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Dr. Hooters #1
All stories on this web site are purely FICTIONAL. The people depicted within these stories only exist in someone's IMAGINATION. Any resemblence between anyone depicted in these stories and any real person, living or dead, is an incredible COINCIDENCE too bizarre to be believed. If you think that you or someone you know is depicted in one of these stories it's only because you're a twisted perverted little fucker who sees conspiracies and plots where none exist. You probably suspect that your own MOTHER had sex with ALIENS and COWS and stuff. Well, she didn't. It's all in your head. Now take your tranquilizers and RELAX.
DR HOOTERS - Part 1
Wham!
The door slammed shut behind Jill Clayton, her willowy frame
slumping down in her chair. In her plain black dress, she
resembled Cher, except without the pretty face and shapely fig-
ure. "The Stick" was her nickname throughout life, much to her
dismay.
"Bite my left one!" she shouts to the world, knowing no one
would hear her. Grabbing her cold coffee, she entered the dark
lab.
Click. A single light illuminated her desk space. Beakers
and test tubes refracted the light in different colors, giving
her desk top an almost church-window like effect. She sobbed
slightly, looking up to the ceiling for guidance.
"All I want is some understanding and respect. I've worked
hard to get where I am," Jill explained. "For me, having my
peers respect my research is all I ever wanted. But now..."
Jill stopped short. Julie Heatherwick, her office-mate, en-
tered the lab abruptly.
"Jilly?" Julie asked quietly. "Are you mad?"
"As a wet cat. I should be heading that grant!" Jill demand-
ed, looking sad. "I number-crunched for two years on the side,
preparing to head this department when Dr. Reardon retired. Why
did they give it to you?" Jill asked, half-knowing the answer.
"Look, I'm sick of you blaming my success on my looks. I am
just as committed to this department as you," Julie began. She
pointed a finger at Jill, making her skin-tight evening gown move
slightly over her supple figure. Her dark red hair fell down a
bit into her face.
"I know I know, I'm sorry," Jill sighed. "It's just...I see
them staring at you when you saunter down the hall. I've heard
the jokes about your figure and how you could breast feed Europe.
And now, it's just easy to blame the whole thing on you."
Julie put her arm around Jill, squeezing her shoulder. Jill
glanced at Julie's plump face and she even noticed Julie's ample
cleavage protruding slightly from her evening dress. Julie
sighed, making her chest creep out just a bit more.
"I understand. What do you suggest I do?" Julie asked.
"Wear a snowsuit to meetings, you silicon queen," Jill's sub-
conscious piped up. "Nothing you can do, Jules. I just need
some time to myself?" she muttered.
"I hear ya, hon. I should get back to the party," Julie
said, rising to leave. As she opened the door to leave, she
asked if Jill would be joining them soon. The silence answered
her.
Hours later, Jill continued to drown herself in her research.
Hoping desperately that it would block out the hurt, she contin-
ued to lose herself in her electron microscope. Her latest batch
of hormones had given her the best results up to date, but they
were nowhere near successful. Who would buy a drug that would
make you just %.05 percent smarter? The numbers had to rise in
order to make it viable.
Removing the slide, she stared at the greasy spot on the
glass. Tears almost formed in her eyes as she contemplated the
fact that so much of her life had been poured into a greasy spot,
and she seemed light years from the solution. Gritting her
teeth, she pulled herself together and walked to the specimen
table. Just as she opened the cabinet, she noticed the reflec-
tion of a light in the glass door. Someone had left the gamma
projector on.
Spinning on her heels, something she's not worn for years,
she meandered over to the machine to kill it. Then something
sparked inside her.
"Gamma rays?" Jill grinned, thinking of the Incredible Hulk
TV program she'd grown up hating. Her brother had tortured her
by watching that show each Sunday night, with her fighting to see
PBS. Then she paused.
Why not? She'd tried everything else, hadn't she?
ZZZAP. It was over. She removed the slide. Slipped it
under the microscope. At first, nothing happened. Then, slowly,
the brain cells began to multiply. Neuron production shot off
the scale. Jill grinned slightly. This may be it. She waited
three hours, then tested the sample. It'd reproduced cell matter
400%. Another hybrid hormone showed up on the test, but Jill
barely looked at it. Her guess had worked!
Quickly she took a batch of the same substance and zapped in,
turning up the dosage to twice as much. A speedy test showed the
whole batch was performing as expected. Readying a needle with
the batch, she approached the lab rat, who just happened to be
sleeping.
"Wait," Jill thought. "If I do this, and Julie and the oth-
ers notice it, who's to say I'll even get the credit for this, as
I should. It'll probably be put onto Julie's padded shoulders so
she'll look good for the cameras. Let's put the Stick in the
corner until we need something else done," Jill said, getting red
faced. "What do I have to lose?"
