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Dr. Hooters #7: The Juice Get Loose
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 VII
The Juice Get Loose
[by Servax]
Brenda woke up about noon the next day with an unpleasant sen-
sation in her breasts, like they were being stretched.
They felt full, and even more, the felt like they were fil-
ling even more. She stripped off her nightshirt and examined
her ample breasts. The first thing she noticed was that her nip-
ples were erect, fat and about four inches long, and they
ached. Brenda had only gotten about three hours sleep since
leaving the club, so she went back to sleep.
About an hour and a half later, she woke up again, and found that
the front of her nightshirt, and half of her mattress, was sop-
ping wet, and her huge breasts ached like a bladder after a night
of heavy beer-drinking.
She took off her nightshirt, wadded it up and threw it in a
corner. She then saw the reason for the flooding of her mat-
tress. From the tip of each nipple was dripping a watery white
fluid. She was milking!!! Brenda sat up in bed and grabbed each
plump nipple to cut off the flow. Then, she ran to the john.
Releasing her nipples over the sink, she saw the milk begin to
drip, drip, drip again. She squeezed one huge tit, thinking to
express the milk, but it merely cut off the flow, and made her
whole breast ache. Subconsciously, she relaxed some muscle she
didn't even know she had down at the tip of her right breast,
like the relaxing of the muscles to take a piss, and her milk
shot out and sprayed the mirror and tile. She turned to face the
bathtub and released the other breast, and suddenly she had twin
fountains spouting she-milk, arcing about four feet through the
air into the bathtub.
Although she was very tired, Brenda was very excited. It was
another proof of her basic femininity. Although she had lived
her first twenty-six years as a man, she was now fully a woman,
with large firm breasts, a tight and active pussy, and a pert,
round ass. Now, on top of everything else, she was even giving
milk.
It dawned on her that Jill might want to know about this develop-
ment, so she went into the kitchen, found an empty gallon of
milk, and emptied one huge tit into it. Then she found another
empty gallon for the other tit. She sealed them and put them
into the refrigerator. Later that night, expecting to see Jill
at the club, she put the two gallons of her milk into the back
seat of her Jaguar convertible.
She didn't see Jill that night, nor the night after. When the
club closed down on the night following, she brought Jill over to
her car to give her the two gallon bottles of Brenda-milk, and
she found that she had forgotten to lock her passenger-side door,
and that the milk was gone.
***************
Blair and Tommy were waking past the garish club on Apopka
Street. Tommy pointed to the front door. "Your mama dances
there.", he announced.
"Yeah. So what?", replied Blair, "Your mama's in prison."
"Well, your mama's a whore."
"She is not", replied Blair with some good grace, "she's a danc-
er."
"She lets the men touch her titties and her boo-tay. That makes
her a whore." Tommy had a very certain standard of judgement for
these things.
"A whore is when she brings men home, an' they fuck her, and give
her money", said Blair calmly, "So, my mama's not a whore. Be-
sides, she makes good money there."
Tommy appeared to give this some thought. His thirteen-year old
forehead wrinkled under the burden of the unaccustomed thought
that a woman would let a man touch her titties and her "boo-tay",
and still not be a whore. "She still gonna whup yo' little white
ass when you get home without any milk", he added triumphantly.
Tommy was right. But what was Blair supposed to do? Somehow,
Abuelita had found a bottle, and she got drunk again. By the
time she and Amanda had gotten her to bed, the Winn-Dixie was
closed, and she wasn't able to buy any milk Blair wrinkled her
nose in anticipation of the whipping she would get from her tired
mother later that night, and the coffee her grandmother would put
on her cornflakes in the morning.
Just then, a white Jaguar convertible came roaring into the park-
ing lot, and a blonde-haired white lady in a short white skirt
jumped out of the car and ran into the club.
"That's the big-titty lady", said Blair, "She works with my mama.
Lots of men come to see her. My mom's been to her house, but
she's never come to ours."
Tommy whistled in appreciation. "She bigger'n my Awntie
Marshie." Tommy's Awntie Marshie was a substantial woman, weigh-
ing well over three hundred pounds.
