“Sshhhhh our secret, just our little secret.”
Then she was kissing the woman again, deeply and forcibly. Dorothea was kissing down into the woman and she was licking the roof of her mouth with her hungry tongue. The little wet groans coming from the back of Lucy Warrington's throat seemed to be getting more and more desperate. Dorothea kissed and she kissed and then she pressed the knee up until she felt the wet lips of her teacher's sex part – then she was grinding the knee into the inside of Miss Warrington's sex meat. Kissing her and grinding her knee in and with her fingers she was thumbing the silk covered nipples. Using the micro fibres of the silk to tease the nipples into a slow steady throb. Kissing her, grinding her and thumbing those nipples. She was working the older woman like she was an older woman herself. She should not be so experienced at what she did and the way that she did it, but she was. She loved this particular recurring dream did Dorothea. It let her slide back to when she was at her best. When she had control and when she could do whatever she wanted whenever she wanted however she wanted. She loved the way she worked Miss Warrington – slowly overpowering her – getting into her mind as well as into her body. Working her knee until most of the pressure was over that little bit of hooded flesh, the clitoris and then pressing and sliding just that little bit more. Kissing but listening at the same time – listening to the quickening of the breath and then the bubbling, crooning moan from the back of her throat – the one that tickled the kiss and the one that signified the onslaught of an intense, intense orgasm. And when that orgasm slid through Miss Warrington, it did so in waves. Wave after wave of intense pleasure. Her eyes wide, lips swollen, quivering. Then her slowly sliding down the wall, half sobbing, half coming down from the orgasm as Dorothea stepped back. She looked at her watch casually, as though calculating how long it would be before the locked door would be found and until they heard that key turning to open the door. As she did that she began unbuttoning her blouse to reveal her own mammoth breasts to the teacher she head just forced herself upon.
“I want to teach you breast worship Lucy. That is, your worship of My breasts.”
Dorothea's smile was wide – and even she would admit that her own breathing was slightly laboured – excited as she stepped towards the collapsed, limp, sobbing teacher.
Chapter Two
“You really are a total and complete disappointment to me Jugs. You know I just don't get you, I really do not get you at all. I have gone out of my way to help you – help you realise yourself. Help you realise what you are – help you understand that it isn't you that is important but 'me'. And how do you repay me? How do you repay me? I'll tell you how you repay me – you constantly make things hard for yourself with your whining whinging and even worse than that, you make it hard for 'me'. Every time you fall out of line you fall out of line – every time you fall foul of the rules, every time you even let the 'wrong' thoughts filter into that tiny little brain of yours, its 'me' who suffers. It’s me who suffers because I am attached to you. And you seem to think that its ok for 'me' to suffer for YOUR inadequacies. You seem to think that all of this is might fine. I just don't get you. The point of all of this is that so you can make that important change in your life. So that you can change and make 'me' the most important thing ever in your life – forever. You are supposed to be learning that the way you used to live and carry on your life was all wrong – the way you used to tease and torment helpless and pathetic men and boys. The way you used to make other women as jealous as hell over your udders. You were meant to be starting to understand that they way of life was all wrong and at the very least misguided. You were meant to be starting to learn the error of your ways. But instead, you seem to be hell bent on making it hard for 'me'. This is just not fair. It’s not fair at all and I am not going to take it for much longer. You had really better start to take in what you are being taught – and you better start displaying proper and total respect for 'me'. I am your life now and you have simply been totally misguided and totally deluded with your life so far. I really do hope that you are listening to me Jugs – I really do hope you are taking in what I am telling you. I am trying to help you make a transition here and what do I get? What do I get? Nothing – that’s what I get, nothing. It really is not good enough. It just is not good enough. I'm telling you once and for all Jugs that you have better not fuck this opportunity up for 'me'. This is not something that will be offered to you again. A chance like 'this' comes along once and once only – and here you are getting a second chance. Most sub-human creatures like you would give their life just for one chance – but you are having TWO, you are having TWO. You better start to pull yourself together Jugs you better start... and I mean really start.”
