Mega Tits 1

by DrkFetyshNyghts

  “Well, you've been taken back – but its back to basics for you. Actually, it’s back to something below basics for you. Remember your first time at Hooter School? I told you, words to the effect that you were indeed the lowest of the low – the bottom of the food chain, as it were. That in the School, there was no-one below you. Everyone in the school was above you. That you would never gain any kind of seniority by rank because of the reasons and the circumstances of your being here in the first place. I don't need to go through all of that again – I am pretty sure that you know, and you accept the position that you are in. That hasn't changed. That hasn't changed one iota. Actually it has. It has changed. You are the ONLY failure that this establishment has ever produced. The school is not proud of that fact. 'I' am not proud of that fact. The change in you is via your status. The first time round you came in at the lowest level possible. But since your re-integration back into Hooter School we have created another level, just for you. That level is not really describable – it is below your former level. Below the gutters – way below them. Your fellow pupils, well they are not your fellow pupils at all because they, largely are decent and hardworking 'girls' who learn and accept what they are and how things are going to be for the rest of their lives. You, our only FAILURE, well in lots of ways you are bringing the School down and into disrepute and we cannot in any way shape or form deem that as acceptable. We cannot allow that situation to go without being dealt with and that is what we intend to do with you 'deal with it'. Deal with your FAILURE. Normally a school would accept a pupils failure as their own – but that is not the case here. This is YOUR failure not ours. It is your failure to amend – and you will make amends – you WILL make this school proud and absolve us of any failure.”

  Dorothea was standing in front of a much, much younger girl. Assuming the school only took 'adult schoolgirls' due to the very ordeals and the very environment that they had to exist in, the girl she was standing in front of must have been on the borderline of being only just old enough to be there. It could have been that she 'looked' older than she was. It was a fact that because of her very young appearance that the humiliation, and the mental pain for Dorothea was greater than it would have been had it been an older girl or woman standing in front of her.

  “It's back to basics for you Jugs – like I said – we have to start beyond, or below the basics. Greeting other people, other pupils, other adults, visitors, your betters – you do NOT offer your hand for shaking in greeting... what do you do Jugs?”

  Hooter Tutor was supervising and she circled the two slowly. The only sound apart from her voice was the click click click of her metal tipped high heels on the floor.

  “I thrust my hooters out Miss. Thrust them out and offer both for shaking. My wrists must be crossed behind my back, just above my tail bone, and my shoulders back. I am introduced and I thrust out my honkers in greeting, and after initial eye contact I must look down.”

  Dorothea kept the wide lipstick smile across her mouth and as she spoke she also adopted the position that she was describing. She did it flawlessly, perfectly.

  “Well done Jugs, well done. Now, Lucy I want to introduce you to Jugs. Jugs is Hooter Schools one and only failure. Say hello to Lucy Jugs.”

  The younger schoolgirl looked younger as well because of the design and implementation of her uniform. It was designed to make her look young but at the same time it was designed to draw attention to her own attributes, not least a pair of breasts that promised at some point to erupt into the hugeness that they undoubtedly deserved to have. There was a smile across her face as well. Her own, red but almost orange lipstick more than a match for her red hair – almost a perfect match actually. She moved forward slightly, but her smile was more of sneer of derision and as she smile sneered, she also sucked her teeth.

  “It's a pleasure, a true pleasure to meet you Miss Lucy.”

  Dorothea put on her best, most proper tone of voice and as she did that she thrust the disgusting hugeness of her udders towards the smaller, thinner, yet developing girl.

  “Pleased to meet you...... CUNT.”

  As she spoke Lucy raised just one hand and gripped one of the offered nipple teats, shaking, or moving it up and down like one would normally shake a hand, that very action causing the ripple effect. Her hands, especially her fingers seemed somehow tiny around the thickness of the blood engorged perma-hard nipple teat. As Lucy shook the nipple in mock greeting so Dorothea dropped her gaze to the floor.

