“I don't know Jugs – I just don't know if I can risk putting you through twice. If I do and you fail – it looks bad on me. My failure rate is nil. YOU are my only failure to date. I'm just not that sure that you want it bad enough. Bad enough not to let me, your hooters, or Wendy and the twins down again.”
Some time later;
“I think, no – I KNOW that I was a tit-whore as early as when I was twelve. It was obviously something that was inside me – there was obviously the tit whore inside me – but as soon as my breasts... sorry my honkers, began to sprout, they just didn't stop. They just grew and grew and grew. Boys and men would just look at me – by the time I was eighteen I was getting all of the attention without even trying. Men and boys, even some girls and women just used to perve over me. I know it wasn't their fault – it was all my fault. I know that and I accept it. I'm accepting it because I want you to know Hooter Tutor Miss, that I accept full responsibility for where I find myself now – these circumstances. I don't hold any of the men or boys who have pawed and groped and generally got themselves off sexually over my hooters responsible. If these bags of fleshy fun did not exist then there would be nothing for them gain sexual gratification from. I know – I know and accept I was destined to be NOTHING other than a pair of jugs on legs and I am deeply ashamed of the way I have used my femininity in the past. I admit it, ok Miss Hooter Tutor, I admit that I may have been giving others sexual gratification but I was also gaining some of that for myself. It was like, as soon as I discovered this 'power' I had over others, that that fed my own sexuality. It was as though as soon as I discovered this my nipples simply became hard, like very very hard over night, and stayed that way. They became hard and extra sensitive and that in turn just fed my own sexuality. I know and accept Miss Hooter Tutor that I am no better than the men and boys who have perved over me in the past. In lots and lots of ways I am worse – much worse than them because I should have known better and I should have been the one in control. I should have been able to control myself but couldn't. It all just mushroomed – it all just took hold of me. Knowing that I had that power and at the same time getting so much pleasure from it myself. It was like knowing that my hooters had this sexual air about them was like a drug to me. I was weak. As soon as I found out about this power I succumbed to it. It became addictive to me. I was a tit-whore from the first time that my nipples became hard. From the first time those nipples rubbing on the inside of my bras made my sex wet and slippery I was addicted. I'm sorry I couldn't help it. But I know – I know that sounds like I am making excuses. Pathetic excuses. I sound like a man making pathetic excuses to his wife for his infidelity. I am not like those men – I am worse. I am, was, a woman and I should have known better. I didn't really understand what was happening with me – what was happening with my body.”
Jugs was sitting now with her mammoth mammaries rested between slightly parted thighs. There was so much flesh that she had also to cradle the tits as she sat and spoke. Her stilettos were parted on the floor, knees slightly spread and then there was all that flesh. All of that volume and weight though not in the slightest preventing her from rocking back and forth gently on the edge of the hard backed chair. She looked slightly mad and Hooter Tutor, sitting on an identical chair opposite her. There was no table – just chairs facing each other. Just enough space between them – it easy enough for Hooter Tutor to simply leaned forward, effortlessly, her own large breasts elegantly contained within a silk blouse, and stroke the obscene hooter flesh of Dorothea as she 'confessed'. This confession, an important part of her application for re-entry into Hooter School.
“And what was happening, with you and with your body hmmmmm honey. Tell me that if you can.”
Unusually soft in tone, emotionless and yet soft – the honey word like an express of liquid 'care' injected into Dorothea by the older woman and principle of Hooter School. It wasn't an accidental injection of care. It was a tone of voice and a word deliberately used to coax more and more out of the pair of tits sitting on the chair.
“I-it was my hooters Miss – they were beginning the process of taking over my life. They were, in their own way letting me know that they were in charge. That they were my future. My honkers were beginning the process of taking over my life completely and utterly Miss. They were turning me into the tit-whore I would become. But I didn't understand that then. I didn't even look on what I was doing, how I was turning the 'honour' of being turned into a tit-whore into something sleazy and disgusting. I didn't know how I should embrace the 'honour' of being controlled by my jugs. But that sounds like another excuse – another pathetic excuse. But I know that it’s not an excuse. There are no excuses for what I did back then – and what I did for years and years and years. Instead of embracing the honour of being the carrier of my hooters – I took what they were giving to me and I used them for my own end. My own pleasure. I used them for my own gain. Financially I used them for my own gain. I did that for many years. Simply attracted men and then bled them dry – mostly as they stared and masturbated over my hooters. I did it for the financial gain, yes I did, but mostly, mostly I did it for my own pleasure. It was like there was no time at which I could have realised what was happening inside my mind and body so that I could do something about it – reverse the badness - it was too late. It was like I was addicted and there was no going back from that. I have to confess Miss Hooter Tutor that I didn't even ever want to go back. I was just in a constant state of sexual pleasure. But it was a selfish sexual pleasure – one that did not at any time take into consideration the pleasure of others. Or that men got their rocks off, and spurted there seed over my mammaries, yes that meant that they got pleasure – but that was just coincidental – that was just a by-product of me getting my own addictive pleasure. That was just something that fed me even more pleasure. It was like their pleasure, their orgasm and the way it was conceived was a sexual joy all of its own for me.”
