Note: This story was dynamically reformatted for online reading convenience.
 
 TITLE: The Bouncing Babies.
TAGS: huge breasts, pre-lactation, big cock, vulgar language, slutdom,
incest (brother/sister), exhibitionism, fetish clothing, mind control(?),
sex toys, shemale.
SYNOPSIS: An assistant in a Maternity shop helps a customer choose a
gift that is purportedly for a colleague's Baby Shower.  The customer seems
to be able to exert a measure of control over the actions of the
impressionable yet voluptuous young lady, and, having made his choice of
gift after a surprising demonstration, orchestrates a meeting with the girl
after she finishes her work.



   DON'T LET YOUR KIDS SEE THIS!

   These stories have all been written with a very adult audience in mind.
They all have a very heavy sexual content and will contain combinations of
themes.

   If you are likely to be offended by any of the things mentioned in the
`tags' list above, you should not read beyond this point, but immediately
navigate away from this page.

   If you have somehow arrived on this page by accident, immediately
navigate away and come back when you're prepared and consensual.

   The act of writing does not mean that the author is in any way engaged
in or complicit to acts of the nature described herein.  The act of writing
(or even reading) about deviance, perversion and degradation can be a
liberating and strangely cathartic experience, but some ostensibly sexual
behaviours are always going to be wrong.  I cannot tell you which, or why.
You have to make those determinations for yourself.  Scroll down if you
want to read this story, or navigate away if you find any of these tags
suggestive of things you really don't like.

   Doctor O.  June 2012.

























   THE BOUNCING BABIES

   A Simple Demonstration:

   There were very few shoppers in the mall, even fewer in the smaller lots
on the upper floor, but then, it was early; the clock had still to strike a
quarter to ten, and anyway, it was a Monday.  Shireen had been working in
the Baby Boomer ("Everything for your bundle of joy") for almost six
months, as her finals hadn't gone too well, and the scholarship had receded
at light speed as a result.  She was pinning her hopes on a re-sit in May -
not that her mother was.

   Every single day, it seemed, she found some excuse to bemoan Shireen's
lacks of application in her final year and never resisted sticking in the
loser-boyfriend knife.  Benny had evapourated when he'd realised that
Shireen wasn't going to be his free ticket through his own degree in music
and she'd been forced to admit that she hadn't really missed him since. 
"Benny, you fuckin' loser," she muttered under her breath, as she
rearranged the boxes of nipple pads on a shelf.  The job really wasn't that
bad, and at least Ms Shucker gave her a fairly free rein in the Feeding and
First Year accessories department.  A big sigh, "You fucking scruff-bag. 
Thank God I always made you take precautions, wanker."

   She moved on to the racks of hanging bottles, rattles and accessories,
checking for blank pegs where products needed re-stocking.  There was a gap
where the Prolene bottle teats should have been, and she squatted down to
get at the storage drawer immediately beneath the stand, pulling on the
plastic handle.  There was little resistance and she pulled it out too far,
so far that she couldn't see down into the front of the drawer past the
large cones of her breasts.  A momentary smile, and she pushed it back
halfway, selecting the half empty box.  `I'll need to order some more,' she
mused to herself, and then, looking down at her breasts again as she stood
and pressing her arms in against them on both sides, she watched the
cleavage in the `v' of her open blouse lengthen to about a foot.  "Baby got
the huge tetonas and the big culatta.  Oh yeah, baby got the heavy milkers
and the bubble butt.  She shaped like a wet dream, momma.  Baby's got..."

   "Shireen, what exactly are you up to now?  Busy, are we?" The voice made
her start, but she was perfectly composed as she turned.

   "Just making a mental note to add some Protene teats to the product
request, Miz.  Shucker.  These are the last of the current stock and I
don't like to let this kind of thing get too low.  We sell a lot of this
brand."

   Ms.  Shucker's eyebrows arched like thin black brackets over the
tortoise-shell rims of her glasses and she looked pointedly at the open
neck of Shireen's blouse that strained to contain her massive breasts, her
nostrils flaring ever-so slightly.  "Very good, I like to keep the pot on
the boil, so to speak.  Yes, very good.  Now, Shireen, I'm going for my
meeting with the baby carriage sales rep'.  Coffee and a donut, I trust. 
I'll burn it off in the gym at lunchtime.  Some of us have a high metabolic
rate."

   `Well, that's the weakest excuse for being rake-thin I've heard lately,'
Shireen thought to herself with an internalised smirk, `...and why can't
you call it a pram, like everybody else on the planet?', and said aloud,
"Absolutely, Miz Shucker.  You have always kept an amazing figure.  I have
to eat like a bird, myself; I'd put on weight just looking at a donut."
Back inside her head, a mischievous idea, `And you'd have to have the word
`front' tattooed in brail on your chest if you ever wanted a man to know
which way up you were lying in the dark.'

   "Well, I'm glad to see you've taken my advice about the those
mini-skirts you would insist on wearing.  I swear we used to be inundated
with dirty old men and zit-ridden louts whenever you wore them before, all
waiting for a flash of your knickers, no doubt.  The black jeans are far
more apropos, even if a little `painted on'; still, you probably couldn't
get them in your size, dear, could you." Ms Shucker dismissed Shireen's
skin-tight denim pants with a wave of one hand, spun on her stilettos and
walked purposefully out of the shop, nearly mowing someone over in the
entrance.

   Shireen followed this anomaly with her eyes: a man who'd just walked
through the double doors; primarily because he looked more than a little
out of place.  The guy was tall - over six feet, and looked pretty buff;
fairish hair, the type often called `mousey', and wearing a cardigan over a
white cotton shirt.  He looked like an advertisement for a set of expensive
golf clubs, she reflected.  `Wait a minute,' she mused to herself, `I've
seen you before: definitely yesterday - and maybe last week as well. 
Browsing for a shower gift, something for the missus, or just slumming
while the GF gets her hair and nails done?  Ooops, coming this way; don't
act goofy, girl.'

   "Morning sir," she looked up into slate-blue eyes that seemed to bore
into hers, yet the smile allayed any sudden anxiety, "Can I help you with
anything?"

   The smile broadened, and she found herself smiling back - not in anyway
difficult.  "Well miss, ah," he looked pointedly at nametag that she wore
on the upper curve of her left bosom, "...Shireen, that would be very kind
of you.  Boy, aren't you looking bright and bouncing with vitality this
morning.  You should be in the modeling business, but then, you probably
already are.  Is this part-time work?"

   Shireen looked down, somewhat abashed by the man's forwardness.  "Well,
actually no.  I guess I'm a bit too, ah, big...  in some places, to be a
model." She chuckled, "And you need a smile and a sense of humour in this
place, from time to time." She found herself feeling the need to be very
careful, mature, in talking to this customer.

   "Not a bit of it.  There's a big push these days for BBWs.  Catalogue
models and so on.  Never had any time for those scrawny anorexic
model-types myself.  `Shireen', is that an Irish name?  It's beautiful."

   `BBWs?  Is this guy for real?' "Well, actually, my mother's Spanish and
my father's from a long line of Irish bog-trotters, as he puts himself.  I,
ah, meant no disrespect." This last addition was quickly tacked on as she
realised he might be from Irish stock himself.

   The thought was immediately calmed.  "And no offence taken.  Well, that
explains the laughing eyes, the olive complexion and the curves.  My, but
you're a breath of fresh air, aren't you." The man chuckled, half at the
shy coquettishness he'd induced in the young woman and half at the way she
started twisting slowly on the spot in embarrassment.