  “Tsk tsk tsk, Lucy, Lucy, Lucy – now you KNOW how much I hate and detest that word. The C word. But... well, under the circumstances, I guess the C word is a fitting word. Jugs here is indeed a CUNT. But we are going to deal with that in due course.”

  The warm fuzzy feeling inside Dorothea disappeared as she felt her nipple wrapped in the skinny small fingers and then gripped and shaken. She pushed back her shoulders as though assisting in her own humiliating greeting. The girl, the young girl seemed to wallow in the humiliation of Dorothea and she seemed to keep her fingers wrapped around that nipple teat for a little longer than one would grip someone's hand in greeting. And she tended to dip under a little – like dip under Dorothea's downward gaze. She tightened her grip on the nipple and she dipped herself slightly so that she was looking into the eyes of this big uddered 'creature' that she was in practice at greeting with. She had heard about Dorothea, or Jugsalina even though she had herself arrived at Hooter School after Dorothea's departure the first time round. And here she was gripping the nipple, shaking and a little bit twisting, the legend that was Jugs. Her re-arrival at the School would ripple round the grapevine like a wildfire. There would be pupils, and teachers alike practically forming an orderly queue to get a piece of this. Those were the thoughts that went through Lucy's mind and here she was, first in the queue as it were. Had she not been simply passing the Head's room at that precise time, it would have been someone else. She let her eyes pierce those of Dorothea first – let them pierce deep and then she let her eyes roam over the legendary hooters – at the same time she kept her finger wrapped round the nipple knowing that the throb would be being fed deep into Dorothea. The throb from the slight constriction of the fingers, and more especially from the finger tips where they 'tap tap tapped' the very end of the nipple teat – the business end as it were.”

  “Thank you Miss Hooter Tutor.”

  Lucy thanked the Head for being allowed to use the C word in these most fitting of circumstances and then she loosened her fingers a little. Let them slide down the length of the nipples. That was just it they weren't like nipples at all. They were like anything but nipples. They were like rough, coarse sexual organs in their own right – which was just about right.

  “Good that’s enough Lucy you can go – thank you for your assistance.”

  Hooter Tutor was dismissing the younger girl, knowing that news of Jugs arrival would be rippling round, almost immediately. She smiled – but again it was that inward smile.

  A little later the same day;

  “Oh my god – this is the most comfortable we have ever been and I am not joking. This is the most comfort that we, that is me and the other one over there have ever known. In fact we were just discussing the fact that neither of us knew that there was such a comfort as this – and at last – at long fucking last something is down to you, you fucking despicable bitch.”

