Had the exercise, or the test gone without a hitch there would have been a period where Jugs would have been tossing her tits up and catching them – first one then the other and she would have perfected it in that at the optimum time during the timed process both her udders would have been air-born. She would have tossed one up and then waited – waited until that udder was on its way down before launching the other. And they would have passed each other – and there would have been those little hands waiting to catch them – all upturned and tiny and with those slender fingers spread hoping that spread would have allowed a perfect catch before the same tit was launched again. That would have been the ideal – the absolute ideal. And with that ideal vision, or adding to the ideal vision, that wide lipstick smile. Except that didn't happen. It just became harder and harder for her to even adopt anything near the required position and stance to be able to achieve such 'perfection'. Oh, the smile was there – that seemed to stay and be there even through her abject anxiety which simply grew and grew. It was like an inner desperation that she was feeling to get the test done and passed. The more that she failed the more desperate she became. Eventually she simply ran out of time and was simply a sobbing, smiling mess. I don't think it would be too much of an exaggeration to say that probably at the failure of that Udder-Juggling test, that she 'hated' her breasts. She hated them. She had wished that she had never been given them. She had wished that 'they had never been born'. That was the very thought that went through her melting mind – she hated her breasts, but she wished that they had never been born. It was like she was thinking about her breasts as a different entity. A different personality – indeed like she was thinking about them as she should have been all the time. That would have escaped her though – in the reality of failing her finals again, it would have been lost on her how much 'progress' she had made.
Hooter School, now an experience and a thing of the past;
“I've ramped up the silktex sensitivity. In short, your 'positivity' will need to be at the top of its game. Do you have any idea what an absolute utter embarrassment you are and have become? Do you have any idea how much you are going to pay for this failure. Secreted out of Hooter School because even they were 'ashamed' of you. And now – now 'I' am saddled with you and with that as a memory for ever. Hooter School Failure. I'm not that sure I will be able to bring you to the standards that I had hoped I would. I had assumed that YOU, having as much love for the udders that used to belong to you, would have sailed through Hooter School – and now, instead its down to myself and the twins to bring you to that standard. I simply don't know if we can do it. It's all too much for me to take in right now. But rest assured you WILL pay dearly for your failures.”
It was Chest, aka Wendy, the personality, the very epitome of Jugs's breasts, talking that electronic talk into her ears through the embedded ear speakers. There was no mistaking the tone of her voice – i.e., not amused. And in there also a little bit of hurt – like an underlying hurt that she had put all of her effort into Jugs, provided her with all that she needed to excel and she had been repaid by failure. That hurt was in there – unmistakably it was in there. The outer silktex had been expanded and 'grown' up around her shoulders. It was impossible to see unless one knew it was there. There was a morphing between the silktex and the bare flesh but there was no defining line. Around Jugs's shoulder the silktex became the flesh and it became like strong hands that gripped and then pulled the shoulders back. In doing that, the hooters were forced to thrust out more. The silktex was enforcing an unnatural enhancement of the jugs. And it was retaining that enhancement.
“It's round about now that those implants will come into their own as well Jugs. I'm sure you'll remember those implants?”
Chest was not particularly having a conversation with Jugsalina – she was simply talking out loud, like she was speaking to herself. And yet at the same time knowing that Jugs could hear and almost 'feel' every word she was saying – and every emotion that she was conveying it with. The silktex 'hands' were holding her shoulders back painfully – the blades almost touching and this was her new position. Her permanent 'stance' as it were. The same way that she used to stand and subtly thrust out her boobs, in the old days – she could do that comfortably and with ease and she could get attention, just like that – effortless. Now she was having the effort on her behalf 'forced' as it were. Kind of like, she was being inwardly scolded for not having put enough effort in before and now she was having her hand forced as it were. Put more effort in. And that effort was painful. It wasn't just her shoulders that ached. Her arms hung limp and those hands had expanded up and under each breast and there was some natural lift there – but as well as that there felt like there were fingers digging under. Digging and pulling and prodding the breast flesh. Digging pulling and prodding it out further – adding another dimension to the enhancement. Kind of like the sheer size of the udders was not enough there had to be the pull and push back of the shoulders so that they were painfully in position all the time and then the under cupping of the flesh, the breasts and the prodding and coaxing that to jut out further. At first it felt like a gentle massage but that soon gave way to the actual fact that the flesh was being stretched beyond its normal limits.
