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Dr. Hooters #37: The New Order Begins
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 Pt. XXXVII
The New Order Begins
Phoebe Martin sulked in the corner of the laundry, folding the
light blue uniforms. Watching as Yolanda Adams stormed in late,
as usual, she seethed with resentment. Yolanda was the 'straw
boss' of the laundry. What that meant under the corrupt prison
administration was that Yolanda received her orders from the lazy
guards who were the titular supervisors, then she passed the as-
signments on to the inmates. This allowed the guards to pass the
day drinking coffee and reading magazines.
Of course, this system worked well for the guards and for Yolan-
da, who did little if any actual work, and not so well for those
close to the bottom of the prison food chain, like Phoebe, who
did the lion's share of the work and received little more for
their efforts than the proverbial 'three hots and a cot' - three
meals a day in the prison dining room and a bunk in the prison
dormitory.
Yolanda, though, somehow, had become the right hand of the new
prison yard boss, Sergeant Heatherwick, and this lent added au-
thority to her orders and added venom to her tongue.
Phoebe was used to mistreatment. Her father had abandoned her
and her brother when she was small, and her drunken mother was
unable or unwilling to protect her from a succession of abusive
stepfathers, the last of whom raped her repeatedly starting at
eight, and ending at puberty, when he handed Phoebe over to her
brother.
Astoundingly, Phoebe conceived, and despite her brother's best
efforts in trying to pound the baby out of her, gave birth. The
tiny mite, who Phoebe christened Henry, had his father's temper-
ment, and howled continually. Through the efforts of a county
social worker, Phoebe was able to obtain an apartment and a wel-
fare check, and for a while, could even attend a few classes at a
technical school.
But baby Henry kept howling, and at fourteen, Phoebe had neither
the patience nor the emotional resources to deal with the con-
stant stress. Henry started showing up in public with fresh
bruises all over his face and body. Eventually, this attracted
the attention of the welfare agency, who took Henry away and
placed ihim in a foster home.
Phoebe went to parenting classes, and was able to get Henry back,
For a while, life was good, and mother and son seemed to thrive.
Phoebe graduated from the technical academy and was able to find
employment as a sewing-machine repairwoman. Then, one night af-
ter she picked Henry up at the day care center, he began scream-
ing again. When she looked at him, her brother's features stared
back at him.
Picking little two-year old Henry up by the feet, she beat him
against the wall until he stopped crying.
The crime electrified the small community Phoebe lived in. Pre-
dictably, the prosecution sought the death penalty, and such was
the hysteria that it appeared Phoebe would be the first woman in
the state sent to Death Row in fifty years. Then, when the as-
sistant District Attorney presented the photographs of Henry as
evidence, the slight, dark-haired Phoebe began wailing like a
lost soul. "Henry! Henry! My baby!", she cried, despite all
attempts to silence her. The history of abuse and incest came
out into the open, and public sympathy began to swing towards the
defendant.
The prosecution dropped the capital charge and accepted the de-
fense's offer of life plus thirty, and Phoebe was packed off to
Mercer Forestry Camp until she became eligible for parole, some-
time around the fourth decade of the coming century.
Prison was familiar territory to Phoebe. More snarls, beatings
and rough talk. More sneaking around to avoid detection. Once
word got around why Phoebe was doing time, she was more of a
pariah than ever, as baby-killers were considered the lowest of
the low in a women's prison. Five years into her sentence,
Phoebe had survived by working hard, eating little, and sleeping
with one eye open.
So Phoebe picked up on her hated boss's change in attitude imme-
diately. Yolanda seemed upbeat today, even chipper. She smiled
at Phoebe, at old Miz Lucy at the sewing table, and settled down
for a long chat with Carmen Brown in the corner. Information
being one of the most prized commodities behind the fence, Phoebe
'wandered' over to see if she could catch a few stray tidbits.
She had unusually keen hearing, and had often been able to save
herself by learning who had a cache of drugs, or who was plotting
an escape.
