Then of course, there was now – and for the past three weeks she was having her udders punished for muttering, daring to mutter, daring to utter those words – the ones she said, the whinging whining words that her breasts were to heavy and about how stupid it all was. Daring to say the breasts word was bad enough, but when a tit transport system, ie Dorothea dared to give an opinion – dared to complain, dared to even think about the breast word let alone say it – well it had been all a little much, at least at first for Hooter Tutor to take in. She had thought she had seen it all and done it all. She had thought she had come across every mode of behaviour of the sort exhibited by creatures like Jugs. But even she had been a little more than dumfounded as she heard those word slip wetly from between the lips of the big hootered whore. There had been only one course of action that had been available, at that time, and that was appropriate for purpose – and that had been the punishment bra. Actually 'bra' was a kind of inappropriate thing to called the things that Jugs's hooters had been captured and caged in. What the whole contraption actually was was a form of torture. A torture device – an intricately designed and executed torture device that when fitted and adjusted could only result in one thing – and that was the dire and absolute form of hell that she had yet to be shown, or brought to. Oh – since her being controlled by Wendy and the twins, and since her first stint at Hooter School, she had thought that she been to that place called hell. She thought that she had been there. But nothing could have prepared her for what these fucking cruel and despicable things would do to her. With them all fitted, tightened and strapped down – the flesh bulging out from between cross crossed bars and the nipple teats, like un-launched yet primed missiles forced out of the end of the cages painfully and vulnerably only the beginning of the story of torture really.
“Mmmmmmmmooooooooooo aaaaaahhhhhhhhhhhhhhh.”
It could have been sheer coincidence that the sounds she had ended up making were not the sounds of distress that she had made at the beginning of the process. The fact that she sounded more akin to a wounded cow was something approaching ironic. The wounded cow with the huge udders that were trapped in cages that she could not shake off, or relieve at all. The wounded cow that had done very well for the first maybe day or so of the punishment cycle. She had managed to stay on her feet. Well, more or less. There had been stumbles that saw the caged flesh bounce and wave and wiggle painfully. But the truth being told was that as the hours and the days went on – so the stoop, enforced by the weight of the breasts and the cages combined was just too much for her spine to bare and so she began to droop. The fact that there was no added support for the udders, very purposely so, meant that the natural gravity was forcing them to pull and drag down. Inside there as well would have been the psychological need for her to rest the hooters on the floor so that at least some of that weight was taken up. But given the design of the cages and the shape that the hooters were squeezed into – that relief might not have been given in the same way that it might if the breasts were free to simply flop on the floor and spread around in a flesh like pool. But that was what the desperation of her situation was forcing on Dorothea. Looking for, hoping for, searching for relief where there was none – or where there would be no hope of any.
The hours must have felt more like days to Dorothea as she was forced to haul those caged udders around with her. Part of what was left of her, determined and desperate to retain the dignity that she once had and yet that little piece of dignity that she might have had, and one says might have had because, even up to this point in the journey most of that dignity, that tall and proud dignity that she had had had been take away from her, stripped away together with her freedom. But, that little bit of her, the little bit of her that was left still trying to call at least some of the shots. That little piece of her trying to convince her that she did have some dignity left. Even in those final hours of those first days of the tit caging, she was still trying, but trying to walk tall and proud and with an air of dignity that had long since left her. But Hooter Tutor had watched that – she had watched that with a form of excitement. No-one at the school, or at least no-one except the chosen ones would have recognised that look as she watched Dorothea be dragged more and more floor ward in those final hours. It was the look of sexual excitement. Hooter Tutor was getting some kind of sexual kick out of watching a woman without dignity trying desperately to act and carry herself as though she did have some. That sight, the sight of Jugs being dragged to the floor by her own caged mammaries was a sexual thrill for her. It said a lot about the sadist trapped inside the school ma'am exterior. All prim and proper and giving out the message that she was here to help the girls at her School. That she was there for their own good. Maybe, just maybe the outer wall beginning to crumble as to what it was all about after all. The sexual overtones – the sexual gratification of a perverse human being. The sign