   "Tell you what," he continued, "I'm looking for something for a
colleague's baby shower.  She probably won't invite me, or any of us for
that matter, but the boys in the faculty clubbed together for a gift.  So,
you see, I'm looking for something that will be entirely functional, but
will, at the same time, send the kind of infantile message that apparently
intelligent men will stoop to at times such as this." His laughter gurgled
again, and Shireen's momentary shyness evapourated.  "Well, do you have
anything here that would fill those very specific requirements?"

   This man intrigued Shireen: much older than herself, well, late thirties
anyway, and obviously a professor in the university - so `intelligent'.  No
sign of a wedding band, or the pale shadow of one on the tanned finger. 
Her pussy did a little crunch in the heat of her denims.  `I always was a
sucker for brains,' and then ruefully, `Except for that creep, Benny. 
Fuck, did I nearly mess up there.' And then, aloud, "Well, I'm sure we can
find something, or would you like me to leave you to browse around and come
back when you've got some ideas?"

   "And such an amenable and obedient girl too!  My goodness, you are a
treasure.  And I have the advantage of you.  My name's Pearson, Dr. 
Pearson, actually.  Clinical Psychology at the U." He gestured over his
shoulder with a thumb.  Shireen had no idea if it was in the right general
direction or not - and then wondered why she was bothering to worry about
it when the doctor suddenly thrust out his hand.  His palm was warm and
dry. Shireen always felt a sense of distaste when she shook a clammy hand.
Their, "It's very nice to meet you was almost perfectly in synch - and they
both laughed when Dr.  Pearson snapped out "Jinx!" immediately afterwards.
It had been on the tip of Shireen's tongue, too: the almost automatic
childish response to simultaneous utterances that prevented the slower one
from speaking for a time prescribed by ancient playground law.

   "No, I don't want to prevent you from saying anything with that perfect
mouth.  `From the scarlet lips of angels...' you know.  And nor do I want
you to leave me alone." He leaned close and she could smell his aftershave,
"This is a place of alien strangeness, my dear." She had never heard the
quotation before, but it intoxicated her.

   "Well, what would you like to see first?"

   "Do you know, I have absolutely no idea.  Tell you what, I'll have a
quick circumnavigation of these unfamiliar waters, and you keep an eye on
me to make sure I do not disappear without trace.  Then, I'll find you and
we can have a look at what treasure I have found, alright?"

   "Absolutely, sir.  I'm sorry, I meant - Dr.  Pearson."

   "Call me Doc', dear Shireen, and off into the wild, blue yonder I go."
With another gurgle of laughter and a touch of the hand to an imaginary
hat, Shireen's doctor moved off into the labyrinth of shelving and display
units.  The girl caught another whiff of the aftershave, and watched Dr. 
Pearson's butt flexing in the fitted trousers.  `Oh boy, my chocho's wet. I
can feel it.  Jeezus, but you are a hunk, Dr.  Pearson; and maybe you are
as old as my Mum, but you could be my daddy anytime.' She giggled at
herself and the dirty thoughts miring themselves behind her eyes, and went
back to checking the stock.

   Dr.  Pearson was back in less than ten minutes, a broad smile plastered
on his face like Herman Munster.  "Shireen, I think I've found something
that might suit, but I'm going to need your help and advice, back here." He
pointed in the direction of the nursery equipment at the back of the shop.
"Would you mind?"

   "Of course not, Doctor.  I'm happy to help in any way that I can." She
was also reflecting on some interesting possibilities.  There were a lot of
`big ticket' items in that corner - and particularly in the recess behind
the changing room.  The word `commission' would have been in a cartoon
bubble over her head at that very moment, if such things happened in
anything but Hollywood movies.

   Shireen followed the back of her customer into the rear of the shop,
covertly watching his buns again and breathing in the scent that wafted
behind him.  "And what did you find interesting back here, doctor?" He'd
stopped in the narrow entrance to the niche and was pointing at the breast
pumps.  "Breast pumps?"

   "Exactly, my lovely, breast pumps.  I think that one of these might be
the perfect gift."

   "Really?" Shireen was suddenly embarrassed again, and blushed beneath
her natural tan.

   "Absolutely," and noticing her discomfort, "...and don't be embarrassed,
after all, if anyone should be embarrassed, it should be me.  I bet you
don't get many unattached men walking in here and asking for anything like
this?  Or attached ones, for that matter.  However, I think that this would
be a gift that might fulfill all of our criterion: functional, embodying
all the right qualities of infantile humor, and affordable - meaning,
`within our budget'."

   "I can see that you fail to get the joke, my dear: nothing more than I
would have expected from a young beauty of your tenderness and sensitivity.
You see, the subject of the shower will be very much a working mother after
she delivers.  She's working on some very important projects in my
laboratory, and her continued involvement is vital, so she will inevitably
have to express her breast milk so that someone else can feed the baby" His
eyes were roving across the shelves while he spoke, occasionally tipping a
box backwards at the top so that he could see the product through the
cellophane windows that they put in them these days.

   "Secondly, she is very, very...  ahem, busty woman, I think is the
proper phrase.  Anyway, she's exceptionally gifted in the bosom department,
if you know what I mean.  Exceptionally," and then, not wanting her to
suffer in the throes of a mental comparison "Couldn't hold a candle to you
though, gorgeous Shireen, but heavy - yes, heavy." He seemed to relish the
repetition.  Once more, "Oh yes, a very heavy bust indeed."

   Shireen could only feel sympathy for the woman's doubtless back pain and
having to deal with leering schoolboys and colleagues, if she was anything
like herself, but there was a momentary thankfulness that at least he
hadn't gestured with his spreading fingers in front of his own chest. 
`This guy's a gentleman, I guess, and he really is dreamy.'

   Then her client seemed to remember something else.  "Her bottom isn't as
big as yours, either," the churring of a soft chuckle, and then he took a
step to one side and stared pointedly round the curve of her tiny waist and
down at the bulging globes of Shireen's buttocks.  The blushing girl was
certain that he was focusing on the butt cleavage bisecting the shelf of
her ass; after all, it was why she chose to wear very low-cut hipsters,
just to piss off that skinny bitch, Shucker - and for the general
bootay-shock value, of course.  `If you've got it, flaunt it, girl,' her
mother would say, and her blouse was always riding up to expose her other
assets.

   The jeans seemed not so much to cover her ass - more to `cup' the
enormous jiggling bum, and her tights were always pulled up higher than the
waistband.  She knew in her mind's eye that Pearson was staring at the dark
gauze that must be emphasizing, rather than hindering his lascivious gaze,
and she found, much to her own internalised surprise, that she didn't mind.
It was actually nice to have someone unashamedly admiring her `assets'.  In
fact, she found herself pivoting at the hips, turning towards him ever-so
slightly to give him a better view - as subtly as she could, but the
temptation to display her body was too strong to suppress.

   "Well now, where we?  Ah yes...  breast pumps," a chuckle.

   The assistant with the body by Rubens under her clothing pushed past the
much taller man, making sure that her breast brushed his outstretched arm,
as she moved between him and the shelf.  Quite deliberately, but with a
voice that didn't waver for an instant, she bent forwards at the waist,
feeling the flesh of her buttocks balloon into the already overstretched
material of the jeans, and, agonizingly slowly, sorted through the boxes on
the bottom shelf.

