“EEEEEEEEGGGHGHHGHGHGHGGHH.”
“AAAAAAAHHHHGHHGHGHGHGH.”
Probably the only time that the twins didn't do anything in perfect sync and in perfect harmony. Such perfect disharmony could only happen inside of one of those dreams because in the real world the twins were perfect and did everything perfectly, together. But once those angry, lethal looking crocodile clamps had bit into the soft pale flesh either side of the tiny nipples of the twins they let loose with that barrage of screams that would surely wake the dead. Dorothea stood back and watched. She watched the weighted chains hanging through convenient holes in the gurney, and then swinging back and forth. But she couldn't understand how the chains could be swinging like that of their own accord – and then the penny dropped. Those weighted chains were not swinging just simply of their own accord they were swinging with the momentum of the screaming. In actual fact, screaming may be the wrong word – more like the twins were 'squealing' – a much more appropriate word. Their little mouths and their little faces and their little heads seemed to resonate with their squeals and those squeals then seemed to resonate through to the chains hanging from their nipples. Well, the alligator clips actually were not gripping the nipples themselves because if truth be known there were no nipples as such – more like buttons of flesh that might threaten to sprout into nipples at some point. But even that was wrong, because the twins were not young in a childlike way – they were just small, and skinny and generally over all tiny.
“Sssshhhh ssssshhhhh my babies.... just let all of that hurt go, just let it all go and then do that thing with your mouths that I like. You know the way I like it now don't you girls hmmmm?”
Dorothea was using that fake motherly come sex dripping tone that she tended to use in the dreams. She could do that and the silktex things inside her would not even get suspicious. If she did that in the real world, her new real world, oh god would they think something was wrong and they would punish her for it. That tended to happen that did. The silktex was very clever at recognising actual non-compliance, or non-positivity and it would punish anything blatantly so. But if it came across anything that it didn't recognise then it simply treated it as non-positivity anyway and so the punishment would commence. But it didn't matter in the dream – where Dorothea's voice bordered on the manic – even a little angry in some places. She got away with that because it was her own dream. All her own and it couldn't touch her there. Yet. She stepped away from the twins and her eyes flicked from their little twisted faces tortured by agonies and to the chains that were swinging and swinging with their screams. But as the areolas of those little nipples became numb and swelled a little under the sharp teeth like grips of the clips, so the screams began to die down and so the chains began to slow their swinging side to side. Very slowly – very slowly. Dorothea's eyes back and forth to the eyes and to the swinging chains.
“good babies, good girls.. just like mama wants to see.”
That dripping sexually addled voice again then as the twins began to move in synchronisation again. Opening and closing, opening and closing opening and closing. There were some tear streaks down the cheeks of the tiny sisters, but Dorothea spotted them and shrugged them off. She hadn't forgotten what they had done to her in the real world. She hadn't forgotten any of that and what they were suffering now didn't even scratch any of the surface of what she had suffered at the hands of the little bitches and their big sister Wendy. This was her dream, and as she brought herself in front of the two prose, bondaged sisters, she grappled with her own breast mass and heaved it all up onto the gurney trays in front of the twins. It was something of a relief to have the weight taken off those tits and off her spinal cord and she pushed her head back a bit and savoured that feeling as for the first time in what seemed an age, her tits felt weightless – but only weightless because they were placed on shaped, moulded trays – shaped and moulded in such a way that they could take those huge volumes of flesh. She laughed as she looked down at the twins – such was the positioning of them, and the tit trays, it looked something like the Hoover dam was about to burst and smother their little faces and their heads in a titty tide. It would be like one of those disaster movies only more so. And the strangest thing was that because of the smallness of the faces, and the features, the threat of that bursting dam of hooter flesh looked like a disaster on a monumental scale. But that worry didn't stop their little mouths opening and closing, opening and closing in readiness to take the huge nipple teats.
Dorothea waited and waited – she was in no rush in this dream to seek fulfilment. She had all the time in the world. She didn't really, and eventually she would wake up – or be woken up to continue the journey, if the journey is the right words to use, in the real world. She didn't want that – she didn't want that at all – but at the same time she did not feel like she would need to rush or get her long, thick nipples into those delicious mouths too soon. But that is what she did, once she had seen those chains slow. She shuffled her huge uddered self into the space that was made to measure and then she scooped her mammaries, one in each hand in order to offer them to the waiting little mouths of the twins. But it wasn't simple single scoops for her to get all of that flesh sitting right. She had scoop, then 'chuck' the flesh up and into the trays, and the scoop again – kind of in a roll over motion, scooping then rolling, scooping then rolling, scooping then rolling. As she did that she could get closer and closer in and as she did that, the ginormity of her hooters right up in front and personal to the tiny twins became more and more obvious. This looked obscene enough, distasteful even but then there were the nipples that weren't really nipples at all, but like thick fat slugs that seemed to swell, expand and contract with their own air supply as they rested on the trays and as they found their own level into the groove and then over it in front of the twin's mouths. As the chains slowed and the mouths began working so too did their little tongues begin to slip and slide out from between those thin lips. Actually it provided an optical illusion in that the tongues didn't look so small and diminutive in relation to the mouths at all. Identical tongues like identical twins slip sliding out and with each excursion out the tips of the tongues were getting closer and closer to the nipple tips. The thick, engorged, long nipples seemed to have a life of their own in that the end seemed to curl and be stretching towards the tongues – like they wanted to feel those warm wet tongues and wanted to feel those thin lips sealing around their bases.