Chest's nagging voice was like a constant drone filling Jugsalina's head. Her head was being filled with the very whining whinging that she was being accused of carrying out on a constant basis. But Dorothea was in one of those positions again – one of those positions where she was having to prioritise what was happening to her. Yes she was hearing that voice, that constant fucking voice, and she was understanding every single word of it. She didn't agree with every single word of it. Indeed she didn't agree with any of it at all. For the life of her she could not understand how she was even still standing. The milking pack had been fitted to her for three days and her udders were in an agony that cannot be guessed, or imagined. It was just another reminder, another way that she was having her new way of life enforced on her. And the way it was happening was also a play on her psychologically – making her feel guilty about the fact that her udders were in so much pain and discomfort. Dorothea was desperately trying to contend with that as well as what was physically happening to her.. The pack on her back was heavy. It was heavy because it was the container that held the milk that was being sucked out of each of her breasts. She had been milked constantly for the three day period so that pack was heavy. At the beginning it had been just like a small back-back, but as the milking had proceeded so the pack had expended and then expanded more and more. Dorothea hadn't been able, or even allowed to try, to sit down, or gain any comfort. She had been forced to wear the milking pack constantly day and night – and so sleep had been denied as well. In addition she was not excused her daily lessons and as such, she was escorted to each and every lesson by Head Hooter Girl Cheryl. She had been forced to endure the horrific humiliation and degradation of being visibly and openly milked in front of the school population, and all that went with that. The suction cups that were attached to her nipple teats were 'industrial' to say the least. Huge re-enforced cups that sucked the thick engorged, sensitive teats right up into the cup and into the heavy, industrial tubing. The tubing snaking our from the massive hooters and then fed into the back-back. The machinery, also part of the backpack, having just one setting. That setting was high and ensured that each of her honkers were suckled, and jiggled and manipulated in order to empty every single milk duct. The machinery was weirdly quiet and belied the agony that it caused Dorothea. As the milking proceeded over the hours and the days, so the process became even more painful. It became more than simply the machinery mauling and manipulating her udders and teats. There was that, oh yes there was that but there was also the fact that as the flow of milk got less and less towards the end of the time, so the insides of her tits seemed to be on fire as the suction tried to express milk that wasn't in fact there any more. She was forced to stand in class since the milking rig was such designed and implemented and fitted that she could not be put into her desk. So she didn't suffer one kind of hell, but she did another one instead. Very much a case of out of the frying pan and into the fire. By the end of the milking period, three and a half days – the constant, constant drone of Chest's voice was still there – but the priority for Dorothea to deal with was the intense and awful pain that her hooters were in. That, and the guilt.
She hadn't meant to say it – she just hadn't meant to let it slip out of her mouth. But she did. If she had been asked
what was she thinking she wouldn't have been able to say. The words had simply slipped out of her lips because it was what she was feeling. Maybe it was just one of those times that things had completely come on top of her. Maybe it was just one of those times when it had all crept up on her and it had all become too much.
“T-this is just stupid.... my breasts are too big and they are too heavy. I cannot bare this anymore.”
It wasn't even as though she was talking to anyone in particular – it was like she was talking to herself. Kind of like she was just thinking aloud. Except she somehow turned that 'thinking' into actually speaking those thoughts. The reality was that in her predicament she could 'think' what she liked within reason. But this was one of those oddities that didn't allow the silktex to sense the non-positivity – maybe a flaw in its design and makeup. But in any case, it didn't matter. Jugs had uttered those words in the very presence of Hooter Tutor and there had been nothing but a stunned silence that followed. Three crimes committed in the uttering of that one small sentence. Complaining that her hooters were too big and too heavy was just an unspeakable act of treason as far as Hooter Tutor was concerned and to her 'that' was stupid since there was no such thing as too big or too heavy. There was that and then there was the announcement that the whole thing, this whole thing, the setup, the way of life, the predicament, this path that she had been set upon was 'stupid'. There was simply that stunned silence – as though Dorothea had just denounced the life of Jesus Christ himself. But it was funny, though not in a ha ha kind of way that no sooner had those words slipped from her lips, she knew that she had made a terrible mistake and the only sound that eventually broke that deadlock silence was the whimpering of realisation pouring from between her pretty red lips. It was as though she had been tricked into making the fatal mistake. It was as though she had been the victim of a huge conspiracy – that normally she wouldn't have dared even think those words, let alone actually speak them. But then on top of that she had used the word 'breasts' and she KNEW that she was absolutely forbidden to refer to her hooters, honkers, udders as breasts. Breasts were for decent, normal female human beings. Dorothea, or Jugsalina was anything but decent and pleasant.
“Mmmmm nnnnngggg mmmmmmmmmgggggg.”
