Mega Tits 1

by DrkFetyshNyghts

  “AAAAHHHHHGGGGGHHHHHHH OWWWWWWWWW.”

  There was an explosion of pain to her right breast, just above the puff of the areola and the permanent swell of her engorged nipple. The pain would be difficult, if not impossible to describe such was its acuteness and the velocity of whatever it was that caused it. She sucked in air and screamed out – and it was a scream that she bellowed out. Then there was another explosion of pure an unadulterated pain but this time to the other breast. Not in the same place on the breast, but slightly to the side, where, if the udders were not swinging under her, the flesh might have slipped under her arms, or something similar.

  “EEEEEEEHHHHGHGHGHGHHGHGH NOOOOOOOOOO.”

  The pain was unbearable but, it was that pain that was waking Dorothea up. Except she was not being woken up into the real world – she was being woken up right back into that, or some other nightmare. She could more sense and feel the drool being catapulted from between her lips as the pain seemed to reach its height and its intensity and then stay right there. It seemed to linger at that level and then die back a little bit. But that was just it – once that burst of pain started to ebb away so another deeply penetrating explosion occurred at some other random point on one, or the other of her huge, swinging mammaries. It was a rude awakening she was getting. But in this instance she wished upon wish she was being woken up into the real world – in the real world that had been created by Wendy and now by Hooter Tutor. Not this dream world any more. She didn't want to be in this dream world any more. It was hurting her to be there and there was no escape from it. Just pain then more pain.

  “You're very good with those things girls.”

  That was Hooter Tutor's voice and she was praising the efforts of the twins. Just a little after one of them had kung fu kicked Dorothea into oblivion with one well aimed kick to the forehead and nose in that never ending black corridor, there she was, back in the bowels of the building and just simply suspended – if suspended is the right word. Actually not entirely suspended because her enhanced, stiletto'd feet were still dragging on the floor although they were offering no support what so ever. There was other pain, or other 'achiness' coming from under her arms. She would soon wake to see herself in a full length, crystal clear mirror – just simply suspended by chains running under her arms and digging into her arm pits. No other means of support other than those chains – and then her feet pulled back so there was the effect that she looked as though she were being dragged by her arms – or the underneath of her arms. And she was face down – which accounted for the weight of her breasts. She wasn't lying face down just about suspended by the chain, but rather on what must have been an almost forty five degree angle. So that full weight of her considerably top heavy torso was on her spine. Her spine had curved downwards and her tits simply dragged the full weight down into the chains that were holding her up.

  The first person she saw was Hooter Tutor in all of her intimidating glory. Not ruffled but eerily, scarily calm. And the way she heaped praise on the twins was kind of like in a relaxed, matter of fact way that she tended to do and that tended to make most other people a bit worried that she could be so calm about it all. The second and third things that Dorothea's eyes focused on was the twins. They were right in front of her – some ten to twelve feet away and as one of the explosions to her breasts died away into a dull ache – the source of this torture became apparent. The twins were standing and they were casually loading up what looked to be lethal looking catapults. In fairness the catapults, made from high tech carbon fibre, looked bigger than the individual twins who were holding them – and the elastic that formed the horse power of the catapults looked to be too thick and too heavy to be pulled by those tiny creatures, the twins. But they looked completely comfortable in their habitat and with their equipment. The only thing that looked overly odd was that they were so small. The dangle of the catapult's rubber elastic and the cradle where the missiles were loaded almost reached the floor when they just held them with loose downturned arms and hands. But the twins were still dressed for combat – Dorothea recognised that – somehow and for some reason the dream was merging with the real world, and in the dream world now that beating her breasts had taken during the gym training session was still fresh in her mind. Not in her breasts though – in the dream her breasts were fresh for every new torment that was given to them. Like renewing the flesh. Like during her waking state her hooter, jug flesh was rejuvenated and ready for the next bout of enlargement and or torture or distress that might be in store for them.

  “You made a bid for escape. You tried to get away from us. You actually had the audacity to think that you could haul yourself, and your disgusting, obscene hooters out of here like, this was some kind of hotel or something. If that wasn't bad enough – you seem to forget that we have invested, not to mention pumped a huge amount into those udders and basically, apart from the natural 'rights' – there is quite a lot there that belongs to us physically. You fucked up this time girl – you fucked up big style and, I just cannot let this go. I cannot let Hooter Tutor here think that I am going all soft or something on you. I want her to know what happens when one of my pairs of udders-on-legs falls out of line. I want her to know just what we think and how seriously we take our little projects.”

