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Dr. Hooters #36: Yolanda
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 #36
"Yolanda"
"What's a class act like you doin' behind the fence, boss?",
Yolanda asked Julie one night after dropping the week's take off
on the table. "I mean, there gots t' be more money for a smart
gal like you on th' outside. Mos' these here crackers ain' got
no other hustle besides bein' a straw boss at a bull-dyke camp."
Julie started. She wasn't telepathic. She had only her own cun-
ning and street-smarts to sustain her in this dog-eat-dog envi-
ronment. The incredible strength endowed upon her by her bath in
the pool of Amanda's hormone-laden milk helped, and until now,
she had no need to exercise any of her other emerging powers.
Yet, this murderess, this unlettered prisoner had come very,very
close to uncovering her plan.
"I got plans, Yoli", she responded.
"I knows that, boss.", Yolanda replied, her broad, scarred face
breaking into a smile. "I jes' hopes that old Yolanda's gonna be
a part of 'em. You gots more than two titties, too"
"How did you find that out, Yolanda?", Julie hissed. Her best-
kept secret! Every day, she relaxed and meditated until her four
supernumerary breasts shrunk to a manageable size, then she
wrapped them tightly with an elastic band before putting her uni-
form shirt on.
"You needs t' check the windows before you dresses in the morn-
ing, boss", Yolanda giggled. "Don' worry. Your secret's safe
with Yolanda. I'm doin' better by you than I ever was by myse'f"
Julie stared hard and long at the homely black woman. Yes, this
was the raw material she could build her world empire on. This
woman had thrived for years in the most difficult, the most sav-
age environment humans had ever constructed. Give her a few su-
per-powers, and wham! who could stop her?
"Yoli, I need five more like you. Don't ask me what for, not yet,
but I need five more girls I can trust. Tough ones. Strong
ones, like you."
"Now we gettin' somewheres, boss. Now the real plan's comin'
out. I'mo get you yo' five girls. I knows just who dey are,
too!" Yolanda laughed, a high-pitched, disagreeable laugh.
The following day, Julie got a letter from Miami. Her nephew,
Scotty, had disappeared. Amanda and Scotty had escaped her house
by boat the night she had had her encounter with Jill Clayon, and
inquiries had been made up the coast as far as Vero Beach, but no
sign of a super-endowed girl escorting a young blonde boy had
turned up.
According to her sources, Jill Clayton had had a falling out with
Brenda. Julie pondered this for a long time, wondering how to
turn this piece of news to her best advantage. This piece of
good news, however, was balanced by Jill's reception and adoption
of Amanda's sister Blair. Word was that there was another girl
in Miami who had been exposed to the hormone. A young giantess
had appeared in the local news a couple of times, and was recent-
ly featured on a popular Spanish variety show.
Worst of all was the news that Blair's mother and grandmother
had, most probably, been exposed to the hormone and had dropped
completely from sight. Jill counted on her fingers. This made
six at least, seven if you counted Brenda, which Julie didn't.
Jill could count on six in her camp already, and Julie had yet to
produce her first collaborator. She crumpled the letter in her
fist. Time was definitely a wasting!
She though about calling Sheryl and Wallace by telephone, but
hell! there wasn't anything so urgent that it couldn't be commit-
ted to the good old US Postal Service and its three day delays.
She broke open her stationery box and set pen to paper.
'First of all', Julie wrote, 'Amanda must be found. She is the
only confirmed telepath to date, and as such is invaluable to my
future plans. Second, all other milk-producers must be identified
and the information gotten up here as quickly as possible. Finally,
the time has come to contact Brenda Hill and see if she can't be
recruited as a set of eyes and ears in Jill Clayton's own household.
If she can't or won't, she must be disposed of quickly...'
'And by all means, keep an eye out for any other stories of unusual
breast-growth. Follow them up quickly, report them immediately. There
will be more money forthcoming shortly. You will have all you need.'
'Signed
Julia Regina
Empress of the World'
Folding the letter into the envelope, she tossed it onto the
table and retired to the bedroom. Carefully she stripped off her
uniform shirt and hung it in the closet. The band around her ex-
tra breasts chafed and scratched, so she unwound it. Her four
extra breasts, reduced to small lumps of tissue under the nipples
by Julie's constant mental exertions, immediately began to grow
and swell as she released her vigilance. God, she thought, I
can't wait for the day when I don't have to do this!