Dorothea paused, and rocked some more. It was like she was thinking deeply. There was a smile on her face, but it was truly like she was in the moment. It was like she was reliving how she had progressed through life. She rocked on the chair and her mammoth mammaries rippled and waved and threatened to spill over from her lap as she did that.
“So basically then Jugs, you are blaming your breasts – for this? For all this? You are blaming your honkers for what you were – or what you were becoming. In a way you are absolving yourself of the blame, or absolving yourself of any responsibility simply because you say, that you did not know or understand what was happening with your body and with your mind? Is that a correct assessment of what you are saying to me here Jugs?”
The soft injection of care had gone, to be replaced by something more stern, more demanding. It was like an electric shock being delivered into those very piles of udder flesh as Dorothea's eyes sprang and bulged open. Like a realisation had dawned that she was coming across all wrong and that she had made yet another monumental cock up. She slid a hand under the tide of hooter flesh and rubbed her tummy as she felt the accusatory tightening of the silktex inside her. It wasn't a sudden jab of pain, or a strangulation of her feminine insides – rather, just like a warning shot. I little more than a 'hug' of her cervix, and a gentle pressing out of her bladder and bowels – just letting her know – letting her know what she already knew, that she wasn't coming across at all like she meant to. She wanted to come across as humble, desperate and as though she was confessing.
“N-no.. no Miss Hooter Tutor no, no. This tit-whore, this creature knows, KNOWS that she is responsible for everything. I am not making excuses or trying to find a way out – not in any way – not in any way at all Miss. I just, I just wanted to try to find the right words so that you understood Miss.”
There was sufficient change in tone of Dorothea's voice to persuade the silktex to back off a bit. Consequently so did the bulge in her eyes reduce some. Hooter Tutor simply waved the tit-whore's stuttering response away with one hand, i
ndicating for her to carry on.
“It, i-it just got worse the bigger my hooters became. I was consistently and never-endingly stimulated via my teats. I should have been strong enough to fight it off – to pull myself together. But I couldn't. My tits were controlling me not the other way around. It was my hooters that persuaded me to get my legs, my ass and my lips in on the act. It was like there was a little voice in my head telling me 'the longest best legs – the best most smackable ass – the fullest most luscious cock sucking lips.”
Hooter Tutor held up her hand again – for Dorothea to stop talking.
“You are doing it again – making excuses and not very good ones at that. What you are saying in fact is that you were led astray by your own breasts? Do you know how stupid and childlike that sounds? You expect me to believe that your own mammaries, those disgusting jugs of hooters that you haul around with you, led you astray and led you into a life of addictive sexual pleasure and the tormenting and the teasing of all those other people? Those poor people that you subjugated with your 'weapons' of sexual destruction? You expect me to even take that seriously?”
Hooter Tutor was speaking as though incredulous even though she was using a form of reverse psychology on Jugs. It was what the whole of the rest of Jugs' life would revolve around – her hooters and how they were not appendages of her, but rather she was an appendage of theirs. Simply their transport mechanism. It was what she was learning fast, but it was also what she had had a taster of earlier in her life – her tits ruling the roost. Her mammaries actually laying down the law. But in the here and now, Hooter Tutor was using that very 'outrageous' scenario against her – like it couldn't possibly be true – like there was nothing more ludicrous in the world. She was talking as though Dorothea herself should be sectioned, straightjacketed and thrown into a padded cell or something similar. She was talking as thought that couldn't possibly be the case even though in fact it was true. Even, if the journey that took Dorothea to this point in time, at this very point, had had a helping hand – even though the journey hadn't been a natural one – or one that had steered its own course, or a course chosen by Dorothea. Even though it had been a journey interrupted by Wendy – one that needed to be hijacked, kind of. One that had to be taken in hand and then steered in the right direction. Hooter Tutor kind of sat upright on her chair, recrossed her elegant legs, the nylon swishing against nylon, the ultra feminine – it was like she was truly outraged at this turn of events. Not just outraged but incredulous that Dorothea, the big uddered creature should even be hunting, let alone out and out suggesting these things. Hooter Tutor came to the conclusion in her own mind that Jugs simply could not help herself – it was simply not in her makeup to accept the total blame, or responsibility herself. Even though deeper down in her psyche she knew that Dorothea was probably on, or approaching her last remnants of self-defence. Not quite having given up the ghost yet – and yet at the same time with a kind of deflated acceptance that shone through the dimming eyes.