Needles always made Jill queasy, but she forgot that point
until just after she stuck her arm and pushed the plunger.
* * *
"The floor needs cleaning, and a little salt," Jill murmured
as she raised from the floor. Spitting out the dust from her
mouth, she walked to the mirror. "Four hours?" Jill whispered as
she looked at her watch. The sun was peeking over the horizon
outside the window. In the mirror was a disheveled woman, look-
ing as if she'd slept in a hamper.
"Oh my god!" Jill gasped. She checked her arm. Sure enough,
there was the puncture mark. She really had done it.
Finding a chair quickly, she began to go over what had tran-
spired. Coming to the conclusion that she'd suffered a mild
breakdown, she now hoped that she'd not damaged herself by her
actions. After cleaning herself up, she raced for the exit.
Upon leaving the building and entering the fresh morning air,
she ran into Brendon Hill. He was the typical early riser do-
gooder with about 6 hairs left and a pocket protector to boot.
And on a Saturday as well. She tried to avoid him, but he
couldn't help but notice her attire.
"Is the party still going on?" Brendon asked.
"Ummm...I fell asleep in my office," Jill explained. She
wished that was all that had happened.
"I heard about the promotion. I think you should have gotten
it," Brendon continued. "Did you ever find the answer to your
temperature differential in the subject chamber?"
"No...well, maybe. What if we tried lowering the pressure
inside the transfer chamber, thus lowering the need to con-
sistently drop the temperature. The cells themselves might then
undergo mitosis rapidly in the..."Jill theorized, almost unaware
of the hypothesis she was creating on the stop. And to her
amazement, what she was saying was making perfect sense. A solu-
tion to the problem that had been plaguing the department for
months was literally falling from her lips, and she didn't even
know much about the situation. As she looked at Brendon, she no-
ticed right away that his attention was focusing elsewhere.
"...and I gather that if the value...Brendon? What's the
matter?" Jill asked puzzled.
"I...ummm...well. errr" Brendon stammered, turning beet red.
"My goodness, is that the tit...time?" He excused himself and
stumbled off into the building, looking back once at the stymied
Jill.
"I wonder what that was all about?" Jill murmured. She began
hurrying to her car, but noticed something different in her walk.
Looking down, she almost passed out again.
"Holy Mary!" Jill exclaimed, feeling her chest. Her fingers
touched the fabric of her dress, only now, it appeared that a C-
cupped size bust was lurking underneath it! She pulled away the
neck of her dress. Sure enough, there was a mass of real breast
flesh filling her A-cup bra to overflowing.
"I have breasts!?!" Jill whispered, almost crying. Then it
hit her. That's not good. This was not supposed to happen over-
night. She was 28. Jill thought back to just minutes before.
She'd looked in the mirror. Washed her face. Brushed the lint
from her dress. No, there'd not been a bust there when she did
that...or was there? She needed help.
She bolted back inside and caught Brendon before he entered
his office. He looked flustered still, but ushered her into his
office regardless.
"What were you staring at, just then when we were talking?"
Jill asked. Brendon went candy red this time.
"I was noticing your dress. It seemed to have
been...umm...moving in your upper regions," Brendon stammered.
She could almost feel the heat from his embarrassment. He
cracked under the pressure and spun around in his chair to attend
to a computational equation on the blackboard. Jill stood quiet-
ly for a second, then started to pursue her investigation. As
she reached to turn Brendon around, her eye wandered to the
blackboard. Instantly, she smiled and grabbed and erasure, wip-
ing away a large portion of the equation.
"Hey Jill!" Brendon said, turning to look at her.
"You did this all wrong. Look, if you take the variance of
mercury..." Jill dictated, barely pausing between sentences. She
spoke so fast and wrote so quickly that she didn't even notice
what was happening to her. But Brendon did.
As he sat wide-eyed, staring at Jill's cotton evening dress,
he noticed that her breasts were beginning to grow again. The
black fabric became tighter and tighter as her bustline in-
creased. Had he been able to move his eyes from her ballooning
boobs, Brendon would have seen that Jill's hair was slowly begin-
ning to become lighter colored. And the rest of her body was
changing too, becoming more soft and fleshy. As her arm moved
quickly up and down the chalkboard, he watched mesmerized as her
stretching dress outlined perfectly the imprint her super-small
bra was making into her bouncing bazooms. She was really blow-
ing up!
"...and therefore if you substitute the zygote of the
male...pay attention here Brendon," Jill scolded, her arm still
writing as fast as it could. She turned her head to see
Brendon's face lit like a child's at Christmas. Following his
eyeline, her gaze fell into her own extending cleavage, now mark-
ing out a DD-cupped chest.