   "I'm sure we have something for you to look at here, Doctor." She knew
beyond a shadow of a doubt that he just had to be staring at her huge butt.
`A tit man, or a boob man?' she thought.  `Maybe a lot of both.' "Ah yes,
Prolene's Mommy's little Helper." She straightened with the box and turned
smiling to face the doctor.  They were very close now.  As she looked up
into his face, she was expecting at least a flush in the cheeks, but she
was disappointed.  `Maybe a boob man then,' and with the thought, she
breathed in and gently thrust her chest forwards.  `Baby, you are flirting
outrageously'.

   "Ah," the man looked confused, and then at Shireen with his eyebrows
rising into question marks.  "René, I'm going to need the spiel, I'm
afraid."

   `He called me René.  Never been called that before.  I think I like it.'
"Right doctor, well, this is the baby sister of the top-of-the-range model,
the Pro-mom 2000.  It has an electric suction extraction pump with an
all-plastic construction and gummi-latex seals."

   "Oooh, I think I like the sound of gummi-latex seals."

   "Yee-ess, Doctor Pearson," Kinky, huh?  "Well the bottle and the flared
cup are made of impact-resistant and scratch-proof clear plastic, as you
can see, and the..."

   "Sorry to interrupt you, René, but does this plug into the mains, or is
it manually or battery operated?"

   "Well, doctor, it needs a mains supply."

   "Ah, well, not so suitable then.  You see, my colleague values her
independence and mobility - and as the...  what was it, ah, Pro-mom 2000
isn't particularly portable, I think we'd better look for something more
manual, as one might say."

   "Certainly, doctor Pearson.  I could recommend this model," Shireen
said, dropping the rejected box back onto the lower shelf and removing
another at eye-level.  "This is on special offer at the moment.  I think it
might be what you're looking for.  It has a manually operated pump; a
special `comfort-fit' receiving cone and a spare bottle.  It's designed
with the fuller figure in mind."

   Doctor Pearson chuckled.  "Absolutely René, but perhaps you should
demonstrate the mechanism so that I can advise my colleague later."

   "Oh, it's very simple, doctor Pearson.  I'm sure your friend will be
able to follow the instructions.  They're printed in three languages,"
`just in case she's a Japanese titty queen,' was the thought that flitted
through her mind, "And there are diagrams too."

   There was a strained note of impatience in his voice, "I'm sure there
are, but nothing beats a real-life demonstration of these processes; I'm
sure you'll agree."

   "Oh yes, of course," she was already flipping open the flaps of the lid
and sliding the breast pump out of the box.  "Well, there's nothing to it,
really." She suddenly realised what she was doing and there was a moment's
hesitation before she rotated the trumpet-like funnel towards the cone of
her right breast and, holding it about six inches in front of the bulging
material of the blouse, placed her free hand on the blue handle of the
pump. "There should be no need to moisten the skin, as the plastic is
smooth enough to allow a rapid seal.  Then, this handle," she flexed her
hand, opening the fingers and then closing them firmly around the lever,
"You squeeze this handle and the...  the, ah...  nipple...  is sucked into
the receiving flute and, well...  the more you...  pump the handle...  the
more, ah...  the more the mmm...  ah, flow, will increase." She found
herself blushing, cheeks hot beneath the observer's gaze.

   "I'm beginning to see what you mean.  Tell me, is there anything to
prevent the suction from increasing to the point at which it begins to
cause, ah, discomfort?"

   She lowered the pump but kept holding it with both hands, causing her
arms to press in on both sides of her breasts and the cleavage to deepen
and elongate once more.  She was sure his eyes flickered downwards. 
"Actually, no.  It isn't really necessary, as the suction makes the milk
flow, and once the flow is established, the partial vacuum is always being
equalized.  You have to keep pumping to maintain it."

   "I'm still not certain I follow you.  Do you think that you could give
me a real demonstration, René?"

   Shireen's mouth dropped open for a moment, as she realised what the
immaculately groomed man had just suggested.  "You mean...  you want me...
you want to see the pump actually, ah...  in action?  Against my, ah... 
against my, ah...  ah, skin?"

   "You're such a clever girl, René: understanding your customer's needs
immediately.  I can see an `employee of the month' nomination here, beyond
a shadow of a doubt.  I saw the photographs on the board behind the counter
when I came in," he added, confidentially.  "Yes, I'd really like to see
the instrument in pump-to-breast action.  Excellent, lead on," He gestured
towards the changing room facility that fronted the nook at the back of the
shop.  "I take it there's somewhere in there where we won't be disturbed,
is there?"

   The buxom girl was already turning in front of the smiling Doctor when
her mind seemed to flood with a multitude of alarm bells, whistles blowing
and red lights flashing.  There was so much wrong with what this suave and
classy man had just asked that she couldn't process any of it for the
length of time it took for him to put his hand in the small of her back and
give her a gentle push in the direction of the `Diaper Changing room'.  By
the time she was compliantly moving, her brain was a mush of competing
noise that was slowly rising into a scream.

   As she pushed the door open to enter the "facility" (that's what it was
called on the floor plan), she gripped at the fleeting glimpse of an idea
and tried to look behind her to see if anyone else was in the shop.  Doctor
Pearson's open smile immediately clouded her vision.  The hand moved from
the small of her back to rest against the constriction of the broad bodice
of her brassiere, and the only thing that registered with any certainty at
all was the fact that the good doctor was carrying a second box identical
to the one she was still clutching in her hand.  `Oh my God.' It was a
conclusion, not an exclamation.

   As she entered the pastel painted cubicle and approached the back wall,
she turned; a deer in the headlights, `Never did like baby-blue,' with the
pump and empty container clutched to her boobs.  She could feel her pussy
go into a spasm of clenching against the satin of her thong, and she knew
she was getting wet, because the dampness had already seeped through the
skintight jeans and was cooling in the air-conditioned atmosphere of the
little room.  She looked up at him with a strange fascination in her eyes,
and her mouth was open to cough out a refusal, when he spoke first.

   "This will do nicely: such a clever girl.  I am very impressed with your
diligence and willingness to serve, René.  Now, show me again, only this
time, could you undo the buttons of your blouse, slip your bra straps off,
pull the cups of your bra downwards and reveal your beautiful breasts. 
That's a good girl." He dropped his own box onto the changing table,
reached forwards and took the pump out of one of her hands and the empty
cardboard out of the other.

   Unbelievably, her hands were already moving, fumbling at the buttons,
then sure.  As if in a dream, or perhaps one of those titty-fuck movies
that Benny used to watch, she had it undone in seconds and slipped it off
her shoulders, letting it drop onto the floor behind her.  Hands...  (Her
own?) pushed at the broad straps of the lacy black bra and she felt her
tits jounce downwards.  She couldn't take her eyes of his - and always,
that open smile, as if this was the most normal thing that would happen in
all of their lives today.

   "Oh yes, they're absolutely beautiful, René.  Such nipples, like
thimbles, and aureole as big as saucers.  You have the most gorgeous tits,
my dear.  That's it, put your hands under them and take their weight.  Yes,
yes, heavy aren't they: heavy, heavy breasts.  No - not breasts.  You are
definitely in a whole different league, my dear.  They're tits: big, fat,
humongous udders.  You are everything I thought you would be, my darling.
Beautiful; you are a beautiful young slut."

   He passed her the pump.  Slowly, almost absently, Shireen placed the cup
over the torpedo of her own breast and depressed the lever.  At once, her
flesh developed a seal and the "brown saucer" began to bulge into the clear
plastic cup.