“Good babies, good girls. My good girls!”
And that was when Dorothea did her final scoop and shove. Timing it to perfection and then shoving forwards so that the nipples, in perfect unison slipped into the waiting mouths of the twins. So small were there mouths that they had to open, and then open wider – like they were performing fellatio on a pair of alien cocks. Except these cocks were the milk producers of those humongous udders that threatened to engulf them and drown them. The twins sucked casually at first, their eyes rolled up in their sockets watching Dorothea. Dorothea crooned and groaned as she felt their little mouths and then the suckling motions – and then she became aware of the milk ducts inside her breasts being stimulated and then opened. And of the travel of the milk up inside the plumbing. Plumbing that could be seen almost through the stretched, semi-transparent flesh of the mammaries – then that plumbing disappearing behind the blackness that was the nipple teats.. and then she became hyper aware of her nipple tips opening and the flow starting. Just trickles at first, and a very slow flow. But with each of the suckling actions of the twins that flow increasing and increasing and then became a steady stream into the eager mouths. The sexual thrill that she was receiving, being fed back to her clitoris. She could still do that in her dreams at this time – she could still feel and be pleasured by her clitoris independent of the silktex things inside her and covering her lower abdomen. As the flow of milk grew and grew and as the twins fed from her, so she was brought to an orgasm. Just as she was about to orgasm – just as she was about to
feel her clit erupt – she was woken up.
Chapter Five
It had all been too much for Jugs. The acceptance back into Hooter School should have been a thing of joy and pleasure. A chance for her to make amends. A chance for her to progress. It should have been a time, at least in her mind, that she should have been applauded and encouraged and nurtured so that she could learn and then pass her final exams this time round. She wanted to do it – oh god did she want to do it. She wanted to get out of that place. There it was again, that effect. Instead of screaming the place down – demanding to be let go – instead of that little bit of her left in the back of her mind saying 'right – this is enough, let me out of this hell now' – she didn't do that. It was part of her breaking down – part of wearing her down and putting her into the right mind space. It was the worrying part that 'largely' she was accepting what was happening to her and she was taking seriously the need to impress her keepers and owners instead of making that bid for freedom. Instead of fighting inside her mind for what she knew was right and moral, accepting what was happening to her. Playing the game – falling into line. Even the re-integration into Hooter School had not shaken her out of that basic mind-set – and that re-integration had been like a subsonic shock to her system.
“No... no... no fuck the lot of you perverted fucks. Let me go. Let me go now. I demand that I be let go NOW this instant. Fuck the lot of you. I want to go back to my old life and I want to go there NOW. I demand that you sick shits let me go this instant.”
An outburst that, with the current run of things was uncharacteristic. Yes she had wanted to progress, to make and pass her final exams this time round. She wanted to impress Hooter Tutor and Chest – she had felt deep inside that she 'needed' to be all that all these people wanted her to be. But sometimes – just sometimes it all becomes too much. Sometime, just sometimes that little bit that was left of her – the bit that was kept caged right at the back of her mind, the bit that kept her fully knowing and understanding what was happening to her – sometimes, just sometimes that little bit of herself tried to break loose, like the last stand and all that. Like a form of panic – the reality of the situation taking over – where the 'reality' tries to break through rather than let the nightmare dominate. That little bit of her, that tiny little bit that refuses to be broken – the little piece that actually is unbreakable. Or the bit that is not broken deliberately – you decide.
“Did you fucks hear me? Did you hear me I said let me and my breasts go NOW. Let me go THIS INSTANT. You fucks. Let me go. NOW NOW!”
In was classroom time and the class was in some kind of stunned silence. A small group of eight or so younger girls, or younger 'women' – all shrink wrapped in their Hooter Schoolgirl uniforms – all according to their own individual circumstances prepared and enhanced, but none more so than Dorothea. When she had first been introduced to the class she had been the 'freak' they had all heard about – she had been the freak they had all giggled about. And they could freely giggle at her because that was part of her daily life. Part of Dorothea's re-integration was that humiliation and that degradation. So the younger 'girls' were not punished for giggling and belittling the legend that was Jugsalina. It was something that was freely and actively encouraged. And in that particular class, they had all thought it was Christmas – or indeed thought that all of their Christmases had been rolled into one – the freak that was Jugs being brought into their class. Ha, that would be their claim to fame. Jugs had been introduced to each and every single one of the eight and the individuality of the girl had come through in the ways they had greeted the older, hugely mammaried woman. Some of them had leeringly taken and shaken the nipple teat, either one or the other. Some of them had elongated the process and enjoyed the feeling of a throbbing nipple organ wrapped in their finger. Others had squeezed, and pinched as they shook – like as though they had been trying to get a reaction, trying to further Dorothea's torment. Each and every shake of her nipples slightly different to the one before or the one that would come next. It was like as though these girls had found some kind of courage. Before her arrival in the class Jugs had been just a legend – like one of those things you read about – but actually having her in the same class and then being able to openly make her suffer more and without any comeback was something approaching a huge thrill for these girls.