  The voice was human, but it was electronic at the same time – and it was cackling into both of the ears of Dorothea. It was Wendy's voice – except it wasn't Wendy any more, it was Chest. Chest was the persona of Jug's hooters. Chest was the personality – the controlling personality of the thing that used to be Dorothea. Chest was the all-seeing, all hearing 'thing' that tied the whole package together. Chest WAS Jugs. Dorothea was no more. Dorothea was less than no more. Dorothea had become Jugsalina, and Dorothea's mind had been diminished, and recessed, and pushed back – way back – right into the background, and into the greyness. And then quite simply, Chest
had 'moved in'. Chest had announced who she was what she was and what the future would be – and that was it. Except that wasn't it. Chest had upped the ante since Jugs' first failure at Hooter School. What Dorothea had suffered in that period between then, and this re-entry into the School is not a tea time read. It could even be another novel altogether – one for the very top shelf. Not for the faint of heart – or for the young. Maybe even under the counter – under lock and key never to see the light of day again. Chest had moved metaphorically speaking, into the enlarged and modified udders of the person they used to belong to, Dorothea. And more realistically she had moved into the mind of Jugs. That would be the only way to describe what had happened. She had first played with and then moved into the mind of her next door neighbour – and once there she had made herself at home. She had moved a few things round – shrunk and greyed out the mind of the old Dorothea and pushed it right back and then – then and only then, the real work had begun. It might have been a pertinent question to ask – if this Wendy had this kind of ability, this kind of control, this kind of knowledge, then how the fuck didn't she know about that little bit of Dorothea that was left – or more to the point, why didn't she know about that little bit of her next door neighbour that was left, the bit that was just waiting for the chance, and the day, even half a chance when she would get away and make the lot of them pay? Why didn't she know about that? But then – who would be to say that she didn't know? Who would be the one to say that? Maybe it was just an expectation too far, that Dorothea had this little bit left and no-one but herself knew about it. The longer one thought about that – the more one thought about that – the situation, the environment and what it had become – the more ludicrous it became, or the more ludicrous it sounded. Wendy, even without the twins had simply decimated Dorothea with her fingers and with her tongue swiping over her nipples. She had rocked her to the core and had not stopped there. It became less and less feasible that Dorothea was harbouring this little bit of herself without the knowledge of her captors – her tormenters, her 'owners'. There was little question that that little piece of Dorothea still existed and was still there because there was that inner resolve – that inner defiance that she would at some point break away from the hell and the torment and might even get some revenge. But on the other hand, it was more than plausible that the little bit of her that was left was left because it was being allowed to exist – she was allowed to retain that little bit of herself because maybe it served a purpose. Or many purposes. One of those purposes undoubtedly an old trick – not breaking the person altogether – always allowing a little bit to remain – so that the person, in this case Dorothea knew what was happening to her. Little did she know that it was that little bit of herself that was allowing her to suffer, as well as plan ahead. In the here and now though she was simply suffering. There was no other way to describe what was happening. There was that crackling electronic version of Wendy's voice in her ears, both ears, but as well there was the agony that she was in – and it was an agony.

  “Mmmmmm aaaaaaaggghhhhhhh ggggggghhhhhhhhhhhhhh.”

  One never, but never got used to those noises of distress. It was like a sound that had built up over time. Maybe like at first Jugs didn't know how to express the distress with a sound and she was just making any sound up – kind of making them up as she went along. But by this time, in the here and now it was like she had perfected the sound of distress. There was no more perfect sound of distress that could be made – and this sound was underlined. Kind of enhanced by the fact that there was that wide smile written right across her face. It was from that little piece of her that the distress and that sound was coming from – that little piece of herself that she thought she had all to herself, but didn't. She was on her knees at what looked to be the back of the headboard of a bed that was centrally placed in a round room. The fact that there were no corners meant that any points of focus were out of focus as it were. The ceiling too, that was round and formed a dome so once again there were no corners, or edges, or points of focus. But those facts, this early on would have escaped Jugs. She was on her knees and her knees were spread wide. Bare knees, baring all of her weight on a hardwood, bare wood floor. That would have been painful enough. Uncomfortable enough. But her ankles and feet had been pulled right back up behind her thighs and secured there. Ankle straps used to secure ankles to upper thighs. Simple straps – nothing elaborate and yet at the same time exceptionally strong, and adequate for the job in hand. The straps pulled tight and secured off, buckled. The pain to the knees would have been immediate and it would have been intense. There would not have been a build-up of pain – just an immediate and terrible intense pain that simply began at the points of contact on the knees had with that hard unforgiving floor and then travelled up the thigh bones and spread across and around the pelvis and then up the core of the spine. That weight, that pain then further amplified with her arms being brought back behind her. Elbows cinched above the knees and then slowly brought in together until she let out one solitary scream. As she had done that, the smile had slipped and the silktex inside her had immediately sprung into life – and it was like it was all a coiled spring inside her which when the trigger was pulled simply unreeled and tortured her femininity. She was dealing with the terrible pain from her knees, thighs, pelvis and her spine and her elbows were being cinched and brought together with similar simple straps to her ankles and thighs. One buckle at a time until the elbows touched and the lower arms hung limp. A small bolt then fed through matching holes between her elbows so that the strap did not slip. Shoulder blades strained an themselves almost touching each other in her upper back.