   She picked up the demonstration commentary again, but her voice was
almost without tone or inflection.  "You will see, doctor, that my
breast... sorry, my titty, quickly generates a seal and the nipple begins
to elongate into the funnel section of the cup.  As the nipple begins to
fill the tube, here, the milk would now begin to flow into the bottle
through the valve.  I can...  feel...  urrhhh; I can feel the...  agggh,
feel the tension building in my brrritttt...  Not...  painful.  Not really
any...  urgghh...  no pain, jus'..." She was suddenly panting.

   Pearson's eyes were fixed on the cone of Shireen's nipple as it
ballooned into the cup, darkening against the clear plastic as if wet, and
bottoming out in the tube at its base.  It filled the tube like a cork,
lengthening slowly until it half-filled the three-inch connection.  Shireen
stopped pumping on the lever, her breath coming in shallow little sips
through a kissable pout.

   "And now for the other one," said the ogling doctor, passing her the
second pump.

   The Junoesquely figured girl looked at her customer through eyes that
were slitted, as if she peered into bright sunlight.  Her voice was soft,
but even as she spoke she took the pump out of his hand and fitted it over
her other heavy titty.  "Well, of course...  you only really need the
one... if it...  ooohhh, if it...  gets full, you jus'...  ooohhhmaa... 
change the bott...  bottle."

   "Of course, my dear, but then, this symmetry would not be here for the
breast connoisseur to see, would it?  Something so pure." He gestured at
the pumps that now hung from both the girl's massive breasts.  "Perhaps you
could pump on both a little bit more.  I think that liquid is starting to
drip from your big titties.  Look, dear slut," and he pointed at cloudy
beads of syrup that had started to leak from the burgeoning tips and skein
into sticky strings.  "Fascinating," was all he said, and his face was now
so close to the swinging pumps that his breath might have misted the
funnels.

   Obediently, Shireen reached for the blue levers and began to pump slowly
on them both.  Her eyes had closed.  With so little space left in the
tubes, the nipples lengthened to fill them.  As capacity was reached, he
gave her another instruction.

   "You can stop now, slut.  Amazing, there's a steady dripping of
colostrum into the bottles.  I'm certain that, with a little stimulation of
the pituitary, we could have you lactating in no time at all.  Oh yes.  You
are so beautiful, René.  I want you to become mine; mine alone.  No, no,
no...  don't stop.  I want you to see if you can increase the flow a
little. I want you to put your hands on the sides of your titties and
squeeze downwards.  That's exactly what I want you to do, and look; the
flow has increased a little already.  Oh, beautiful, beautiful.  That's
right, darling slut, squeeze your huge milkers.  Give the Doctor what he
wants, you beautiful milk-cow."

   The girl was in a state of ecstasy now; the damp patch in her crotch had
expanded downwards and backwards.  She felt as if she was pissing into her
panties, and her breasts had been stimulated until the skin of her torso
had become so sensitive that it felt as if it was prickling.  She was only
vaguely aware of what was happening around her.

   "Not...  unngh...  slut.  Jus' a...  ooooohhh...  jus' a guurrrl,
unnngh..."

   "René, darling, of course you're a slut; look at yourself.  You're
standing in a changing room in front of a man you didn't know thirty
minutes ago, with your big fat titties hanging out like a cow's udders, and
a milk pump on each nipple slowly filling up with mommy-juice.  Do you
honestly think that this is the action of a normal shop assistant with
A-cup golf-ball tits?  No my dear, you are a wonderful, natural-born slut.
Just swing those bouncing babies from side to side a bit.  That's
fantastic. What a complete tart you are, girl.

   Only the sound of his voice permeated this orgy of sensation,
susurrating through her brain like a drug.  "René, would you do me the
honour of your company at dinner later?  I'd like to get to know you - the
real you, as it were.  "

   From a million miles away, "OOooohh, yes...  Doctor Purr...  purr,
ooohhh...  son, yes."

   "Good girl.  Now, perhaps we should consider this demonstration to have
been most successful and progress to a counter where I can pay?  What do
you think, my dear?" The man leaned forwards again and thumbed the release
valves on the sides of the pump caps.  There was a soft slurping noise as
the girl's massive tits each disengaged: a plop.  Then the man suddenly
turned his back on her.

   "Ah yes, good morning.  You are the manager, I take it?"

   `Shit!' it was Shucker.  Instantly, she was galvanized into action. 
Fortunately, Doctor Pearson had the presence of mind to stand in the
entrance to the cubicle, his shoulders in the jacket effectively blocking
anyone trying to look in, and for sure Shucker was wondering what was going
on.

   "Good morning, sir.  And you are looking for some help?"

   "Why no, actually.  Not in here, anyway.  That is to say, your very
capable assistant, Miss Shireen, has been helping me out with some
purchases for a colleague of mine.  She's having a baby shower, you see, my
colleague, and I was at something of a loss as to what a group of my male
faculty members might get for her.  Miss Shireen was just showing me how
certain items, err, shall we say, operate.  I asked for some privacy as I
felt more than a little embarrassed at the prospect of viewing these items
in public.  She has been most obliging." The slight emphasis on the last
word didn't seem to be lost on the prim woman, who was trying hard to peer
through the gaps.  Her head swiveled on her neck like a snake about to
strike.

   Pearson looked backwards over his shoulder, then, "My apologies, Miss
Shireen, I have blocked you in, I find."

   Shucker's eyes widened as the buxom girl moved out from behind the
customer; not so much at her appearance, as, apart from a slight flush of
embarrassment, she was as tastelessly dressed as before, but at what she
carried in both hands.  "The doctor wants to buy both," the girl said
helpfully.

   "That's fine then.  Carry on, Shireen.  I was rather more concerned that
there was no one minding the counter."

   "Oh no, Miz Shuster, we just slipped in for a moment.  Not even a
minute."

   Shuster was inspecting the customer as discretely as possible, without
staring at him directly.  His face had born the same innocent smile since
he'd first turned, and his eyes had some kind of piercing quality that
seemed to penetrate somehow.  She was momentarily disarmed.

   "Very well then, Shireen, escort the gentleman to `check out' and let's
ensure that he gets the month-end discount, if you please.  I'm sure we can
factor that into the accounts." Shucker smiled at the strangely dignified
customer: an effort to seem pleasant and amenable, but it looked akin to an
already fed and satiated snake passing up on a meal opportunity.
Shireen led the doctor to the check-out counter and began to process his
purchases, but her face was burning with embarrassment at what she had just
done and she was having trouble meeting Doctor Pearson's eyes.  He
curtailed these feelings with a peremptory statement, even as he produced a
fat, black wallet and peeled off the number of bills that was equivalent to

what was showing on the register.

   "I am very grateful to you for all your assistance.  You have really
gone out of your way to satisfy an old man's demands," her attempt to
gainsay the `old' comment was brushed aside.  "Look, René, I really like
you.  You are exactly the kind of girl that I've been looking for for a
long time.  I'd really like to spend some time with you, if you think that
might be to your liking?  Perhaps later this evening?"

   Her breath caught in her throat, "Ooooh, Doctor Pearson.  Would that
mean that we'd be on a date?"

   "Well, my dear, I suppose it would.  Look, I know that I may seem much
older and more mature than you, but I tend to see that as an advantage,
rather than a disadvantage.  After all, a girl like you often needs a firm,
mature hand in matters of the heart, don't you agree?"

   Her head was shaking in a denial of the `old' comment again, but her
mouth was forming something else, "Oh, well, yes, I suppose so, doctor. 
What would you like me to do...?"