of the ability of how some human beings could be beyond cruel to other less fortunate than themselves. And, far from simply plucking selected women and girls out of society because of the wrongs that they had done – rather, searched carefully and selected suitable 'specimens' for their own perverted needs and lusts. Hooter Tutor had watched Dorothea being dragged down and down by her own caged tits and had squeezed her thighs to get a little shot of pleasure. The desperation in the younger woman's eyes to find and retain that dignity so apparent and yet at the same time so obviously not there was a source of sexual pleasure. That sight of Dorothea with every passing minute and then with every passing step, knees bending more and more - the stoop becoming more acute, her getting lower and lower until eventually she could not stay on her severely arched feet any longer. Until she was forced to her hands and knees. And that point, at that precise point that her knees gave ways and she went down first onto her knees, the caged tits still bouncing across her thighs, and then forward so that she was on her all fours – at that precise point there was an escape of air, like one of relief – like an escape of air that was one of relief and acceptance. If ever asked, Hooter Tutor would have told how honoured she was to have been present and witness to that final gasp of air escaping Dorothea's lips. That final escape of air told of that final seeping of the last, the very last remnants of dignity – and then the form of Dorothea, or Jugsalina as she was now known. To be present at the ultimate deconstruction of another woman was a thing to behold. Hooter Tutor squeezed her thighs, the way she did it, like discreetly so no one around her knew what she was doing – she squeezed and then released, squeezed and then released so that she built the orgasm up behind the eight thousand nerve endings that made up her own clitoris. She squeezed, released, squeezed released as she watched Dorothea sink to the floor, and then the weight of those cages pressing her nipple teats into the floor, hurting them more, opening up the nerve ending and turning those always there throbs into spasms of deep pain. Hooter Tutor watched that falling apart, that deconstruction as she watched she squeezed and squeezed her thighs. Then, just at the moment when Dorothea must have been at her very lowest ebb – just when she was at her most broken on the floor, on her hands and knees and with her caged tits under her like freaks of nature imprisoned for the own good, that was when Hooter Tutor did her final squeeze. And as she did her final squeeze so she orgasmed intensely into her underwear. It was not a noisy, breathy orgasm – no-one would know she was wallowing in the deepest darkest recesses of the most intense sexual pleasure. But she was, and the orgasm was intense, it was as intense as it could be and she was enjoying it when faced with Dorothea at her lowest. A sadist getting her ultimate thrill, her ultimate orgasm.
“Mooooooooahhhhhhhhhhhh oooooooooaaaaaaaahhhhhh.”
There it was again – that wounded cow sound. Jugsalina crawling, very slowly, very intensely laboured up towards the main show ground. Hooter School had open days occasionally. I guess 'open days' might not be the appropriate term. Open days suggested that the School opened its gates to the public and all and sundry could simply waltz in and take
in the delicious sights it had to offer. Of course, nothing could be further from the truth of that. Hooter School open day meant that, indeed the gates were opened but only for the very select few. There would not be hundreds and hundreds of people milling around and helping themselves to fancy cakes and finger buffets. Rather there would be more like tens of people – maybe thirty or forty people, specially selected. There might be a mixture of people who had the underground connections necessary to get into such an event. These people could be a mixture of those who, for whatever reason simply fund such a clandestine operation. That could be for reasons of varying types. Sympathetic to the cause maybe. Possibly they will have contributed, in the form of a female human being, to the programme at some time or other. They could be individuals who get their kicks out of such a set up. Or, at the other end of the spectrum they could be prospective parents, guardians, husbands of future 'pupils' at the school. The fact was that, in today’s society, the supply of fresh 'stock' or a fresh intake of pupils was not that easy to come by. Society and governments had changed and whilst not wholly impossible, it had become very difficult to operate such an organisation, or such a closely guarded secret as Hooter School. So, attracting fresh blood as it were was not an easy thing to procure. Checks had to be made – vetting at the highest level had to take place. But this was what happened with a slickness and an ease that might chill any 'normal' person. Mature, adult human beings playing with the lives of girls and older women as though they were 'nothing'. But the sexuality coming to the fore and offering some kind of explanation – as to how and why it had to remain such a secret and clandestine organisation. Another chill this time down the very core of the spine that such a place could even exist at all. But it did. So did Jugsalina.