“Can any of you brainless bitches not hear me or something – get me the fuck out of this thing fucking now. I swear it, I swear it on my hooters lives here that when I get out of here I will beat each and every one of you to death with my tits.”
Jugsalina was hissing almost between gritted teeth. She was hissing to, and some drool was being catapulted from her pretty mouth. It could have been an obvious conclusion to come to – that she was hissing and gritting her teeth and catapulting drool because of the anger that had built up and built up and now was pouring out in the form of the outburst. But that wasn't the full story. All the 'girls' at Hooter School had their own specially developed and adapted desks at which they say for lessons. Each and every one of the girls was at the School for a different reason and so the adaptations were very one-off, very custom for that individual girl alone. Each and every one of them had been sent to the school under different circumstances and by different people all of whom had very different ideas and input into how the girl in question was treated and brought through Hooter School – the whole school, the whole input system was a mishmash of customisation. For Jugs, like the rest of them really, in some way or other, it was her breasts that took the brunt of what was happening. It was her breasts that were the focus.
“Shut up you bitch.. shut the fuck up... owwwwww they'll hurt ME even more if you don't shut up. Shut the fuck up you cunt of a bitch.”
That was Chest talking to Dorothea through the deeply embedded ear pieces. Well, 'talking' to her maybe something of an inappropriate description. She was shrieking at her. Dorothea's head was filled with Wendy's electronic, slightly 'white noised' voice. Dorothea's arms had been brought up onto the arms of the chair she was sitting on. Her arms laid on top of the flat wood arm and then slid back. The chair arms had been modified, elongated, as though they had been slid further back. This was so that her arms could be placed on top of the flat surface and then pulled back beyond their natural positioning. This pull back of the arms also ensuring that the shoulders were pulled back and this all in turn ensuring that the hooters, all of that volume and mass of udder flesh was pushed forward unhindered. The arms secured via fixed restraining straps. It took three of the other girls to help secure Dorothea the way she was expected to be secured every day in class. One each to haul her tits through the clamp surface. The upper 'jaw' of the vice like clamp right up high out of the way so that they could work. Both girl's puffing and panting and seemingly dwarfed by the hugeness of the tits that they were manhandling. A bizarre, bizarre scene. These 'girls' not in themselves diminutive with regard to their own breast size. Each girl having more than their fair share of breasts since that was one of the reasons that they were where they were. But in comparison with the 'animal' that was Dorothea, seated and secured like a beached whale with all of that breast and udder flesh out in front of her and overflowing the flat surfaced clamp bed. The third girl fine tuning. Smoothing out the almost transparent flesh of each tit. As though she were dressing a window in a shop. Making sure that each tit was laid out nicely on the large flat platform. That same third girl also making adjustments to the clamp device. The top, presently raised section of the clamp would form the desk surface – the surface on which Dorothea would have to do her work – with her udders pressed and compressed under it. A whole lot of 'industrial activity' going on around the seated Dorothea. Her chair, set on a short length of rail – so that she could be pulled out from her desk arrangement. In the first instance so that she could be secured into the chair. Seated nicely. The seat slightly lower – kind of a deliberate lower seat so that the high heeled boots she wore forced her knees
up high. This was as much for aesthetic as anything. Her legs enhanced with the rest of her femininity. The silktex adapting, changing, allowing her to sit and yet at the same time gripping her insides, pressing and compressing around her cervix and at the same time, pressing out from inside her womb, and her bowels and bladder – that state of discomfort a permanent one. Her very private holes, stretched and chewing as though with a mind of their own, the silktex intrusions inside her femininity. That chewing and 'sucking' possibly would give the impression of a hunger never sated. The chair moved back on that rail so that the work could be done. Arms placed on the flat surfaces and then pulled back and fixed like that. Ankles also, just pulled back under her thighs in location and then fixed. Such was the depth of Dorothea's suffering and journey, that the simple bondage applied barely went noticed by her at all. Her simply falling into place. The chair then pushed forward on the oiled, lubricated rail, very slowly so each of the udder girls could haul up and position the tit meat of the lower platform of the vice. Some time spent getting it right. Hooter Tutor only coming in to the class room once part of the preparation work had been done but then watching carefully as her girls worked.
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