“Mmmmmmmmm nnnnnggggggggggggmmmmgggggggg.”
There it was, that noise of dripping wet distress coming through gritted teeth at the same time as those smooth red lips were stretched into the widest most positive smile that Jugs could muster. But it was too late for that. The silktex, the ramped up, hyper tuned silktex inside her and around her had been aware of the 'change' in her thought patterns and her pulses. The thought that she might have been able to get away, if she bided her time – the thought that she might have been able to almost reach out to her own house and haul herself over had sent out signals. Changes in her vital signs – the things that the silktex took care of en-mass. Changes there, the wrong kind of changes made the silktex act and react. There was that all too familiar squeezing of her most intimate feminine innards – her cervix and her womb and stuff. But there was more – the 'punishment' for letting her mind wander where it shouldn't wander was ramped up as well. Jugsalina wasn't a 'newbie' any more – she wasn't learning the ropes as it were. She was now an established set of modified enhanced bangers on legs and so it was a natural and progressive thing that she should be punished several steps harsher than she had been when the silktex had first been introduced to her. That seemed an age ago and it was. There was the squeeze that made Jugs whimper first and then a slightly tighter and tighter squeeze. But then another sensation – at first, like an ice coldness inside herself. It was an ice coldness that made her shudder – but she could only shudder so much because the twins had acted as though they were going to push her through the upstairs window. For the briefest of moments Dorothea had thought her time was going to end there and then by being pushed out of the window and down the drive one floor down. She might have thought that her udders would cushion the fall and save her. But it didn't help. But on the other hand, as the twins had taken one fun bag each, tipping all of that flesh out of the window and over the ledge, that had been when she had thought that possibly just possibly it was her chance to get away – or at least, she was in the process of getting her bearings again. As she whimpered, as her volume and mass of tit flesh was being hauled up and out of the sash window, she looked to the left and she could 'just' see the rooftops of her own house, and her own outbuildings. 'Yes' – she smiled and one might have thought that the smile would have been enough to please the silktex. But it wasn't. The silktex had been ramped up, modified and hyper-tuned and it could tell one type of smile from another, and worse than that it could identify moods and intentions. It had been the sight of her own house roof that had done it. It was as though at long last she was going to get away from these nut jobs. It was as though her nightmare was at an end – as though she just had to reach out, haul herself out of that window and touch her own roof and she would be there – then she would snap out of it, like as though she would wake up and realise it had all been a very very bad dream. But that wasn't the case. When that thought and when that idea had crossed her mind she had been smiling at her widest and most positive, but that had not been enough for the silktex. That stuff had sensed the changes in vital signs and patterns and it had reacted accordingly.
As Jugs's tits were being spilled out of the window, so her knees had buckled a little. They had buckled because her shoulders were being pulled back further and further by the outer silktex. With that happening, all of her internal organs were being rearranged and adapted. She could feel her elbows touching but there was no straps or bondage applied. No bondage that is, other than what the silktex was able to do. It was like her arms had been pulled back and then bound at the elbows and at the wrists. Thus her arms and hands brought back so that she was unable to help or ease what was happening to her. Then there was that other 'thing' that the silktex was doing to her insides. That was the worst yet. There was no definable area inside her that was filled, all of a sudden, with the worse type of pain that could have been applied. If the old Dorothea had been asked to describe that pain, then she probably wouldn't have been able to. But in the here and now, it felt like she was about to spontaneously combust from the inside. It was like an intense heat was being applied. But it wasn't a localised heat – as though say, it was being applied to her cervix. This intense and radiating heat was all through her insides and it was crippling her. In the first instance it had contributed to the buckling of her knees. That buckling had only assisted the twins in that as the knees buckled, so she came down a bit lower making it easier to shove all of that udder flesh out of the window. The weight of that flesh then dragging Jugs closer to the window, her chest, and one side of her face pressed up again the raised section of the sash window. Dorothea smiled. She smiled wide and brightly enough to make it appear like she was kissing, and enjoying kissing the window. But her insides were on fire and her shoulders felt like they were about to break – about to snap like twigs. She even smiled as the twins very deliberately balanced the immense amount of flesh on the window ledge before entering some kind of 'countdown' to the sacks of tit flesh being pushed off. It was as though it was something that was of high amusement value to the twins. It was something else that added to the bizarreness of the situation. These twins, tiny little girls who seemed ageless and yet at the same time, showed that they were capable of advanced humiliation and torture on another woman – and yet even as they were demonstrating that advanced humiliation and torture, they were showing even more distinct signs of childishness.