“Mooooooooooaaaahhhhhhhhhhh ooooooooaaaaaaahhhhhh.”
That noise again. It was almost a pitiful sound. A cow sound yes, but most definitely a wounded cow sound. That conclusion would be drawn by anyone who heard that sound. They might not even think that it was a human sound of distress and cruelty – at least no-one from the normal world would even think like that. But the correct conclusion, that of pain and torture was obvious. At first there had been like a little low ripple of talking, and chatter and general sociality going on within the enclosed, high walled garden and patio area of Hooter School. Away from prying eyes and general nosey parkers. The School in itself was very secluded and unless one knew where it was and how to get there, one would not know it even existed. It had been oddly removed from all local maps and the outer perimeter of the grounds which were a good few miles from the buildings of the school, was simply signposted as Private Property, and Keep Out very intimidatingly placed at regular intervals around the out perimeter fence. None of the buildings, or more to the point, none of the activity could be seen from any of the roads that passed anywhere near Hooter School. The property hadn't simply been purchased and then used blind. The planning and executing of such a 'project' was immense with no stone unturned. Or not crossed nor I not dotted. Hooter School was the absolute and complete place of seclusion and secrecy. But still that patio yard and walled garden were even more isolated if that were possible. That chatter and idle talk had died down as the wounded cow had bellowed yet again. The chatter died into a ripple of whispers, and of wonderment at what the noise could be. The noise came before the sight of Dorothea – it came again and for some reason there was no distinct clue as to where the sound was coming from and so eyes wandered, and heads turned and bodies twisted at the hips to see what the noise was and where it was coming from.
“Oh, My, God!”
A middle aged woman spoke out with some incredulity attached to her voice. She had turned and looked all around herself before setting her eyes on one point. A simple rough path had been made from the courtyard leading to the garden area. A narrow path with rough stones designed so that people would not get their feet wet. The stones the means by which any water, rain water, or hosepipe water ran off and drained without getting to the feet of any walker. The stones were rough, almost white and sharp. The woman's head had turned, and when she had spotted what she had spotted it had stayed in the same position, kind of like in an exorcist way, detached from her body. It was as though if she was distracted and took her eyes away, or turned away to move her torso into a more comfortable position that when she looked again the sight would be gone. So, she simply stayed in the position her eyes fixed.
“Mooooooooooooaaaaaaaaaaaaaa owwwwwwwwwwwww.”
This time the direction of the sound was more distinct, more definite and it was coming from whatever the woman was looking at. The crowd simply followed the oh my god exclamation and then followed her eyes to what she was looking at. There was another distinct period of silence, much like when Dorothea had uttered those fateful words – silence. But this was more bizarre more surreal simply because there were so many more people in and around the vicinity. One might have thought that someone would have said something, anything. But there was nothing. The eyes just fixed on that path. At first there had been a quite unexplainable sound, like a 'dragging'. Like a metallic dragging. Like a slow cumbersome dragging of metal through the stones. But that had been before the crawling Dorothea had come into view. The path tended to wind out of the garden and then disappear over an incline where it wound down to the courtyard of the main school buildings. The woman's eyes had fixed on the brow of that incline just as Dorothea was crawling up and over it. At first just the top of her slightly dropped head was visible. The crawling steps that she was taking so slow, so laboured that only tiny little bits of her were revealed ever so slowly. But when she did eventually drag her carcass over that brow taking her caged, tortured udders with her – that had been when the woman had exclaimed in that way, causing that ripple of whispers and then the dead mute silence.