“You can go to the tailor on the bus – like a normal person. Except you won't be a normal person will you. You know you don't even look like a normal person. People will look at you and they will probably mock you for the way you look and for your appearance. I'm sure it will cross your mind that an opportunity for you to escape is presenting itself. Actually I would think there was something wrong if that very thought didn't cross your mind. But you will also be very mindful of the fact that I am watching, and feeling your every move. At the moment, those implants in your udders are simply on a low voltage almost subliminal vibration mode – like a mode to stimulate those disgusting milk dripping teats of yours. And whilst that is another of the countless reasons you won’t take the opportunity to escape – you will be very mindful of the fact that I can change those sensations in the blink of an eye – I can change that gentle suckling stimulation of your nipple teats into a pain that will resemble those teats being torn off by the cruellest and sharpest of teeth that belong to an uncategorised animal. If the thought even crosses your mind of escape – I will know and you will suffer in some way – of that you can be assured. I will know because your friend and mine, the silktex inside you and around you will tell me. It will know and it will tell me. And then, in the blink of an eye, you will feel that gentle suckling of your nipple teats change to something else – something else entirely.”
Dorothea or Jugs as she was now known on a permanent basis knew that what she was hearing cackling in her ear was the truth, the whole truth and nothing but the truth. She was feeling that silktex adapt and change around her and then settle. She was feeling that, and she was letting little bubbling whimpers escape as her own body adapted. But a the outer silktex and her body adapted so the inner silktex made its own adjustments – the whole package being ramped up. Jugs was going to suffer for her failure at Hooter School of that there was no doubt. But there was no telling, not by normal means anyway – just how much she was going to suffer.
“What a freak – what a fucking freak, ha ha ha ha ha ha.”
The bus ride to the tailors was not a good one. It wasn't a good one for a number of reasons. Not least there was the feeling that she was losing the opportunity to escape and that she had had to force that right to the back of her mind. She couldn't think of that. Even the slightest fleeting thoughts of that and she was risking being grassed up on by the silktex that was now controlling her more or less every move. She could afford a split second and then no more. That was hard enough. But being taunted on the bus by a group of very young teenage girls was almost the straw that broke the camel's back. One prodding, another one poking at her hyper-sized and accentuated and thrust udders and her simply sitting taking it. To outsiders, like that group of y
oung girls, it must have seemed like the 'freak' was enjoying being poked and prodded and discussed in the most debased ways imaginable. From her enhanced stance – the way she sat with her udders on her lap – the way she simply sat with all that flesh practically all but exposed and begging for the attention she must have seemed that she was lapping it up. Maybe in a strange way, a very strange way it was a blessing in disguise that she was being accosted by a group of girls too young to understand maybe. One of the girls simply slipping her hand into the tight tunic that Jugs was wearing and then deliberately massaging the thickness and the solid length of nipple teat and then looking right into her eyes and smiling – as though even for her very tender years, she knew a humiliation when she saw one.
“Don't you dare stop them Jugs – this is you – this is what you were born to do – this is the way you were meant to exist. You let those lil girls have a good time and you positively smile all the way through it.”
And she did. She did let the girls have their way even if it did mean just a little more of her old self was being chipped away in the meantime. By the time she dragged herself and her hooters off that bus, the tears were streaming down her face and yet at the same time there was that full, wide lipstick smile. God only knows what the young girls can have thought about the freak of woman with the huge tits who just LOVED having them mocked and mauled.
Jugs could have died, on the spot when she walked into the tailors. She was faced with demons from her past. From the old days. The days she ruled the roost – the days when she could flaunt herself, and her assets to her best advantage. The days when she got what she wanted or someone, anyone would pay. Those were the days when literally 'anyone' would pay and they usually did. Bully is not a good word. But well it is a word that is appropriate to describe the way Dorothea used to be. Especially so when she was still in high school – when she was still finding her feet as it were. The days when she could literally get away with anything and not be held to account. Facing her when she went into the tailors shop was like all of a sudden she was being haunted.
“He he he he he you recognise her don't you bitch.”
Chest tormented Jugs as the brass bell on the door sounded and then as the door clicked shut behind her. She did indeed recognise her. The girl who used to take the brunt of all of her bullying all those years ago. And she did take the full brunt of it all. In those days Dorothea was just getting to know herself – just getting acquainted with her body and what it might be able to be capable of. She was full of something, like an energy only someone her age could be full of. She was discovering her sexuality an somehow discovering that it was all interlinked and all connected somehow. Even the fact that she could bully other girls and seemingly get away with it was all linked to her sexuality – it all came back to her, how she would push this girl, now a woman around and how she would feel the overwhelming need to squeeze her thighs – and when she did that, when she squeezed her thighs how she got a shot of pure pleasure directly to the core of her clitoris. Although back then she still had a lot to learn about clitorises and their place in the world. But that was just it – entering the tailors shop and seeing this woman – it brought it all flooding back to her. Oh she wasn't a teenage girl any more – it was a grown woman looking back at her.
