day she would get away. They would never have her completely. She was learning alright – oh yes she was learning.