   "Well, René, if you're agreeable, I'd like to pick you up after you
finish work; perhaps after ten, at the back gate to the compound?  The
`trader's entrance', I believe you call it.  But wait; won't your parents
be worried about you?  Won't your mother be expecting you home at the usual
hour?

   "Oh no, doctor, I can always call her.  She doesn't worry about me
staying out late.  I often spend time with friends after work; hanging out,
you know." The assertion was vague.  "I sometimes stay over with a
girlfriend too.  All I'd have to do would be..."

   "To let your mother know...  yes, René, I'm sure you can engineer things
in your own way.  Well then, I'll pick you up at ten.  And if you wouldn't
mind, I'll be selecting something for you to wear tonight in an
acquaintance's shop, upstairs.  I'll give her a call on my way back.  I
mean, I'm sure you'd like to dress the part, wouldn't you?"

   In fact, Shireen had no idea what the handsome doctor meant by `dress
the part', nor what `part' he was referring to, but she could see Shucker
starting to circle back to the counter and didn't want her to know that she
was arranging a date and fraternizing with the customers, even if it was a
dish like Doctor Pearson.  And then there was an echo in the dark recesses
of her mind that seemed to suggest that this development was a strange
extension to a unique pattern of behaviour that had been born inside her.
Something was telling her that there was a lot wrong with what had
happened, and what was happening.  She met the doctor's eyes again and the
echoes faded into the distance like a ghost.

   "Sure, that'd be great." She passed the carrier with the two boxes in it
across the counter, took the notes from his immaculately manicured fingers
and rang them through the till.  Somewhat embarrassed and shy again, she
said, "I'll see you at ten, then, doctor."

   "Yes, you will.  It might be a good idea to walk up to my friend's shop
and she can make sure your outfit is suitable to your prodigious curves. 
It's called `Strut'; it's on the top floor."

   "OK, I know it." Shireen did know of it too: something of a fetish
clothing outlet, counting among its clientele everyone from biker-chicks to
latex cross-dressers to strippers.  If you had polled the managers of every
mainstream outlet in the mall, they'd have told you that the mere presence
of a shop like Strut was undesirable, and Shireen had always wondered how
the bizarre place had managed to stay open in the face of so much negative
thinking.  `Strange that Doctor Pearson should know about Strut, too,' the
curvaceous girl mused.

   His charming smile was firmly in place as Shucker circled in to stand
behind Shireen at the counter.

   "Everything alright, sir?"

   "Yes Madame, everything's excellent.  In fact, I'd like to add my
recommendation to those of what must be many others for this delightful
young lady to be recognised as the `Employee of the Month'," he nodded
purposefully in the direction of the framed photograph of Ms.  Shucker on
the wall behind the two women.  "She has been an outstanding assistant. 
Well, goodbye, and thanks again." He turned, with a sketchy salute to his
right temple, and strode out of the shop.  Both women felt as if they
suddenly were releasing a breath they didn't realise they'd been holding,
and Shireen felt a cold current of air suddenly waft across the dew-soaked
mound of her pussy all over again.

   -----*****----

   Dressing the Part:

   Shireen had caught a lift to the top floor just after 9, having
negotiated a deal with the girl that came in for the late afternoon shift,
the elfin Clancy, to close up at ten on her own.  Shucker had gone off at
about 6:30, ostensibly for an evening class in the nearby college.  The
girls had just shrugged.

   When she'd ducked through the single door, she was immediately struck
with the smell of cheap perfume and something musky; it made her wrinkle up
her nose in distaste, and then the tall manageress that Doctor Pearson had
referred to as a `she' appeared from the back of the shop and clicked
towards Shireen on towering red stilettos.

   "I'm a friend of Doctor Pearson's.  He..."

   She was immediately interrupted by the vision in front of her, "Oh yes,
dear.  He popped in earlier and `briefed me', shall we say," the ladyboy
tittered, her enormous fake breasts jiggling in the barely restraining blue
spandex dress that plunged in the front almost to her navel, a tapering
gauze panel from the gulf of her braless cleavage reaching into the lower
point.  The hem of the dress did nothing to cover the ladyboy's matching
satin panties, and Shireen was certain that she could see the bulge of male
genitalia in the clearly visible mound in the front.  Permanently hard
nipples on the silicon tits were pushing fingers into the material on
either side of her cleavage.

   Shireen kept trying to look away, embarrassed by the careless display,
but she found that the vision that the ladyboy represented fascinated her,
and her eyes kept dragging back to the sexually stimulating creature.

   "Doc Pearson was quite specific, my dear, and I have to admit that you
certainly have the figure for what he intends.  Oh my goodness, what are
these..." Before Shireen could draw away, thin, bony fingers reached out
and cupped her huge mammaries on either side, pressing inwards and upwards
as if experimentally estimating their weight and sensitivity.  "...  a
double E?"

   Shireen gasped in surprise, but felt constrained not to resist the
attentions of this strange transgender in an effort to avoid upsetting
someone whom Doctor Pearson appeared to know quite well.  "Well... 
well..." she stammered, "I'm a 36 triple G, actually.  Doctor Pearson..."

   The bouncing tranny interrupted again, "Triple Gs!  Oh darling, what a
lucky girl.  So naturally gifted." She placed a conscious emphasis on the
word `natural' that Shireen couldn't miss it, but continued kneading the
girl's enormous titties right there, in the middle of the cluttered shop.
"Yes, triple Gs, well, we know what to do with these now, don't we!"
Actually, Shireen had no idea what the creature was talking about, but
decided it was easier to be led than complain, and she was beginning to be
aware that a clock was counting down somewhere to the time she was supposed
to meet her date.  `I must be ready,' she thought to herself, `I mustn't be
late.'

   The vision in blue was suddenly all business, and bade Shireen wait
there while she locked the shop temporarily in order to provide her client
`special attention'.  Then, she clicked into the back of the shop again to
emerge seconds later with a large but lightweight cardboard box that she
dropped onto a countertop, removed some kind of strappy halter device from
it, and then turned back to face Shireen.

   "Quickly then, girl.  Get out of your clothes.  We don't have much time.
Oh, and call me Mandy, darling," and the ladyboy simpered again as she
helped an increasingly dazed Shireen to shuck off her blouse and begin
unfastening her bra.  As she reached behind her to start unhooking, she
suddenly flashed on having performed this act earlier in the day, and for
another almost total stranger, but the sudden release of tension in the
garment and the freedom her bosom then found to jounce forwards and down
drove the ideas out of her head.

   "Oooh darling, you are the perfect slut.  Doctor Pearson said that you
had the perfect figure.  Have to say, darling, I didn't believe that there
could be anyone like that, but he's right, again.  You have giant titties,"
she thumbed Shireen's nipples and they almost popped erect in their
apparent eagerness to encourage the tranny's attentions.  "Now, the harness
fits like this...."

   With no further explanation, and certainly with no recourse to asking
Shireen for her permission, the ladyboy began fitting the leather strapping
of the tit-cage around Shireen's torso, fastening buckles around her back
that bit deep into her underbust, support straps that went over the
shoulders and lifted her massive tits until they projected in front of her
like missiles in a military parade, then cinching belts that encircled her
flesh and bit into the curves, turning her udders into grossly distended
progressions of bobbling meat, like the tapered curves on a balustrade.

   As the tranny tightened the straps that passed around Shireen's breasts
as close to her torso as possible, she began to feel them bouncing and
vibrating as they swelled with blood, the veins began to bulge and cord
beneath the surface of the skin, and the developing tension began to force
her whole bosom into erection.  "Oh yes, you look great, darling.  Fuck,
your tits are fucking enormous," and, as Shireen released an involuntary
moan, "Feeling your slut coming out now, huh baby?" With this, Mandy
grasped the bulging knobs of darkening nipples and pulled at the cones,
prompting a succession of barely suppressed moans in the girl.