"Yeah, Carmen. Its just like I tole ya", Phoebe heard Yolanda
whisper to Carmen. "The Boss want all of us here in the laundry
tonight at midnight sick call. She asked for you by name, Car-
men!"
This electrified Phoebe. She could come and go as she pleased
after lights out, thanks to a loose window pane next to her bunk.
She determined to be in the laundry that night.
***************************************************
Yolanda was pleased. Of all five women Julie had approached, on-
ly Mother Constant had turned her down. 'I'm getting out in
three months, Yoli. I just wanna go back to my husband, my kids,
and my grandkids. Count me out, OK?'
Finding Bonnie the Nazi on the weight pile, Yolanda told her
about the boss's plan. Bonnie was doing triceps work, bent over,
thrusting forty-pound dumbbells behind her. She listened intent-
ly as Yolanda spelled it out for her, then imperceptibly nodded
her head in assent. Yolanda understood. All the white girls in
the camp looked up to Bonnie as one of the few able to stand up
to the overbearing black majority, and it wouldn't do to have
them see her making an alliance, for whatever reason, with Yolan-
da or any other black inmate.
Bonnie, though, was first and foremost, for Bonnie. She would be
there. Carmen she had recruited that morning in the laundry, and
Conchita had promised to be there as well when Yolanda caught her
coming out of the chow hall at breakfast.
That left Narcissa Lemon and Cathy Evans, both of whom were out
with the turpentine crews in the surrounding forest. Yolanda
left word for them to look her up as soon as they returned.
There were three sick calls at the camp, morning, four o'clock,
and midnight, where the ranking sergeant made the rounds of all
the dormitories to escort those with medical complaints to the
infirmary. Lights out was eleven thirty, and almost immediately
after the hubbub died down, there was a rap on the dormitory
door. The officer left her station and immediately returned fol-
lowed by the imposing form of Sergeant Heatherwick.
Phoebe waited a couple of minutes, then she rulled her blanket up
in a bundle, and stuffed it under her sheets. Putting on her
blue uniform blouse and slacks, she lifted the loose window pane
and stepped out into the cool night air.
Her back pressed against the dormotory wall, Phoebe saw the tall
figure of Sergeant Heatherwick outlined against the sky, and the
five inmates following her. Phoebe followed them at a distance,
and wasn't surprised when the small group turned off the walkway
to the clinic and followedd the path down to the laundry. Phoebe
hid behind a bush as Sergeant Heatherwick unlocked the door, and
the small group passed inside. After waiting a couple of min-
utes, Phoebe mustered her courage and followed them in.
She was astonished at what she saw. Sergeant Heatherwick had
stripped to the waist, and was reclining on a table in front of
the five inmates. What surprised Phoebe the most was that
Sergeant Heatherwick had not two, but six large, basketball-sized
breasts exposed, and that the inmates had lined up at the table
to suck her breasts.
One large breast was unoccupied, and flopped out onto the table.
Phoebe could see the milk running out of the nipple, flowing in
little rivulets across the table and dripping onto the floor.
The sight hypnotized her, and she slipped out from her hiding
place and walked down to the table, lifting the immense breast to
her mouth and wrapping her lips around the plump, dripping nip-
ple. The rich, creamy milk flowed into her mouth in warm gushes
as she sucked.
None of the others seemed to take any notice of her as she
nursed. Bonnie, Yolanda and the rest were intent on their own
nursing, and took the milk into themselves with their eyes closed
and a look of total contentment on their faces. Even the dainty
Cathy Evans slurped and sucked with a hunger that rivalled the
rest.
Phoebe looked up into Sergeant Heatherwick's face. She saw the
Sergeant look back on her with a calm, detached look, nodding her
head. Phoebe returned to her nursing, drinking in as much of the
warm, invigorating milk as she could.
The six inmates continued their suckling for about an hour and a
half, at which time Sergeant Heatherwick sat up on the table.
She had to detach Narcissa Lemon from her middle right tit, as
she had fallen asleep, then she bound her four extra tits with an
elastic band, and buttoned up her uniform blouse.