Tommy peaked inside the car. "Look, its open!", he whispered to
Blair, open- ing the passenger door. Tommy was not strictly a
thief, as he never went out particularly to steal, but he wasn't
the type to pass up an opportunity. He pulled two plastic
gallon-bottles of milk out of the back seat. "Ain't no money,
Blair, but at leas' now your mama's not gonna beat yo' little
cracker ass." He passed one of the milk bottles to Blair.
"You're a thievin' little nigger, Tommy", laughed Blair, as she
reached for one of the milk gallons. Tommy, whose ancestry was
composed of equal parts of African, Puerto-Rican, Seminole Indi-
an, and Korean, took offense at this epiphet, and shot back at
Blair.
"You a little cracker bitch, and won' even do yo' own stealin'",
which was just as unfair to Blair, who was a mix of Irish, Colom-
bian, Lebanese Arab, and Cuban, and who was definitely capable of
making off with any useful item that seemed unwanted or
unwatched. "But I'm still gonna fuck ya when you git older, 'n
grow some titties." To Tommy, this was high praise indeed.
At this, Tommy ran over the railroad trestle crossing the river
into the Gardens, a rather grim housing project that lined the
river, and left Blair to walk the last few blocks to her apart-
ment alone.
Opening the door to the apartment, Blair saw that Amanda was
still awake. She was watching "Hunter" on the TV. Amanda was a
dark, dreamy little girl who was the product of Blair's mother's
abortive second marriage to a handsome, melancholy Spaniard who
abandoned her when she was five weeks pregnant. Amanda loved
"Hunter", and had worked out a complex fantasy concerning Lt.
Hunter, the six-foot-plus police detective who was the main focus
of the show, and his partner, Sgt. McCall, a beautiful dark-
haired policewoman who bore a more than superficial resemblance
to Blair and Amanda's mother.
"Hey, Mandy," she whispered, "How's Grandma doin'?"
Amanda turned around when the commercials came on. "She's on
Mom's bed, sleeping it off." She stood up and stretched. "Good.
you got the milk. I want a bowl of cereal." Amanda shuffled
into the kitchen, found the Corn Flakes, and poured herself a
bowl. "Hey, Blair, this milk tastes kind of funny! Sweet,
like," Blair heard her crunching. "Tastes kinda good. I can't
tell what kind it is, though. Where'd'ya buy it?"
"I dunno, Mandy", Blair answered,"Someplace I went with Tommy."
Mandy snorted her disapproval. "Tommy, huh? Prob'ly swiped it
off someone's back porch. Blair, when you gonna get a decent
boyfriend?"
"Tommy's decent enough.", replied Blair. Amanda finished her ce-
real, poured herself a glass of milk, and plopped down in front
of the TV to finish "Hunter" Blair poured herself another glass,
and sat down on the sofa. She stared at her sister's dark hair,
bundled into two pigtails running parallel down her back. Amanda
was so pretty, Blair thought, she could have a hundred boyfriends
a week, if she wasn't so weird.
Blair, on the other hand, resembled her father's father, Lucky
Jack Reilly, the smuggler, soldier of fortune, and breaker of
hearts on five continents. Her father passed on to her the
creamy complexion, fiery red hair, blue eyes, and love of risk.
Amanda resembled *her* father, quiet, dreamy, dark, and beaut-
iful, almost too beautiful for the world. Amanda had coal-black
hair, skin of porcelain, deep brown almond-shaped eyes, a long
swan neck, and a slender torso with long slim legs and ankles
that contrasted with Blair's more stocky build. Blair wasn't
jealous of her sister, though. They were so different that com-
petition and comparison seemed foolish. Blair loved her little
sister fiercely. Amanda, for her part, adored her ten-year old
sister, who occupied place of affection reserved for their moth-
er, whom they seldom saw, and who was usually in a cross mood
anyway. Amanda finished the glass of milk and fell asleep in
front of the TV. Blair nodded out on the sofa.
****************************
When Mary Quinteros snapped the lights on, she found her
daughters sprawled across the living room. She whispered to the
man following her. "Sorry, John, looks like Mom got drunk again
and left the girls to fend for themselves. I, I gotta get 'em
into bed." John muttered something about frustration and left in
a lather. Mary stepped over Blair and bent to pick up Amanda.
She lifted Amanda off the rug in front of the TV, which was blar-
ing a repeat of the eleven o'clock news, and carried her into the
bedroom.