“Ten, nine, eight, seven, six, five, four, three, two, one..... wheeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeee.”
It was just the most bizarre and disturbing thing all at the same time. Each twin simply finger tipping their respective udder off the window ledge. Dorothea's eyes opening wide as realisation dawned – one side of her face pressed up against the top piece of the window. The expression on Dorothea's slightly distorted face through the glass was one of terror and shock, but at the same time one of expectation and waiting. It wasn't as if there would be a bungee effect and the tits would bounce back up – or not so much of a bungee effect anyway. There was that split second where the rolling, rippling udder flesh was in free fall. The split second when gravity was doing what gravity did. A super slow motion camera would pick up every ripple of that free fall. Every undulation, every collision as the two udders came together. It would pick up the slight quivering of the huge, massively thick nipple teats and they fell, the furthermost from the chest of Jugs – pointing to the ground like deadly blunted missiles, and the ripples of the flesh that followed behind. That super slow motion camera would tell the whole unedited story of those free falling tits. If that camera then tilted upwards, to Dorothea's face pressed up against the window, it would tell of her 'concern' and her shock in that split second. Eyes wide, lips pressed to the glass like she was kissing it. And then the camera tilting back down, to the breasts as the fall was slowed by the stretching of the flesh. That super slow motion catching the flesh slowing and stretching more and more. The weight forcing the stretch even more. It was inconceivable that the breasts were too heavy and that the flesh would simply rip away from the chest at the bottom end of that fall and stretch. But the crystal clear clarity of that super slow motion camera would make it look like that was a possibility.
The twin having tipped the tits off the window ledge after the count had reached 'one' but the little tips of the fingers never identical, never precisely the same and so the flight of each hooter slightly different as a result. The breasts, each one of them falling, rippling, undulating and twisting in the fall. Tsunamis of flesh being sent up to the areola and the rock hard nipples and then bouncing back up colliding with the next wave of flesh on its way down. Both hooters, both masses of tit flesh colliding and crushing against each other. Then, leave the super slow motion camera rolling at the end of that split second fall. The bounce. Yes the bounce. The stretch and then the bounce sending even greater quivers of flesh up and down the mountainous mammaries. That super slow motion detailing precisely in high definition the catastrophe of tit flesh under the duress of the fall. That fall
and then that bounce – each bounce having its own effect, leaving its own pattern and ripple and quiver in the flesh. The flesh so translucent, not from the falling and bouncing but rather from the modification and the adaptations that had been applied. Veins carrying the blood supply around the masses of flesh that made up each udder clearly defined and clearly under their own duress as the fall and bounce proceeded. And then, the milk ducts, that because of the way the light fell, looked like little milk sacks that were boldly outlined in white.
“Mmmmmm nnnnggggggggggggggg.”