  Wendy was in sermon mode and as she spoke – actually several times as she spoke there was the loud, quite disturbing sound of the steel balls sinking into the soft, hanging, vulnerable udder flesh. It was kind of like a S P L A T T T T sound. If one were to hear it without the visuals then one might not think too much of it – but hearing at, and realising that it was the sound of these quite heavy steel balls being shot through their air at a great and huge velocity and then those balls whistling through the air – because that is what they did – they left the catapult cradles and then they whistled through the air. It was just a split second because that is all that they were airborne for – just a split second. In effect flying through the air at thousands of feet per second. The only thing stopping, or halting the trajectory was the hanging, succulent udder flesh. Steel balls that had been hurtling through the air at the same speeds, or similar to that of a bullet from a gun – for the catapults were not toys – they were weapons of the hunting variety – designed and used to bring down hunted animals. Designed to kill and yet here used simply as a means of torture. If one were to know anything about such weapons, one would know that the 'slingshot' of choice for the twins was the Barnett Black Widow – one of the first to encompass the fold away wrist restraint – a design feature that simply added to power and accuracy. The twins were uncannily accurate. Neither was better than the other – they were simply both exceptionally good. But that snap of the rubber band, the short lived whistle through the dead air and then the S P L A T T T as the balls contacted with the flesh 'slapping' it and then their trajectory carrying right on into the flesh and not stopping. Not piercing the flesh. One might have been forgiven for thinking that the worse fate of the breast flesh had been spared in that the balls did not pierce or enter into the breasts proper. But this was not true. With the speed of the balls and the slapping into the flesh the way they did, there was a greater pain. Like a huge tsunami of a ripple that was sent through the entire udder flesh with each ball that struck them. A huge tsunami and then the resulting quaking of the flesh and the pain. The associated energy of the speeding ball suddenly being halted and stopped almost dead in its tracks. Of course it was not stopped in its tracks. It didn't stop. It was just that the flesh, the fleshy cuddly, thin skinned breasts were used as cushions for the balls – and all of the havoc that went with that.

  The shock. Dorothea sucking in air at each contact and then holding her breath and waiting for that pain to manifest itself. It was not like a caning, where the strokes of the cane were similar – either lighter, or heavier or a mixture. There was not the sort of hell that was produced with the steel balls. Never two balls flew through the air exactly at the same time – taking out of the e
quation the difference, however slight of the technique used by each of the twins. They may stoop, or stand slightly differently with each shot and so the balls would take a different path. The way they had been loaded into the slingshot may cause more, or less of a spin as they flew through the air. That spin then being immediately negated on impact – that in itself causing a kind of friction burn that went along with that splat sound. But all of it, in reality, all of it only last a split second – from the loading of the Black Widow, to the aiming then the firing and then the whistling and then the splat sound just a split second but seeming like it was in slow motion. Or even slower than slow motion. Super slow motion. At least that is how it appeared to Dorothea who was sucking in breath and holding it in. There was one small concession to the torture and that was at least the balls were not flying into the flesh at many hundreds or thousands per minute. Time had to be taken so that the sling shot could be reloaded and re-aimed one at a time. But in fairness the twins were so good at it – so competent and so skilled at what they did and how they did it, it was like they did this loading and firing thing as a second nature or something. There was barely any time for Dorothea to recover. She simply hung helpless by the chains at that forty five degree angle and she held her head up, as though she were proud or something. But no not that – more like it was that she was holding her head up so that she could keep it out of the way, so that she could avoid any of her facial features being hit by the flying speeding damaging balls. Instead she simply had to absorb the pain and absorb the agony as each ball sped through the air and then splatted into the flesh creating those mini tsunamis. Each and every one of the balls as it hit taking a little more out of Dorothea. Each and every one making her hang more and more on the chain, limp. The pain not deadening though. Her udders not becoming numb and then more numb the more they were made to suffer – rather the pain seeming to increase and become more and more acute. The flesh becoming bruised with each steel ball that sank into it. Little bruises – the exact same size as the balls and becoming almost a black bruise in the centre but then the whole bruise spreading and expanding larger than the balls themselves. The blackness fading further out. The bruises perfect round circles, blacker the deeper into the centre where the blood vessels had been burst on impact but where they had not pierced the surface of the flesh. Just bruised it. Those bruises spreading, turning greyer the further out in the circle and then red... first a deep red then a lighter red. The pain coming with each and every ball that hit – there was no let up or no mercy. The balls were inanimate objects being driven, projected, fired through the air by sadistic little bastards,. Little being the operative word.