  “Mmmmmmm nnnnnggngngngnngngng gggggghjhghhgghhghghghhggh.”

  It was the same sound – the same all round sound just with subtle little differences – little nuances that told of the intensifying of the pain and the agony that she must have been going through. Her fingers were tight and they were spreading and then coming together scissor like. And then they curled and uncurled – the knuckles white from the straining – her way of trying to absorb the agony. But her lower arms were left to dangle, loosely. It could have looked untidy even – even with the hook and pulley from above, just the smallish stainless steel hook fed into the eye in the top edge of the elbow strap and then slowly hoisted up. Just before the tightness was attained then – her knees secured with further straps, to the floor. Not that there would be any propensity or willingness on her part to move her knees. That would prove too painful. Even the thought of moving any part of her was proving painful. Like her thoughts were transferring into the actual movement and then those movements were sending the signals of pain to her brain. So the easiest way to avoid that was not to even think about moving. Just try to absorb what was happening. Try to get into that place that she sometimes got to so that she could get through all of this – whatever all of this was. But even that wasn't happening. She wasn't getting through it at all – she was being taken somewhere else that she hadn't been before. Her elbows were being hoisted up, her lower arms left to dangle. Her knees were strapped down to the floor, her ankles to her thighs. At the same time, the hoisting up was causing her to bend forward at the waist. Just the merest, slightest, tiniest move was making her make more of those wet dripping sounds. Her breasts felt like they weighed a ton as she was hauled up and forward – bend at the waist but all of that strain being fed through her knees and her spinal cord. It had been Hooter Tutor and Head Hooter Girl who had taken an udder each – they seemed to possess the knack of being able to handle that flesh, the mass and the volume and the weight of each honker, and then feed them through conveniently sized holes that were also conveniently at the right height. This was no accidental bondage. This was not something that was being tried out to see how it worked.

  This was micro managed bondage – minute control that was finite in its structure and application. What was happening was that Jugs' honker, her hooters, her udders were being put to bed. Wha
t had been happening for the last hour was that Dorothea, aka Jugsalina was being shown her new quarters – she was being shown around the place that she would call home for the next, however long it took her to pass her exams – she was being shown around and then she was having Chest put to bed. She was having her hooters made comfortable for the night. She whimpered as the flesh, the mass and the volume of her udders was slowly pushed and fed through to the other side of the head board – all of that flesh then spilling out the other side and then let to swell out on super soft silken sheets and pillows. The only part of her that seemed not to be hurting her. The super sensitivity of her jugs meaning that she could practically feel every strand of the finest silk that was welling up around her tortured tits – and she feel every feather that was cushioning her tits in their bed. She could feel it every bit of it. The immediate warmth, the immediate comfort and the soothing of her udders. It seemed inconceivable that her hooters could be being soothed and comforted and be so comfortable whilst the rest of her was screaming in an agony that she was having major problems coming to terms with. In point of fact she was not coming to terms with it – she was doing anything but coming to terms with it and that little bit of her mind, the one with the logic, the little bit that housed what was left of her was screaming at her. She wanted to be dead – right at that point she wanted to be dead – or anything but what she was being put through. She could feel Hooter Tutor and Head Hooter Girl the other side of the head board – they were fine tuning her breasts. Arranging them on the soft silken bed and make them more and more comfortable. Jugs was screaming, and gritting her teeth with the pain in one breath and then in the next breath she was cooing and cawing from the sheer comfort that her hooters were experiencing. It was as though on one side of that headboard was heaven – that was the side her hooters were on – getting used to the life they would lead from this point on – and then on the other side, where the jugs transport was, where Jugs was, where Dorothea was, was the place called hell. That first time the agony was almost too much to bare. It would have been too much to bare if she could have got out of it at all. Her tits thrust through those holes, thrust into their bed whilst the rest of her was in a form of agony that she could not describe if she were asked.