Dorothea led on some kind of cow leash by Head Hooter Girl, very slowly, very slowly down the path and into the garden proper. The chest cages dragging, the nipple teats distorting in the stones and being grazed and lacerated by those same stones as she crawled bit by bit. One might have suggested, or thought at least that it would be impossible for her to lift her udders off the ground and to somehow carry them with her. It seemed to be the logical conclusion that she was on her hands and knees crawling the way she was crawling, in that laboured pained way because her caged tits were too heavy. The whole bulk of them was simply too heavy for her to lift and then carry in the 'normal' way. It seemed to all who were now watching, eyes fixed on her that the absolute only way she could get around with those udders was to crawl and grovel in the stones. But that only became apparent after some time studying the form that was crawling into the garden the way Dorothea was crawling. It wasn't a sight one normally saw, or one that one normally expected to see. Granted the people at this little get together would have been deemed perverted at best. But it seemed that even they could not have been expecting such sights of outright brutality and cruelty to be displayed before them. It was no accident that Jugs was brought into the garden like this. It would have been so easy for Hooter Tutor to have arranged a proper and spectacular 'display' of some sort whereby Jugs could be already in the garden, maybe fixed to some kind of plinth or other, with all of her wares on display for the guests at the open day to see. But that would have been much, much to vulgar. Besides, why would anyone want to deny the spectacle of 'the entrance' being made. And that was just it, it was an entrance. More than an entrance. But not one that was all lights, and fireworks. It was a spectacular entrance of a pathetic female human being who had been reduced and deconstructed. One at the very lowest of the low of her existence. The closer she crawled the closer people looked. At first they couldn't work out what it was they were seeing. Yes a person crawling. But what were those metallic sounds. And those things under her. At first they could not even associate those things with Dorothea's breasts, or what used to be her breasts. But then as she got closer and closer and then closer, there were intakes of breaths from the
various members of the crowds. Other people made no sounds – they simply watched open mouthed. Others had been watching with the same open mouths but then those mouths, male and female simply stretching into appreciative, and perverse smiles as the crawling vision of Jugs, the closer it got began to make sense. They all knew that this establishment specialised in 'breasts' and now they were getting a full on display of what was capable with that speciality. More than a few of the eyes, male and female poured over the leading and walking form of Head Hooter Girl – that was understandable – Cheryl, a top heavy girl with extraordinary long, and in this case nylon sheathed legs walked and held herself tall and proud like and Head Girl should. But in the main the eyes were always drawn back to the unfortunate creature that was barely able to make progress in the only way that she could make progress. Dorothea was dragging herself and the bulk of her mammaries, caged, distorted, up the path. As she got closer, as a little bit more was revealed when she got closer and closer then the sighs and the gasps became more acute, more loud. At first it was just the malformed bulk under her that she was dragging, as far as they could see – but when it became obvious that those udders, those stupendous, massive, fleshy mammaries were shrink wrapped in steel cages, and it was the dragging of the steel cages that they could hear and now see – that woman, exclaimed again.
“Oh My Fucking God – how much more delicious does this day get.”
Her voice was mature, slightly husky and high educated. The fuck word seemed to slip out of her mouth and over her lips with an ease that was erotic. She was a thick, heavy set woman who looked as though she had had more than her fair share of being tormented by big titted bimbos. She looked like she had spent a lot of her life fending off such bitches. Like maybe as though they for some reason or other made a b-line for her husband or something. But there was no husband present. She was alone and had mingled before the main event had begun. She had probably drunk one or two glasses too many of the expensive, chilled white wine that had been served by Hooter School's finest big titted specimens. Dorothea's entrance was the presentation of the legend. Dorothea, or the thing that used to be Dorothea had become a legend. There were things being done to her and with her that defied any form of logic or belief. The underground news mills were in excess of busy. Word got around and for these people, seemingly in awe of what was happening, to be in the very presence of this 'creature' as she was taken into the garden on her hands and knees, dragging her caged mammaries was like, for some at least, all of their Christmases had come at once.
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