"Ladies, we had an univited guest tonight", Julie spoke softly,
indicating Phoebe. "I trust you to keep this confidential,
Phoebe, until the transformations are complete. It shouldn't
take too long. I estimate that in two or three days, we'll be
ready for our next move. Now, lets get you lot back to the
dorms. Stay in touch."
The effects of Julie's milk manifested themselves as early as the
next day. At lunch time, Yolanda, Bonnie, and Cathy electrified
an audience at the weight pile. Yolanda had never been one for
exercise, so it was rare to see her at the weight pile. Her hair
had lengthened and her features ahd softened somewhat, and, al-
though it was hard to tell in the shapeless prison uniforms, it
appeared that she had filled out a bit as well.
All of these considerations fell away as Yolanda strode up to a
bar holding about five hundred thirty pounds of free weight and
snapped it up to her chest, then over her head with little appar-
ent effort. Bonnie added about a hundred pounds, then repeated
the performance. Tall, willowy Cathy then added another fifty,
and outdid them all.
Returning to the bar, Yolanda attached all the remaining plates.
The weight on the bar totalled nine hundred seventy-five pounds.
She began doing curls, and the gathered inmates and officers mar-
veled as she effortlessly knocked out ten, twenty, thirty repeti-
tions with the heavy weights. As she flexed, her uniform blouse
began filling out. By the twentieth rep, new breast tissue was
peaking out through the gaps in her buttons, and her blouse was
straining to contain the new growth.
On the twenty-second rep, a button flew off her blouse and hit an
officer in the eye. Yolanda, despite her weight and size, had
never been large chested, but now she was sporting an impressive
pair that looked to be about a 38DD, and still growing. Another
button flew off on the twenty-eighth rep, and when she stood back
up after putting the weight bar back on the ground, she stretched
her arms over her head, and with an anguished rip, the remaining
buttons gave way and Yolanda's large new breasts sprang out into
the open air.
Yolanda cupped her hands under her impressive new breasts, which
were visibly still growing. "Shit!", she rejoiced, "Ain't noth-
in' like a little exercise to make your titties grow, is there?"
Bonnie the Nazi stepped up to the parallel bars and lifted her-
self up. She was wearing a cut-off T-shirt instead of her uni-
form blouse, and her heavily-muscled arms hung like sides of beef
against her broad chest. There had been some development under
the T-shirt, and the crowd gasped as she began to dip on the
bars, bringing her body level with the bars and pushing herself
back up again. With each push, the breast mass forming under her
flimsy T-shirt pushed further out from her chest, until there
were two grapefruit-sized mounds jiggling away as she finished
her dips.
Bonnie's breasts continued to grow as she stepped up to the bar.
She took about a hundred pounds off and hunkered down, getting a
firm grip with one hand in the center of the bar. Lifting the
mass of metal carefully with her right hand, she pumped it like a
dumbell, her giant biceps swelling with the effort.
By now, Bonnie's breasts had ballooned to the point where the
bottoms were peeking out from underneath her T-shirt, which
served her now for a halter top. Yolanda moved over and lay a
hand on the bar as Bonnie switched hands to continue her workout.
"Lemme put a little resistance on that for you, sister", she of-
fered.
Veins popped out on Bonnie's left arm as she struggled to lift
the bar against Yolanda's pressure. As she strained, her muscles
and breasts grew explosively. Her flimsy T-shirt shredded as
Bonnie's tits erupted out under the pressure, and her massive
pectorals underneath them flaired out with the exertion. The bi-
cep on Bonnie's powerful left arm looked like a roast chicken,
and Yolanda repeated the performance for Bonnie on the right.
Naked now to the waist, Bonnie stood upright and flexed. In a
few short minutes, she had added about sixty pounds, about forty
of which was breast and twenty of which was solid muscle. Muscu-
lar to begin with , she was now a formidable ingot of muscle,
with huge, imposing soccer-ball sized breasts jutting off her
powerful, plate-like pectorals. With her shaved head, Bonnie was
a fearsome sight, and she knew it as she flexed her powerful new
arms.
[to be continued]
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