At first there was a puzzlement on her face as this strange woman with the massive, mega boobs hauled herself into the shop – she had thought she recognised her. And then all of her own memories had been coming flooding back to her. The bitch, the cunt Dorothea who had bullied her unmercifully at school. The one who, one day had cornered her in the girls rest rooms and pinned her down – she had always liked to do that – pin her down and using her developing but still huge tits to intimidate with, and she seemed to be able to do that with ease, and how then Dorothea would saturate her panties in her own urine before ripping them off and ramming them into her mouth. Smiling as she did it. Lucy could never understand why at times like that, Dorothea would squeeze her thighs together. She knew that she was doing that because invariably Dorothea was sitting on top of her, astride her and with her knees wedged under her arms – and it was right at that time that she could feel the squeeze of the thighs, right at the time that she herself was tasting the first squeezing of urine from the panties slide down her throat. Oh yes it was all coming back to her now – and yet at the same time as the recognition there was this little tilt of the head, like a wonder as to what on earth had happened to the bitch that had been Dorothea – she was different. Wholly different and there was something else, like a distance in the eyes. If not a distance then something – something that just betrayed who or what she used to be.
“Well well well – what do we have here then, hmmmm?”
They weren't words that Lucy would have normally used. Especially not words she would use to a girl who had practically terrorised her right through the high school years. But something had changed – it was like as Dorothea, or who used to be Dorothea had walked through that door, and as that brass bell had rung, it had signalled a changing of the tide as it were. It was as though both of their realisations was converging and morphing into one big 'truth' of the matter. Dorothea used to be so confident and so elegant in the way she moved with her Amazonian like body – and she could use that confidence and arrogance to her best advantage. But now it was different. Something was different. She had always used her 'assets' to get what she wanted and had always succeeded – or mostly. But now it was different. There was still a tit enhancing 'prance' to her, but there was something else there as well like it was enforced, like she was being made to do it, and being made to do it in the way she was doing it. Almost like she was being the way she was from 'within'. It certainly was like a changing of the tide and with that changing of the tide then a new found confidence. This 'Dorothea' was not like she used to be – she didn't hold the same intimidation or fear factor that she once did – in fact the opposite was true. And then, then there was those breasts – what on earth had happened to them? They hadn't been implanted for the look alone because they looked grotesque. It wasn't even as though it had been a boob job gone wrong – the breasts, for want of a better word looked like they were perfect, but in an imperfect, grotesque way. They looked too big and too cumbersome for purpose – but they looked that they had been 'made' that way. It looked like Dorothea, or who used to be Dorothea had been modified in some way – and for some reason. But no, no that cannot have been the case surely – her imagination was running away with her.
“I have this package – and the clothing inside it needs to be adjusted and modified for me – especially for me.”
Maybe it wasn't her imagination after all - maybe just maybe she had hit on something more profound than she could have even have guessed at.
“I see. You better come this way then.”
Lucy slid past Dorothea and turned the open-closed sign round so the closed could be seen from outside the shop and then she slid the bolt across the door effectively locking it. Locking them inside and everyone else out. Lucy was getting more confident with every passing second – and with the change of tone in Dorothea's voice, not to mention the content of what she was saying and the weird way that she was saying it – there really was no reason to be intimidated, or worried or scared of Dorothea any longer. Lucy brushed past the cumbersome, tit laden lumps that was Dorothea and she brushed deliberately past guessing quite rightly that all of that flesh, that stretched heavy flesh must surely be very sensitive. And it was. Jugsalina sucked in a deep breath and then she let it out again.
“Oh, very very pretty – very pretty. I remember some of this stuff looking verrrrrry good on you Dorothea – In fact I remember you, long after the school days literally flaunting yourself in this stuff – and I can tell by your face you remember it to. And now, it’s all gotta be just cut up and altered and made to fit in 'different' ways – for some reason. I'm not even going to ask what the reason is – or what on earth had happened to you. It woul
d be probably better if I didn't know. That would be by far better I think.”
The string around the package had been cut open by surely the sharpest pair of tailors scissors that ever existed – and then one by one the contents peeled out by Jugsalina herself. There was always 'some' colour in those cheeks of hers. Like a rosy red glow or something like that. But as she peeled out the items one at a time, that glow faded and then died. It was her own clothes – the stuff from her old life. Seeing them in this situation, and seeing them within her new life was a shock to the core of Jugs. She could feel that colour draining from her and she could feel her legs, as long and strong as they were begin to wobble a bit. She used a hand, just to lean on the counter of the shop a little. This was the stuff from her old life – the stuff that she specifically chose to wear when the chips were down. The stuff that she wore when she didn't get her own way – the stuff that she wore to make her feel good again. A dress that plunged both in neck and back and that left so much flesh on display that she was assured of getting anything she wanted at any time when in the right minded company. A dress so short and so plunging that it left nothing, but nothing to the imagination. And now it was going to be modified again – made even more obscene and at the same time taking her huge mammaries into consideration. It was almost too much for her to bare. It had been that dress that she had been wearing the night she had seen the little old man letching after her – the one that would become her husband and who would eventually be smothered by her breasts.
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