"My breasts! Look at my breasts!" Jill squeaked. She
dropped her chalk and it shattered on the wood floor. Her writ-
ing hand made palm marks on her dress where she grasped the sides
of her now larger bust. The growth continued slightly, starting
to cause little tears to appear in the seam that ran down the
front of the dress.
"I'm blowing up, Brendon. My boobs are actually getting
bigger!!!"
"I know," Brendon drooled, his eyes beginning to glaze over.
The growth stopped, and Jill turned to look at herself in the
reflection of the walk-in freezer. She looked to have gained 30
lbs, not counting her chest. And her hair?!?!
"I'm getting....blonde?" Jill noticed, then refocusing on the
outstanding part of this development. The pain from the unrelin-
quishing bra was beginning to seep through her shock, but before
she could attend to relieving it, her eyes noticed Brendon's
grinning face again.
"Why are you just sitting there? Quit staring at me. Can't
you see I need some help?" Jill pleaded.
Brendon surprised Jill by letting out a sound that could only
be diagnosed as a Beavis laugh. He then reached out a hand to
squeeze one of her mammoth mammaries. Jill became livid.
"Look Cro-Magnon man. Just because a woman has large breasts
does not mean you get squeezing rights. Women in history, I
quote, "Have been oppressed by their captors, man, for
countless..."Jill spouted.
Brendon grinned as Jill's boobs began to billow outward
again, causing the tears to widen longer. Soon, he could see the
front of her bra, which by now was merely a string around her in-
flating volleyballs. Jill seemed to get even more adamant about
convincing Brendon what he was doing was wrong, causing her tits
to swell all the more.
POP! Jill's tits jiggled a bit as her bra broke, letting her
chest fill out her tortured dress even more. The rips were al-
most joining now. With each breath Jill took, a little rip let
Brendon know her breasts were blowing up that much bigger. Her
hair was now completely blonde, and her figure had filled to that
of Anna Nicole Smith, except for her basketball sized jugs.
"...and if you can't take your eyes off my expanding
chest...my..."Jill slowed. "Holy Shit!"
Jill felt the front of her dress. Flesh from her enlarging
boobs was seeping out the tear holes, showing just how much her
breasts were being squeezed by her now far-too-small dress. She
moaned as her hands brushed across her hardening nipples,
surprisingly the same size they'd always been.
Brendon's breathing became erratic and he leaped towards
Jill, pulling on the fabric of her dress. RRIIIPPPP! The dress
thankfully unloaded it payload. Jill shrieked at the sight of
the nerdy little man staring slobberingly at her titanic titties.
She boob-butted him to the ground and ran yelling from his of-
fice.
With her added weight, she found running to be quiet dif-
ferent. As she hit her office, she couldn't help but notice how
long it took her naked chest to stop moving. They continued to
bounce and sway, rubbing against the torn fabric of the dress and
each other. Her head swimming, she sat down at her desk. This
caused her to knock over half the items on her desktop and she
realized that her huge hooters were as real as they felt.
The air conditioned room was cold, making her nipples stand
straight out. She lay her head on the desk, trying to center her
thoughts. Her breasts had stopped growing, but the damage had
been done. Her boobs were huge! She'd have trouble sitting
behind the wheel of her car to drive home, they were so big.
As she sat sobbing, she looked at her notes from the previous
night. This time, she didn't pass up the extra hormone part of
the report. As her brain centered on the calculations, she felt
her boobs begin to tingle. She concentrated on the paper, begin-
ning to scribble notes, ignoring the filling feeling that began
again in her bosom. 30 seconds later, she finished her analysis,
and had grown an extra 10 inches to stop at what she figured had
to be a 60 inch bust.
"Cerebral stimulation resulting in hormonal imbalance," was
underlined at the bottom of the page. Jill had figured it out.
Her body was changing to represent what she resented most;
blonde-haired, buxom bimbos. Meanwhile, her brain was able to
deduce the most complex of equations. And following this theory,
she might be able to reduce her chest size by not using her in-
telligence for a period of time, but each time she resumed her
higher functions, she'd begin to balloon up again.
"Oh my...this means...," Jill realized, bringing her hands up
to her face. "No one's ever going to take me seriously. Each
time I get into a debate or a lecture, all the men are going to
be watching me pop buttons on my blouses as my breasts enlarge."
She sat back in her chair, resting her elbows in the soft pillows
of flesh her now-enormous breasts had formed. Her life was go-
ing to get complicated, fast. She'd been ordered by the board to
give daily briefings at the corporate headquarters for the next
two weeks.
How would she pull that off? * *
*
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