Dorothea aka Jugsalina had just looked across, her face flat to the window and her house roof was visible. Her house roof – yes – and despite the free falling tits, that was when the thought of getting back to her house had come to her. If she could have got back to her house she would be safe. They couldn't get to her in the house. Of course her state of mind wasn't making the right adjustment to those thoughts. She should have been thinking that even if she got to her house, then her problems would be just beginning. Chest was inside her breasts all the time – her breasts, those gorgeous organs from her old life, weren't hers any more. They were controlled and appendages that she simply was a transport system for. Getting to her own house and being in her own house would not return that control and ownership back to her. If she even managed to get to the house and then lock herself inside it would just all begin again. There were implants in her udders that could be activated at any time and in any number of ways. Sexual pleasure, electric shocks, ice cold, white hot – all from within the mass of flesh that made up her hooters – and all remotely controlled with ease from anywhere at all. That had already been demonstrated on her trips out – even the fact that she was from time to time allowed out, such as to Lucy the Tailor's, let loose the obviousness of Wendy's ultimate control over her charge. And then there was the silktex inside and around her. Invisible bondage, inside and outside. Complete and utter bondage by seemingly living breathing organism that had become part of her. And that was the thing to, that silktex – yes it had become a part of her inside and out and yet not in a good way – but in a controlling way. A total and complete controlling way. Did Jugs think that if she got to her house, closed then locked the doors, bolted the windows, closed all of the blinds and just hid herself from outside view, that the silktex would just wither and die and return her adapted modified insides, and outsides to their own devices? Did she think that would happen? Not really she didn't – not deep down when she really thought about it. It was just that the sight of her house roof was too much of a boost to her fading and dying hopes. If anything, if even the slightest little bit of reality was hitting her, it was the bit that told her that, 'if' and it was a non-existent, distant, hopeless hope that the silktex would somehow let her go, would somehow and someway leave her, dissolve and evaporate, then it was very unlikely that she would be able to support the new her – the new modified her. The silktex, as well as a means of punishment and torture was also a central core – the core that supported her huge bulk. It was the way she was able to get around with those massive, massive tits. Take the silktex away, remove that living breathing invisible thing that was part of her now and she would probably collapse from the core. Her legs would not be able to take it. Her permanently arched feet wouldn't be able to take it. Basically, her core support system would be removed and she would collapse in an undignified heap of mostly udder-tit flesh. Yes, living and breathing, but little else.
“Mmmmm nnnnngngngnngnngnngnngnnnnnn.”
The silktex was doing to her insides whatever it was doing and she was in a type of agony that she had never been in before. It was the type of agony that radiated from the inside and made her doubt that she would ever be able to bare children. Womb terror. A strange and yet desolate thing for her to think about at that time – maybe a sign of the purgatory she was existing inside of. Her tits were hanging over the window ledge and she was all but on her knees. The twins, for the first time in their lives were towering over her – towering over anyone, and they were looking down at her, one from either side and they were laughing at her. Not laughing, rather smiling widely as they looked down at her. The gravity that had hold of her tits, doing its job of pulling her to the window and her having to make a concerted effort not to be whooshed out of the window to the drive below. But no that didn't happen. It didn't happen, not because it wasn't a realistic option that it couldn't happen – because the longer she had to pull back on the weight of her overhanging udders, the more chance there was that she would fail and indeed topple out of the window. That 'topple' out of the window didn't happen for the simple reason that as the twins smiled down, so that each reached up with one hand and brought the sash window down hard across the tops of the stretched udders effectively jamming Jugsalina where she knelt. Both twins bringing the sash window down in unison and with very little ceremony or consideration. That high definition slow motion camera would catch the trauma of the sliding window and the crushing of the tit flesh – that tit flesh crushed under the weight and the shape of the window frame. The twins not really satisfied with the window finding its own level in the flesh, but rather slamming it down and then reaching up, curling their fingers over the top my ledge of the window frame and pulling down harder. Waiting for the frame to find its own level in the flesh and then giving it a little more of a helping hand. Pulling it down into the flesh and trapping it there even tighter. Jugsalina's mouth moving in motions that might have been screaming ones, but no sound coming out. Her lips, nicely red, permanently red, distorted and sliding across the glass – the trail being left saliva