   Shireen looked down at the fingers pulling on her teats and felt as if
she were back in that hazy experience in the cubicle.  `It was the dream. I
am in the dream.  I am the dream...' was the thought that floated at the
forefront of her thinking like a Tantalus.  Then she saw something else, as
equally indistinguishable from the new reality as that reality emerged from
the fog of her past.  As the sexual tension in the room rose to the point
at which it assailed the senses on all levels, the ladyboy's penis had
hardened and lengthened into an erection that first poked above the
waistband of her bikini panties, and then lowered slowly forwards like a
level-crossing gate to jut hugely in front of her.  Shireen noticed that
Mandy seemed to have no testes, and that her scrotum formed a flattened,
walnut-sized bump on the underside of her cock, like the knot on a dog's
penis.

   Noticing, the focus of Shireen's attention, the tranny giggled inanely,
made a half-hearted effort to tuck the upward-curving fuck-stick back into
the tiny confines of her panties, and then explained, "Sorry, darling.  My
clitty obviously likes you a lot too.  You can hold it if you like, while I
get you dressed," accompanied by more falsetto giggling.

   Even as her mind told her she didn't do things like this, and her mouth
was framing the words, "I don't think I do..." Shireen's hand was reaching
for the bobbing cock of its own volition, and the words died in her throat,
unuttered.  It was hot in her palm and very hard.  As her fingers began to
wank up and down the thick shaft, she noticed that Mandy had paused in her
fiddling with the tit-cage and that her voice had softened and dropped an
octave.

   "Oh Titty-fuck, that feels so nice.  A bit harder, baby.  Mmmmmnn,
that's gorgeous," and then, breathlessly, "I love it when we girls with big
boobies can help each other out, don't you, Shireen?"

   At this point, having been focused almost entirely on the feel of the
ladyboy's pulsing fuck-meat in her hand, Shireen suddenly realized how
unaccountably far this bizarre encounter had gone, lifted her eyes to see
Mandy with her spandex top pulled down and pinching her inflated nipples
viciously between carmine-coloured talons.  "Bend forwards, darling, and
let me fuck my clitty into your udder-crack?  A bit lower baby.  No, you'll
have to kneel." As Shireen complied, the ladyboy took her own cock in hand,
placed her other under the girl's chin and squatted slightly.  As Mandy
fucked her hot meat into the rift between Shireen's udders, she lifted her
chin and forced her to make eye contact.

   "Baby," came the gasped falsetto, as Mandy slid her penis into the
sweaty cleavage, "I haven't cum for so long I'm going to paint your slut
tits with my clitty-juice right now." As the ladyboy's eyes fluttered
closed and she started to moan, seconds away from an orgasm, Shireen's
mind, which had been overloaded with the bizarre nature of the experience
and a wealth of new sensations, suddenly clicked into hyper drive.

   The first cogent thought was to wonder where the cum was going to come
from, given the fact that Mandy didn't seem to have the balls necessary to
produce any; the second was a panicky vision of her meeting Dr.  Pearson
with blobs of sticky white sperm spattered all over her face and tits and
staining the new clothes that she was going to wear.  Her response was
visceral - almost instinctive.  She pushed against Mandy's thighs and
twisted her chin out of the cupped hand, then grabbed at the huge pulsing
dick that emerged from between her breasts and sucked the purple head into
her mouth in one movement.  Mandy responded with a squawk, then took a hank
of Mandy's hair in both fists and tried to fuck her cock down the choking
girl's throat.

   As the tranny's cock exploded, Shireen could feel the bulb jerk at the
back of her mouth and fought to control her gag-reflex as the first stream
of `clitty-juice' jetted off the back of her tongue and past her glottis.
The next second, Mandy thrust so hard in her ecstasy that her throbbing
cock-meat slid past Shireen's retching gullet and fucked its full length
into the shop assistant's slutty throat.  Shireen felt her nose grind into
Mandy's pubis and the knot of shriveled scrotum pass her teeth and press
down on her tongue as the shaft of ladyboy dick spasmed violently into her
throat.  Five, then six massive contortions surged into her, then a
seventh.

   Reddish spots had begun to dance in her eyes, even though closed.  Air
was an issue.  She badly needed to breathe - and yet her self-absorbed
incredulity at what was happening overrode even this.  In an act that
amazed them both, Shireen reached around Mandy's thighs and pressed herself
even harder into the tranny's body, swallowing, gulping, gorging on the
hard rod of ladyboy cock.  Mandy's clitty-cock was so far down Shireen's
throat that she couldn't taste her semen, just feel the spurts of jism in
the constriction of her throat.  Her face had become an extension of her
cunt.  It was strangely liberating.

   At last, the cock began to soften and Mandy's groans and moans dissolved
into rapid panting.  Eventually, Mandy pulled her cock-head from Shireen's
lathing tongue with a slurping `pop' and giggled again, before reaching
under Shireen's armpits and helping the bemused girl back into a standing
position.

   "I think I'm in love.  You are such an amazing clitty sucker, baby, and
I want to play with you so much more, but you really have to get dressed. I
have just the thing," Mandy said, tucking her now limp and deflated cock
back into the skimpy leopard-skin printed nylon.

   ----****---

   An Assignation:

   Twenty minutes later, the door to Strut slammed behind her and she was
clicking across the tiles towards the lifts, swinging her hips in
exaggerated movements from side to side and trying to stick her tits
forwards while projecting her booty-ass backwards, all on the hasty
instructions of the ladyboy.

   "You're a slut, baby.  Ya'gotta walk like a slut, talk like a slut and
sit like a slut.  Ya'gotta swing your phat ass from side to side like your
butt cheeks are on independent suspension, baby girl.  Make your big
titties bounce with every step, and look at everyone you pass by as if you
can see them dribbling for what's in your panties." She sniggered, "Well,
in this case, what's in your cunt cage, darlin', which would be your dirty
little cunt, coz you ain't gonna be wearin' panties, are you baby?"
...another titter.  "Try it like this..."

   The tutorial hadn't been a long one, but Shireen felt that she was doing
pretty well, considering she was sashaying along on a pair of black patent
stilettos that had a seven-inch heel and only a one-inch platform.  Her
main problems were actually her tits and her ass.

   The ladyboy, Mandy, had painted her in some of the most outrageous
clothing that Shireen had ever seen, and that meant `seen' in porn
magazines, dominatrix cartoons or Japanese manga comics.  She'd always been
taught by her conservative mother never to wear or do anything that she
felt might make her mom ashamed, and apart from the odd brief interlude
with Benny, that had been the foundation stone for her behaviour.  Now, in
the space of a single day, she'd indulged in lewd exhibitionism and given a
shemale a blowjob, to say nothing of now tripping through the mall like a
crack whore, dressed in things that did nothing to cover her body - in
fact, the opposite.