  “P-please, please my poor breasts. My poor, poor boobies. My poor poor breasts. My poor poor titties.”

  Dorothea was pleading between the balls slapping into her breast flesh and between the onslaught of pain that accompanied each tsunami. She looked down to see her breasts swinging and colliding with each other. That in itself a world of hurt created by the momentum of the balls.

  “I'm sorry. I didn't mean to try to escape. I didn't mean to. I was just scared, but I didn't mean to, nor did I want to escape. I just panicked. A-and m-my boobs.. oooooohhhhh my breasts are so so sore so sore....”

  S P L A T T T T T T T T T T.

  Almost a sickening thwack of steel ball into soft succulent, former cuddly breast flesh. At one point the steel balls being directed at the circle of darker almost black flesh of the areola. The twins seeming to take great joy in the knowledge that the balls as they hit that particular raised and speckled area would be even more painful – if that was possible. Somehow one just imagined, or not even imagined but KNEW that these twins, as small and as retarded as they seemed to be, knew all too well how to create the most pain and havoc inside another woman. They knew which buttons to press. Knew which area to slip the knife in, and how far to twist it to cause maximum pain and then they knew how to cause the most terrible agonies that would be imaginable. And they took great joy in loading up steel ball after steel ball and then taking aim, careful aim and then releasing that slingshot. Not concentrating on that area randomly, but simply concentrating on that area. Once the larger globes of flesh were covered in painful, black centred bruises that seemed to spread out visibly as the torture went on, so the twins turned their attention to the more sensitive and the more painful areas of the breasts. Areola and the nipples. Time after time after time. One bruise overlapping the next and the next and the next. The noise as the balls hit time after time becoming almost too sickening. Like hard steel balls thwacking into raw flesh – which is what it was. Then the sucking in of that air and then the weeping sound – like a petrified weeping as the pain became too much. The begging and the pleading but then more besides. Wendy watching, and Hooter Tutor with not an expression on their faces between them.

  It was only 'eventually' that the twins wound down their catapulting of Dorothea's mammaries. They didn't so much get bored with it, as get to a point that, to them at least, it became pointless so send any more of those steel balls hurtling into the hanging flesh. One of the reasons for that was the entire surface flesh of the breasts were peppered in overlapping, angry looking bruises. Under each bruise, the flesh had swollen making the otherwise perfect shapes appear 'lumpy'. Also, although the pain did not diminish with each sling shot that hit the target, Dorothea's reactions became less and less. Like the brain was telling her that it was pointless to react. She had gone beyond the bellowing screeching and the soul searching pleading and begging and instead she had begun to hang her head limply. She had become entirely limp in the chains. Indeed none of her own strength was being used to hold her up at that forty five degree angle – instead she was simply hanging by the chain deep set into the under pits of her arms. The arms themselves limp and loose – just simply hanging there. There had been a point when she had wished that the dream would end – that she didn't want to be there any more. That maybe she would want to be anywhere but in that dream. The dreams that she had once been able to escape to – but that didn't let her escape any more.

  Somehow though, for some reason the dream would not fade – she would neither fade back into deep deep sleep nor wake up. She would never have thought it, but she had wished that she could wake up in the horror of the real world – the real world of Wendy and the twins – because she was pretty sure, if she was to think about it for any period of time, that she had not yet suffered the amount, or the level of sustained pain to her boobs in that real world that she was suffering now in the dream. The thing was that she knew it was the dream she was still in because there was still that shard of light. Simply there, all the time to remind her of the fact that she was in the dream. Once again though, not the sharp, shard of light – a rather more spread and dumbed down version. That changed signified something – something she did not know, or could not work out or fathom – but it signified something. It seemed that she didn't have the strength even to lift her head. When she tried to lift her head, it got so far and then it seemed to be too heavy and it limped forward again – useless. And when her head flopped forward, her hooters hurt again because that flopping forward caused the tits to swing, and to ripple. And all of that rippling and swinging simply sent all of that energy toward the tips of her hanging, swinging udders. All of that energy sent through the udder flesh and to the most tortured parts of her hooters – the areola and nipples. It didn't help that her nipples, even at the best of times retained an obscene erectness – that was a given. But at times when attention, any sort of attention was applied to them, they attained an extra rigidity and seemed to size up even more. Even if that attention was the painful, absolute hell kind that had been applied by the twins and their slingshots, the extra size and rigidity was applied and with the accompanying 'throb' that simply amplified the pain that she was feeling. The nipples, more like cows udder-teats and the raised areola providing large, succulent targets for whatever implement may be used.