rather then the grease of the perma-proof lipstick. Both twins pulling down the window until they both showed signs of over exertion and then standing back. They stood back as though to examine their handy work. They liked what they saw and looked at each other. When they looked at each other first their faces were straight, not a smile in sight but then the smile coming and then both their heads turning back to the kneeling prose Dorothea, face crushed up against the window and her udders trapped and pressed outside and hanging by their own gravity. Both twins coming to the same silent conclusion that the window could do with an extra pull down – just that little bit more of a tug on the window to make sure the compress down was. And that was what they did. Each seemed to move, mirror images of each other and in perfect sync – reaching up and then pulling on the window frame again. A little squeak, a little rattle as the window shifted in the grooves it had to travel up and down in – the squeak telling of the flesh stopping its travel. Dorothea's whimper, and her tongue slithering out of her mouth and over the smoothness of the glass as she tried to absorb the pain her udders were experiencing. From outside the window, there might have been another high definition slow motion camera and that would have interpreted her tongue compressed and sliding across the glass, wetly, as something sexual – something overtly sexual. What with that, and the vacant eyes, rolling in their sockets – the wet fleshy tongue and the compressed cheek up against the window glass. And then there were the udders – trapped and compressed there like helpless fleshy animals. Crushed in the groove of the window, their mass overhanging the ledges like water fill balloons. The flesh almost transparent but not quite. The first and second looks giving way to third and fourth looks as one tried to compute what one was seeing. From the outside, that view even more bizarre as though the window, slightly in the background, the almost ghostly visions of the twins standing back, smiling but doing nothing at the distress, or rather at the 'obvious' sexual enjoyment of Dorothea. Her tits swinging and colliding from the ledge the nipples pointing right down like huge black missiles. If Dorothea just darted her eyes to the left again – she would still JUST be able to see the roof of her own house. The silktex inside her gripped tighter and spat out some more icy heat and she cramped.
Chapter Four – Dreamland
The shard of light – it was there again. Dorothea should be waking up but she wasn't. That's what usually happened. The drea
m ended and then she woke up. Ok ok, she didn't usually wake up all at once – and, and there was usually some disorientation about it all – but she usually woke up – shook it off, or wallowed in the memory of that dream for a while and then she got on with the horrors of the day – whatever they entailed on any particular day. This time though – she didn't wake up into the real world. To some extent this was a blessing in disguise. Or more accurately it would have been a blessing in disguise if the dreams were the same as they always had been. The ones where she could escape and be more like herself – the ones where she could be more like she wanted to be, preferred to be. The ones where she didn't have to give a flying fuck about the positivity. The ones where she could be non-positive about her positivity. That was a good analogy because even in those dreams where she didn't have to be positive, she was still aware of it – still aware of it being a fact of her life. Her real life that is. So the fact that she didn't have to be positive about her positivity, was kind of right. Except that wasn't what was happening – not now. She was waking. Waking up into her dream again – and there was that shard of light. She knew it was there because although her eyes weren't open, entirely, all of the time, she could see the flickering. The same dulled spread light – no hope of that ultra sharp shard of acute light coming back – because when it had been that she knew that the dreams would be like they had always been – the ones where she could escape and not give a flying fuck. But no. No this wasn't like that at all. And there was something else not right. Her hooters – her mammaries – there was something about her udders. Something that was not right – something that didn't feel right. They felt ultra heavy – oh god she couldn't ever remember her tits feeling heavy like this – couldn't ever remember her udders being as heavy as this. Yes they had been 'heavy' – they had to be heavy because of the sheer size of them – FFF for fuck's sakes. And the weight had only increased as the injections to her hooters had progresses and as the solution, whatever the solution was had got to work on her. But this was different – this was different. It was like they were heavier because there was nothing else that they could be. And she was right. But there was also a sensation that her mammaries were swinging as well. Kind of semi swinging under her even. And it was because they were swinging under her that they felt so heavy and so... aching. Yes – that was it. Not a new sensation – just a rare one in the circumstances in which she found herself. That rare aching feeling. Her eyes fluttered and for a little while she could not fathom the position she was in. She just could not get her bearings – couldn't work out what position she was in, or why her tits should feel the way that they did.
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