They were quite simple sounds of distress really – ones that kind of filled the chamber and even crept up the aluminium walls of the Hooter School outbuilding. The udder cages were just that – cages. And they had been fed over and onto her tits. Or rather, the mass and volume of her udders had been poured into the cages after which had been a long process of securing and fixing them into place. The way they fixed around the base of her breasts meant that the meat was squeezed and forced into the deliberately small cages. The bars of the cages criss crossed so that the soft subtle meat of the honkers was forced to squeeze and 'pop' out from between each space. Like shrink wrapped meat that was further packed with strings forcing the meat to bulge. The cages then open ended, but only just big enough for the nipple teats and areolas to squeeze out into the open. These cages fitted and then secured over a period of time. That time seemed to be long and tedious as the necessary adjustments were made and then finally like some kind of switch being flicked and the whole lot, in a snap instant, tightening and simply squeezing the breast mounds. The whole thing, despite being metal bar and leather construction seemingly a skin tight fitting – and yet making the total weight of each honker in excess of three times its normal excessive weight. Indeed the very object of this punishment bra being to punish the wearer. This particular punishment bra designed and built for especially for Dorothea. Designed and built for Jugsalina and for a specific time when her udders would be at a very specific size – and yet with the full knowledge that those udders were due to get even bigger over the course of the next few weeks or so. The punishment bra due to be fitted and retained for a period of one month. The torture would get only worse, and then some more.
“Mmmmmmm uuuuhhhhhhhh nnnnggggggg.”
Once again, not really words that were spoken – simply sounds of distress. Dorothea would with the best of intentions start on her feet with the punishment bra fitted and adjusted, but the weight, and the mass simply too much for her to bear and eventually, very eventually being forced to her knees. The only way of her getting around with any effect then, on her knees, crawling. Crawling quite pitifully and quite pathetically, dragging those caged udders of hers.
“Ha, ha look at the tit-whore, crawling like she should ALWAYS crawl.”
The cruel Selina standing over Jugs in the very corridor that all that time ago she was forced to clean and scrub the floor with her hooters whilst being overseen by Head Hooter Girl. It was funny that – being in that exact same corridor, and again on her hands and knees and again with Head Hooter Girl over her, supervising her journey from one lesson to another. Dorothea was in pain and severe humiliation but she got a chill down her spine then – just at that moment. That moment that she recognised the corridor – remembered that tortuous time for her breasts, which in comparison to what she was going through now can only have been likened to a walk in the park. But that chill down the spine – and then a flashback of a dream, or was it a dream. But that flashback being broken in an instant by the voice of Selina up above – The metallic sound of the cages being dragged on the floor having a weird and quite chilling echoing effect on the bare painted walls of the corridor. And then the sounds of distress that Dorothea seemed to constantly make as her nipples teats were bent and distorted on the floor with the slow and cumbersome crawl that was inevitable.
“Now Selina – leave the poor creature alone, can't you see she's suffering enough? And, besides, you should be careful, you can never tell when fortunes may change – and too think it could be you – it could be you the one with grotesquely enlarged udders which are then further tormented and tortured. You can just never tell what is around the corner – or what life holds in store for us.”
Head Hooter Girl Cheryl looked directly at Selina and smiled – it was her own brand of wide lipsticked smile – and she looked the sadistic younger girl directly in the eyes, and held that gaze as Selina's laugh faded into a slight smile and then that slight smile fading completely as the words that HHG used sank in to have the desired effect. Cheryl nudged Dorothea's fleshy, upturned ass with a stiletto'd foot, urging her on.
Hooter School Open Day
That punishment bra – oh dear that punishment bra. The fact was that it had an immediate and detrimental effect – the weight of those cages, of those shrink wrapped bags of flesh all tightly barred up and heavy – dragging those tits down, and down. Under normal circumstances those hooters, those modified bags of fleshy fun had more than begun to defy gravity and were constantly wanting and needing to head towards the ground. It was as though they were doing that because they were 'seeking' some kind of comfort, some kind of release from the permanent agony that they were in and experiencing. It was kind of like a second nature for them to try that, try to get down so that some of their weight could be taken up by the floor. That would be it – it would be a relief for those humongous hooters to rest on the floor. Yes they would be heavy on the floor, terribly so – and Jugs would have to stoop a little, just maybe more than a little so that she could plant some of that flesh on the floor – but at least she would get some relief that way – at least some of the weight would be taken from them and be bared by the floor. But then – that would be ok, just about, whilst Dorothea was standing still – yes she might just able to cope with that 'stoop' for a little while whilst she was standing still. Even despite the murderously atrocious high heels that she was made to wear – that stoop might be just about manageable for short periods. But then – that would give rise to all sorts of other doubts creeping into her head. If on the general off chance her breasts were unbound and free – yes she could get that minimal relief. But there was not very often in the day that she was standing still long enough to adopt that position. There was the getting round. She ha
d to get around the School and she had to transport her honkers in the best and most effective way. By the most effective it is generally meant the most painful and humiliating way for her. 'Best' translating into something that she has to suffer on a constant basis.
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