   Her legs were covered in very sheer, charcoal silk stockings, with a
silver seam sewn into the back of the legs above a Cuban heel.  These were
clipped into a low-waisted girdle with six broad straps on either thigh and
pulled high to form a series of peaks in the top panels.  A low-rider skirt
had been slipped up over this girdle; basically, a very narrow band of
black shiny spandex that was so tight across her meaty buttocks that it was
semi-transparent and kept rucking up over the globes of her ass.  When
pulled up to her waist, it wasn't wide enough to round under the lower
curve of her substantial bubble butt, and if pulled down, would tend to
roll from the waistband.  She kept tugging at it ineffectually, principally
because her stocking tops and the dipping straps of the girdle were on full
display to anyone who cared to look (and everyone, it seemed, `cared to
look'), but also because she wasn't wearing any panties.  Mandy hadn't even
given her a thong, but instead, had passed a kind of leather belt around
her waist that fastened with buckles on either side and had a crotch strap
that passed from a shiny chromium ring in the cleft of her buttocks,
plunged into the crack of her ass, bisected the bud of her anus and then
was drawn up tight, separating the lips of her pussy and rubbing her inner
labia and exposed clitoris, before snapping into another ring at the front.

   This leather `support belt', as Mandy had called it, was made of
doeskin, but induced such undeniably pleasurable sensations wherever it
touched - and it touched everywhere - that it made walking something she
had to really concentrate on, leave alone the butt-swaying movements and
exhibitionist posture that she was supposed to adopt.  Indeed, even before
she'd left the shop, Shireen had felt the viscous liquid that seemed to be
dribbling in increasing quantities from her pussy soak right through the
crotch strapping and begin running down the insides of her thighs.  In a
moment of near panic, she imagined that these dribbles had now soaked into
the insides of the stockings and were a part of the slut-show that she was
now giving as she got further from the relative safety of the shop.  This
was enough to make her totter to a stop, look wildly about her for signs
that she had become the centre of attention, and feel the surge of her
anxiety rise to flood her mind.  Yet, even as she realized that people were
staring wide-eyed at her, faces frowning with distaste and shock, or purely
vulgar lust, she found herself moving forwards again, her empurpled tits
jiggling and bouncing in the strictures of the harness.

   As she forced herself back into the staccato rhythm of her slutty-whore
walk, she caught the flash of her own reflection in the broad panel of a
store window, and was herself shocked: the torpedoes of her titanic tits
were projecting unnaturally forward in their bindings, the tit cage plainly
visible beneath the filmy gauze of a bolero jacket that could not be
fastened above the bottom three buttons and finished four inches short of
the top of the girdle.  Then, the pale skin of her slim waist showed in
sharp contrast to the strappy black emphasis that the clothing placed on
her breasts and butt.  Shireen's mouth snapped shut and she quickened her
step; she was beginning to tune in to the comments from late shoppers and
the shop assistants that were leaving after a slow ending to their day and
a horror, spreading through her mind like fatigue, made her lower lip,
gaudily rouged by Mandy to match her heavy blue eye-shadow and back-combed
hair, tremble and quiver.

   "Jeezus, would ya' look at the bimbo in the black..."

   "Andrew, take your lecherous eyes off that slut this instant.  She
should be tarred and feathered if you ask me..."

   "Hey girl, how much for a blowjob and a piss in your mouth?"

   "Yeah, Bobo, you can see right through her clothes.  Fuck, what a tart."

   "Get back on the streets, whore.  You shouldn't be walking around in a
place like this."

   "Momma, what's that woman doing dressed like that?"

   Shireen got to the lift, wondering why she hadn't turned on her
slut-heels and run back to Strut, tear everything off and demand her own
clothes to be returned, but she endured two minutes of jerky downward
motion, a creep old enough to be her grandfather pawing at the suspenders
and stocking tops, and a half dozen other lift-users, who tried so hard to
keep as much distance between themselves and the girl as they could that
she wondered if she wasn't also beginning to show the outward signs of some
disease.

   As the lift doors opened on the ground floor, she slapped at the hands
of the old man, heard another male passenger say, "You gotta pay for ass
like that, dude," and click-clacked out of the lift, heading for the back
exit.  Her face was burning, particularly as all eyes seemed to turn on her
as she stepped off the ramp into the parking lot, stumbling momentarily as
a spiked heel caught in a crack in the tarmac, but she was relieved to see
a limousine with darkly tinted windows parked just inside the entry and
someone waving, beckoning her, standing by the front wing.

   As she left the gawking knot of home-goers and got nearer, she saw that
the one beckoning seemed to be a female chauffeur, wearing the obligatory
black uniform and cap, but with an incredibly short mini skirt that, like
her own, had a hemline finishing well above the tops of her stockings.  She
also seemed to be shouting, open-mouthed, though Shireen could hear nothing
but the murmuring of the group behind her still waiting for their pick-ups.
As she got closer, she realized that the woman wasn't trying to shout, but
had something in her mouth; something like a tubular gag attached with thin
straps that pulled at the corners of her mouth.  But that was not the sight
that brought a very sharp sense of discomfort to the girl.  Another
inverted Y-shaped strap, that vertically bisected the chauffeur's forehead,
led to identical shiny metal hooks that had been inserted into each nostril
and pulled tight.  This had the effect of forcing her nostrils to lift and
flare wide.  Glancing at the older woman with a sense of attempted
discretion, Shireen thought to herself that she had never seen anything
quite like it before, but then, she was so far into unknown territory
herself and so removed from the naïve young woman that she had thought of
herself as being, even earlier in the day, that every minute brought new
wonder.

   The woman had a pair of massive breasts that were the mirror image of
her own, sans tit-cage.  They stretched the front of her white blouse and
forced the jacket to gape widely above the bottom buttons, her thin tie
falling into a cleavage that appeared to swallow it.  The beckoning hand
dropped to the chauffeur's side, the leather driving glove pressing in to
her ample hip.  Shireen could see nothing in the dark glass of the
limousine's windows.

   As she neared the car, the driver motioned Shireen to walk around to the
other side of the limo's passenger compartment, and for a few moments, gave
the garishly dressed girl the chance to observe her face more closely. 
Indeed, the lady driver made every effort to avoid eye contact, colouring
beneath heavy make-up and studiously focusing on the handle of the door.

   What Shireen had taken for a ball-gag of some kind was, in fact, a
tubular plug, about two inches in diameter and fastened into a steel ring
that was itself forcing the woman's mouth open by means of silver hooks
that pulled her mouth into a wide `Joker' smile and pinned the lips back to
reveal the teeth.  A bead of saliva had formed on the Cupid's bow in her
lower lip and was threatening to fall.  She was a little surprised to see
that the female chauffeur was probably middle-aged, maybe late forties,
even early fifties, with graying hair pulled back into a bun.  Quite apart
from her massive bust, jutting proudly in spite of her apparent age,
Shireen also noticed that the woman's leather skirt was incredibly tight
across her big ass and had a strap belt built into the hemline that had
been hauled in just beneath the curve of her full round buttocks until the
woman's thighs bulged out beneath the constriction.  The chauffeur looked
slutty too, but more subtly than the younger woman, somehow.  She opened
the door and waved Shireen inside.

   Ducking through the door, Shireen was aware of two things: firstly, that
the nose-cones of her strapped-up rocket tits were so suffused with blood
that they had begun to look bruised and blotchy, but secondly, that the
Doctor responsible for her nightmarish evening was sitting on a bench seat
with his back to a shuttered driving compartment.  He greeted her
immediately.

   "René, it's such a pleasure to see you again, and so beautifully
attired. I can see that Mandy worked her magic again.  I always knew that
my efforts on her behalf would be rewarded.  Take that seat, facing me. 
There, you look absolutely magnificent.  Quite the accomplished slut."