“N-no, no please no, please no. That isn't what I am saying. That's not it at all. Please believe me Miss Hooter Tutor, please believe that this is not what I am saying. I am completely and utterly to blame and that is how I know now that I have to make amends. It is why and how I know that I really need to be taken right back into Hooter School and made to pass those final exams so that I can carry on the rest of my life paying for my wrong doing. Or to be even more blunt Miss, so that I can have my life, as I knew it taken away and so that my udders, and my Chest can live, the way they were always meant to live – the way that I have denied them a life before. My own life pushed and shoved to the background – my own attributes reserved solely for the service and the transportation of my glorious, spectacular and yet obscene udders – honkers, bangers, hooters. So that I can be taken beyond that of tit-whore and into another direction altogether. So that I can be taken to the lowest of the low whilst my hooters, my chest are elevated and modified to the extent that I suffer even more. Please, please Miss Hooter Tutor – please please let me try again. Please let me try again. Please let me try and if I fail again then I know that I will be, or can be disposed of in whatever way that Wendy chooses. That if I fail again, I know that I have no place in this world any longer and I will deserve whatever fate is bestowed me.”
Dorothea was rocking continuously on the chair. Her stiletto boots planted firmly, and wide on the floor. She had to part them wide so that she could provide a wide enough lap to at least try to cradle the flesh of her horrid hooters. Truth be known, even though she was actually really and truly pleading from the heart, this stance, the one she adopted, sitting just about perched on the edge of the high backed hard chair and with her feet and knees apart and the hugeness of her udders just spread over her lap, and then rocking gently – back and forth and then every two or three rocks she would just lean sideways slightly, either one way or the other and then back again. That action alone meaning that her sensitive orgasm inducing nipple teats and her speckled raised areola were forced down between her thighs – sometimes colliding and rubbing with each other. The very rubbing and colliding and slipping being sent between her legs where the silktex was doing the very best job of suckling the raw exposed nerve endings where her clitoris used to exist. But even what Dorothea was saying was worrying – worrying on several levels. It was worrying because what she said and the way that she said it meant that she was understanding the options. Or the lack of them. There were only two options – pass or fail. But she was understanding, and voicing that she was understanding what might, or what probably would happen if she failed this time round – it would be the end of the road for her, possibly – or probably. She sat upright in the chair – this was an effort for her – more than an effort given the weight and volume of flesh and innards involved. Hooter Tutor laughed inwardly but she didn't let that show on her face. She smiled, bobbed her severely arched stiletto shoe from her crossed over foot and listened intently to Dorothea pleading her case. It was a fact that it looked as though Hooter Tutor was listening casually – intently but casually. But it was more than that – it was much much more than that. What Hooter Tutor was doing was listening and digesting every single word the slowly rocking creature sat in front of her was saying. She was listening to every single word dripping into her head and she was computing them. She was computing the words and she was dissecting the tone and the meaning of every single syllable of every single word. And she was letting all of that tumble round her head – but from the outside she looked serene and she looked almost effortless in her mere existence. She listened to Dorothea and she let her speak – let her plead and let her pitch her case. And when she stopped that begging and pleading there was some minutes of silence. There was no speaking. There were just the little gasps of pleasure as Dorothea, or Jugs rocked back and forth on the edge of the chair. Not long striding rocks, just short little ones. Ones that allowed the riding and the slipping of those nipples between her legs. Little rocking motions that allowed the flesh of the hooters to ride, and ripple and wave. Ones that allowed the nipples to just slip up against each other providing each other with intense bursts of pleasure. As she did that, little deeper, longer sigh bursts as the silktex suckled her modified clitoris. Hooter Tutor tilting her head slightly – first one way and then other – as though she were listening to the different facets of those sighs and what they meant. The meaning of each sigh. Hooter Tutor letting those sighs filter in, the same as the words had filtered in and then working out what they meant – like some kind of clever scholar – someone able to read other people with ease and with an effortless ease that might chill to the bones, anyone who came across such a person. In this situation, in these circumstances that was even more so the case. Hooter Tutor knew what Dorothea was feeling. She knew all about those slip sliding nipples – she probably knew more that Dorothea herself – about the semi-lactation providing the lubrication to allow those nipples to slip and slide – that same lubrication enhancin
g the sensations of pure pleasure that were being driven into the depths of her femininity.
“You really are the most obscene, disgusting, low life creature aren't you Jugs? I am not entirely sure why you would think I would take you back into my prestigious establishment. You really are too much of a 'freak' to even really entertain. Do you think I don't know what you are feeling between your legs, and through your jugs? Do you really think you can sit there rocking, get yourself off, give yourself pleasure, trying to fool that silktex into siding with you in all of this – and I wouldn't know about it, hmmm? You really do truly have a lot to learn – a lot to learn.”
Hooter Tutor's words were designed to invoke fear into Jugs. Like she was invoking the feeling in her that she had used up her last chance – her very last chance. That she was knowing that right at that time she was feeling at her most desolate. But it was an amazing thing really, that even in that desolation there was no let-up in the rocking, or in the gasping sighs that were slipping from between her painted lips. The smile was there – but so as well was the desolation and the fear. Positivity wrapped in fear, like an enigma wrapped in a mystery. For the time being Hooter Tutor didn't say anything. She just watched – and inwardly she smiled. She did that a lot did Hooter Tutor, smile inwardly. Inside Dorothea's mind she was allowing thoughts to emerge – thoughts that she shouldn't have, but ones that as long as she retained that overall positive air she could get away with and wallow. Simply wallow.
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