She collapsed on the bed, relaxing further and allowing all her
breasts to expand and enlarge. Soon, the four extra breasts were
the same size as her 'public' breasts, and all six began to swell
uniformly. Julie began to massage her six breasts gently, shiv-
ering as the sensitive tissue responded to her ministrations.
Six plump erect nipples shot skyward, and her breasts continued
to grow.
As her breasts grew, Julie noticed that her sensitivity to her
immediate environment increased. She wasn't telepathic; she
couldn't read minds, but she could pick up 'vibrations', and she
could feel the emotions of the six hundred inmates and the fifty-
odd officers clearly. Allowing her breasts to swell until they
covered the bed in a thick blanket of titty-flesh, Julie could
now distinguish individual points in the emotional tides swelling
around about her.
Womanspace - she called it. Powerful women and powerful emotions
left there marks here. She sifted through untold quantities of
common-place greed, envy, lust, and avarice until she found that
one pearl of great price - the one overarching desire that would
prove useful to her - ambition, pride of place, the drive to dom-
inate others and bend them to your will. The Romans called it
superbia, and the medieval church called it the First Deadly Sin.
For Julie, it was the necessary ingredient. It was the reason
she had exiled herself to this isolated place.
Yes, there was a lot of it here, mostly submerged and suppressed.
Yes, there was Yolanda, simmering with resentment for rebuffs re-
al and imagined. Yes, that would be Cathy. Julie caressed and
stroked the blazing coals of female emotion with a connesseur's
touch, until she had six glowing embers in the palm of her vi-
sion. Her top breasts by now were looming over her head, pushed
upward by the pressure of the other four growing beneath them.
The bottom pair were growing down over her thighs, and she could
feel the pressure of her milk within, as it yearned to escape.
Soon, soon, she thought to herself. These six coals, these six
women, these will be the nucleus of my new army. They will be
the hammers in my hand as I smash this world to fragments!
Let this be a test for Yolanda, she thought. If, using only her
native cunning, she identifies the same ones I have, let her be
second in command. Let her have whatever she wants!
Yet, at the borders of her awareness, at the frontier of that
sector of womanspace accessible to Julie, there was a distur-
bance. It was as though there were three sand spurs stuck under
a sweater, their sharp barbs poking into her tender flesh. So
she felt them, and so she shrugged them off. Clayton's fifteen
hundred miles away, she thought to herself as she slowly drifted
off to sleep. By the time she finds out where I am, I'll have a
couple hundred of these sluts changed over.
Yolanda arrived the next day with five photographs stolen from
the inmate files. "Boss, if you lookin' for six bitches to do
some dirty work, you couldn't start with better'n what I'm givin'
you here." She threw the package on Julie's table. Julie tore
open the seal and spilled the contents out on the table. There
was Cathy Evans, with her model good looks, and her calm air of
superiority. Good, Julie thought. We're on the right track.
"Who's this?", Julie asked, holding up a photo of a dark haired
Latina woman.
"Conchita Gonzales", Yolanda replied. "A loner. Don't hang with
no one, but don't no one fuck with her none either. Tougher than
turtle shit. Caught her old man puttin' it to some other Mexican
gal down in the barrio, and she torched the bastard right in his
own bed. Set it on fire. They tell me she was across the street
jackin' off when the firemen arrived."
"Yes", Julie commented, as much to herself as to Yolanda.
"She'll do just fine!"
"This here's Carmen Brown", Yolanda explained, holding up a photo
of a large light-skinned black woman. "Killed three crackers in
an armed robbery. Shot their shit through the slits in the ar-
mored car. They tells me she can wipe a booger off a bird's beak
with a bullet."
Julie nodded. She'd seen Carmen last night as well. "This
here's Maribeth Constant. She never seemed like the desperate
criminal type to me." Julie held up a photo of a mild-looking
middle-aged white woman. "She looks more like she's gotta take
her cookies out of the oven."
"Wrong, boss", Yolanda corrected. "Momma Constant runs all the
dope out of dormitory five. Half a what I stick on your table
every night comes from her, and she's dieing to get some return
on it."
"So that's who that was", Julie commented, remembering a particu-
larly interesting carbuncle of respectablity that encrusted a
white-hot caldron of rage, pride, and ambition. Mother Constant,
she thought, you're gonna get a hell of a return on your invest-
ment.