She returned for Blair, and saw the gallon of milk open in the
kitchen. It was about a quarter full. Young girls sure went
through a lot of milk. She lifted Blair up, and tucked her in
next to Mandy, then returned to the kitchen. She almost poured
herself a glass of milk, then decided against it, and opened the
refrigerator for some orange juice. She sat down to ponder the
changes she had heard about at the club.
The club had been sold to some outfit called Clayton Enterprises,
and Brenda Hill had been named manager. At first, most of the
girls were opposed to the changes, because they were jealous of
Brenda, but when they had some of the things explained to them by
a tall dark-haired woman in a professional-looking suit, they had
to admit that the changes were an improvement.
=46irst of all, they'd no longer have to rent their stalls or their
outfits from the club, and they'd no longer have to pay off the
bartender for and private dancing. That meant a three hundred
dollar a week raise for Mary in itself, although they'd have to
kick in fifteen percent for a dancer's kitty, to help out those
who didn't make quite as much.
Then, when they'd heard that they would be getting full medical
and dental insurance for themselves and their dependents, they
were dumfounded. Those gangsters that had been running the club
must have making a real haul of the place. Typical pimps, buying
flashy clothes and big cars off of women's pussies. The busi-
nesswoman had said that the head of Clayton Enterprises was a
woman, so that explained a lot.
Still, it was getting to be more and more of a big-tit world,
Mary looked down at her own breasts. She was a 34B, and that
used to be enough, with her dark, butt -length hair, her tiny
waist, her slender and well-formed ass, and her sultry good
looks. She was a popular dancer, and she had been number one al-
most since she had started at the club after Amanda's father had
disappeared. But she wasn't number one any more, not since Bren-
da Lee Hill had shown up.
When the striking blonde with the huge boobs first tried out for
the job, Mary laughed. Brenda had performed like a guy comedian
making fun of a stripper. But you can learn to dance. What you
can't learn is how to have tits the size of half-watermelons.
Before too long, Brenda had become the star attraction, drawing a
lot of new customers. It was good for the club, though, and the
other girls didn't mind the extra money Brenda's big knockers
brought in.
But some of the girls got boob jobs. Angie Peterson, in particu-
lar, went from a very respectable forty-one inches to just short
of Brenda's phonomenal sixty-three, but hers looked like twin
zeppelins about to drop a load on London, and were so obviously
artificial, that they actually suffered in comparison to Brenda's
homegrown marvels.
Mary had fought the pressure. She was making more money than
ever, and she didn't see the need to mutilate herself just be-
cause some other girl took the Golden Guernsey award.
Just then, she heard a frightened scream from the girls' bed-
room...
********
Mary squeezed the sponge out into the bathtub and patted more
blood off Amanda's leg. Blair stood at the other end, and grand-
mother Consuela was sitting on the toilet seat watching the
proceedings. The bloody sheets from both girls' beds lay in a
tight bundle on the bathroom floor.
"Am I gonna bleed to death, Momma?", pleaded Amanda.
"Shush, baby", replied Mary, "Its just your period. It happens
to all us women. I just thought I'd have a little time before I
had to explain it to you." She turned to look at Blair. "And I
didn't think you both would start on the same night.
What saint have I offended, thought Mary as she finished bathing
Blair's legs to have two adolescents in the house at the same
time? She glanced back and forth from the tuft of red hair
sprouting between Blair's legs and the black one between those of
Amanda. How could they have been so far along without her know-
ing? The damage was done, though, and she figured she'd have to
get on with it as best she could. She picked the bloody wad of
sheets off the floor, and motioned for Consuela to follow her.
By the time she got them to the doctor's office on Tuesday, Aman-
da had grown four inches, and had her wrists and ankles hanging
out all her clothes. Blair, too, had grown. Consuela shook her
hed, and reminded Mary that she had done the same when she had
become a woman.
"But I didn't start until I was almost twelve!", protested Mary.
Consuela shrugged her bony shoulders. "The young girls, they
grow faster in these days.", she commented philosophically.
For a while, Mary got by by letting Amanda wear Blair's clothes,
and sharing her own clothes with Blair. But the girls kept grow-
ing, until they both overtopped their mother by a pair of inches.
Then they stopped.
**********************
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