The last two photos were of Narcissa Lemon, a twenty-two year old
black girl from Raleigh serving three life sentences for using
three city policemen as target practice on what she confessed in
court as being 'a slow, boring day', and Bonnie Harbinger, head
of the Aryan Maidens, a hard-core white-supremicist group. Bon-
nie was feared throughout the prison for her shaved head, muscu-
lar physique, and radical rhetoric. Surprisingly, the black in-
mates respected and trusted her.
"She a Nazi", explained Yolanda, "She hate us niggahs, think we
needs to be back onna plantation, but she the most stand-up white
bitch in this whole camp. If a niggah do business with her, she
won't fuck a niggah up, and she won't let no one else fuck her up
neither. Go figger!"
If you counted Ma Constant, Yolanda had scored six for six, an
impressive score. Julie leaned back in her chair.
"These here some mean bitches, boss", Yolanda observed. "You
wanna put together a gang? Pull some jobs from the joint? Its a
hell of a walk into Mercer, closest town these parts."
Julie pulled her long dark hair back into a pony-tail and took
off her uniform shirt. She was wearing a T-shirt underneath.
Her large top pair of breasts stretched the fabric tight across
the front, leaving the bottom loose enough to hide her extra four
breasts. Julie removed her service automatic from its holster
and passed it to Yolanda.
"Go ahead, Yoli", she said calmly. "Shoot me".
"Boss!" Yolanda was scandalized, turning the automatic over in
her palm. Julie snatched the weapon away from Yolanda and turned
the barrel into her chest, just under her impressive bustline.
"You won't do it, so I will", she continued, pulling the trigger.
There was a sharp report and the trailer filled up with the acrid
smell of gunpowder, but Julie threw the weapon contemptously back
on the table. The flash from the barrel had burnt a hole in the
T-shirt, but Julie's flesh was unharmed. She picked the flat-
tened bullet up off the floor.
"See?", Julie gloated. "I haven't tried, but I believe I'd stop
anything short of an armor-piercing missle."
Yolanda, needless to say, was astounded, but she immediately
grasped the implications of Julie's demonstration. "You ain't
folks, boss. You sum'p'in else."
"I'm planning to take over a lot more than this prison, Yoli",
she stated calmly. "I have a lot of different powers and abili-
ties, and I intend to use them. One of the most important powers
I have, though, I that I can give other women these same powers
and ablities, or similar ones."
Yolanda was all ears. Julie continued. "See my big breasts?
You were right about my having more. I have six tits." Julie
stripped off the burnt T-shirt and unwound the elastic band
around her other four breasts. Proudly, Julie grew them out
right before Yolanda's unbelieving eyes. The milk was standing
in each of her six erect nipples when she finished, a little
white dot in the center of each one. "I have milk, Yolanda.
This milk can change you from what you are into what I am, a Su-
perwoman, a goddess."
"I gonna have six tits too, Boss?"
"I doubt it, Yoli. My six tits, I believe, are going to be
unique", Julie responded. "But just think about it, Yoli. You
can pay back everyone who put you here, do whatever you want with
whomever you want. Only I, Julia the Mighty, will be over you,
the Duchess Yolanda, Grand Vizier of the Whole World!!!"
"You gonna take over the world, boss, right?" Yolanda repeated.
"Not all at once, Yoli", replied Julie. "But we're gonna start
with Clay County and North Carolina."
Yolanda thought for a while, a long while. "Beats foldin' sheets
for a lotta sluts in the ladies' joint", she said finally. "I'm
in with you, boss. When do I get my tits?"
"We start tomorrow night. Tell these five girls to be in the
laundry room tomorrow at midnight. I'll arrange it from the of-
ficers' end."
Yolanda agreed and left. Julie's breasts throbbed with the pres-
sure of her milk. All the discussion of her plans, and all her
meditation on it seemed to have stimulated her milk production,
kicking into overdrive. Julie held her six breasts over the
sink, and let her milk down into it. Six pearly white streams
issued from her massive tits and swirled down the drain, except
for what was caught in the bowls and dishes.
Relieved of the pressure, Julie put on her nightgown and prepared
for bed. She heard a yowling and a scratching at the door. Damn
cats!, she thought. Inmates were always adopting strays and
feeding them. Hell if she knew how these animals made it all the
way back out here to the woods, but I guess, like some people, no
distance is too far for a free ride.
With a sudden inspiration, Julie took a bowl down from the cup-
board, held it under her middle right boob, and filled it with
the last shot of milk she had inside her. She opened the door
and put the bowl on the doorstep. Two feline shapes darted out
from the night and stuck their heads into the dish.
Damn cats, she thought as she closed the door and turned out the
lights.
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