   Shireen was immediately angered, the denials and vitriolic rejections of
his whole manipulation of her state and condition boiling in her mind and
bubbling onto the tip of her tongue.  Consequently, she was amazed at
herself when she responded, "Thank you Doctor Pearson.  Mandy helped me to
dress, just the way you wanted." She thrust her quivering udders forwards
in emphasis, helping them to bounce vulgarly by pressing in on them from
the sides with her arms, then gulped in realization of what she had said.
It was as if there was a total disconnect between what she was thinking and
feeling and the realities of what she was saying and doing.  A strong sense
of panic began to rise in her again, seeking release, and yet being denied
by something dark and oppressive in her mind that lurked in the shadows
like a carnivore.

   His eyes still moving across the luscious curves of her defilement, the
Doctor issued a command, "Alana, get your fat slut-ass in here.  I want you
to assist our new consort with her plugs.  Now René, you want to help me to
find the real girl inside you, don't you?  I'm good at that.  Very, very
good."

   Shireen felt nausea rising into her gorge, then recoiled instinctively
as the cow-titted chauffeur climbed into the back of the car, closed the
door behind her with a soft click and knelt in front of the girl, careful
to leave a clear view of the girl's body to the man now situated behind
her. As Shireen watched, another drool of clear spittle begin to lengthen
beneath the tubular insert in the gag as the older woman reached into a
small drawer between the rear seats and removed two four-inch rolls of
rubber with long, thin tubes attached.  These both plugged into a large
black bulb that swung like a pendulum as it was lifted from the drawer.

   "What's that for...?" Shireen began to ask, but was immediately
interrupted.  In her head, the fleeting memory of her own self-control
receded into non-thought.

   Sternly, the doctor raised a commanding finger and wagged it at Shireen.
"I don't want you to talk unless I say so, René.  You understand that,
don't you, beautiful girl?  My sister is going to help you to plug up. 
Equip you as all good sluts are equipped.  It would be better if you turned
around and knelt on the seat with your legs spread wide.  That's good. 
Knees a little further apart if you please.  Better.  Now, Alana, remove
the crotch harness first.  Oh yes.  Look at the slime coming out of her
cunt already.  You really are a natural, René.  Oh my dear, I've never seen
quite so much.  It's running down your thighs like flour paste.  What a
disgusting cow-slut you're going to be."

   Shireen had begun to sweat with fear.  Her body was completely beyond
her own control now, and her thoughts fluttered through her mind like birds
in a cage.  `Jeezus, she's his sister.  He's got his sister trussed up like
a turkey and driving his fucking car.  I won't let her touch me...  I won't
turn around...  I won't spread my legs and let them look at my pussy...  I
won't let her touch me...  I'm not a natural slut...,' even as she did each
of these things at the instruction of the grinning Doctor.  Somewhere, the
irony that she was complying with each and every one of his whims, just as
Alana must have done, flashed in her over-stimulated brain like an overload
warning light.  Her traitorous body continued to betray her mind.

   Alana carefully removed the crotch strap by reaching between Shireen's
thighs, under the girdle and unsnapping the buckle, then gently pulled the
dripping leather back through her cleft to expose her sloppy cunt and the
pucker of her asshole.  Then, the chauffeur swiped one of the rubber tubes
through the mess in her cuntal groove to lubricate it before pushing it up
against the girl's anus and beginning to apply pressure.

   Inside her head, Shireen was screaming, `No, not my ass.  I've never had
anything in my ass.  Don't push like that.  Ooooh fuck, it's going in. 
Aaaaahhhhh.'

   As another stream of fluid began to drool from the gag in her mouth,
Alana used her forefinger to push the first tube deep into the girl's tight
anus and make sure that it was seated deep within her bowel, then she
slipped the other tube into the girl's slimy twat and repeated the bedding
process, but with two fingers this time.  Shireen could feel the woman's
long varnished fingernails probing into her cunt and the rubber tubes
lodging deep inside her gut.  She had begun to pant.  Taking care to avoid
pinching either of the rubber tubes, Alana mutely refastened the crotch
strap, snugging it tightly into the cleft between the girl's majestic
buttocks to ensure that the rubber tubes could not be ejected, and then
turned to face her brother.  With a deeply satisfied tone of voice, Doctor
Pearson spoke.

   "You look amazing, René.  Absolutely amazing.  I am running out of
suitable epithets to describe the inner slut that your body begins to
express.  Turn and sit again, beautiful slut.  There, that's perfect," as
Alana passed the bulb inside Shireen's stockinged leg and placed it in her
brother's hand.  "Do the expanders feel good inside you?"

   Shireen was caught in a downward spiral of internalised shrieking, `No,
you fucking pervert.  They hurt like hell.  Get this fucking dirty slag
away from me and let me out of this car.  I don't want to do this anymore.
Stop looking at me like I'm a piece of roasted meat, you bastard.  Oh
Mother, help me...  help me.' What she said was, "Yes, Doctor Pearson, they
feel really good.  Do I please you?  Would you like me to sit like this so
you can see my cunt drip?"

   Actually, I want you to keep your knees tightly together, René, for as
long as you can anyway.  I'm going to give you your first experience of
slut expansion, my dirty darling, and I want you to enjoy it.  Are you
enjoying yourself, you beautiful slut-cow?"

   A synapse shorted in the girl's head and her brain suddenly flooded with
adrenaline and a hormonal rush that she'd never experienced before.  Lights
began to dance in her eyes and she felt her face grinning with delight. 
Suddenly, the shrieking of the nun in her brain subsided and died.  The nun
would never trouble her again.

   "Oh yes, Doctor Pearson.  This is all so wonderful and so new.  I hope I
can please you." Her eyes watched him begin to squeeze the bulb in his hand
and experienced the corresponding twitch in her cunt and ass as the rubber
tubes began to fill with air and telescope.  She suddenly felt very full.

   "That's Alana's job, my dear."

   With that, the doctor slapped his sister across the cheek, removed her
cap to reveal the complicated strapping of the bridle surrounding her head
and said, "I'm ready, sister."

   The kneeling chauffeur immediately reached for her brother's fly and
carefully unzipped him, then pulled his hugely erect cock from within the
confines of his white brushed-cotton underpants.  As she did so, she
reached towards her own mouth, hooked a finger into the chromium ring that
adorned the front of the plug, and worked it forwards, dragging it from the
ring gag with a slurping sound.  The removal of the tubular plug was
followed by a run of drool from the older woman's yawning orifice, and then
she leaned forwards and placed her brother's cock head in the centre of the
ring, immediately removing her doe-skin gloved hands and placing them on
the bulges of her own thighs.

   Shireen, fighting now to accommodate the slowly expanding length and
girth of the rubber cocks in her own cunt and asshole, tried to ignore the
growing pain and focus instead on the Doctor's hands; one massaging the
rubber pump bulb and the other slipping around the back of his own sister's
head and slowly pulling her onto the shaft of his cock, drilling through
the ring and burying his fuck-meat in her unresisting throat.

   Her thoughts registered no surprise that the man she revered as her
saviour and mentor was fucking his cock into his own sister's throat.  She
was fighting to keep her knees together as the cocks at back and front
forcibly expanded into her uterus and her bowel, trying to relax her
internal musculature as they each surpassed ten inches in length and four
inches in diameter.  The sweat now ran down her angelically smiling face,
as a sensation began to mount in her slutty cunt and anus that fed on the
pain.

   Doctor Pearson now had hold of the bun on the back of his sister's head
and was pumping her head backwards and forwards on his cock, seemingly
entranced by the sight of his new slut's bulging stomach and painfully
spreading hips and the sounds of his disgusting sister as she choked on his
throbbing penis.  He looked away from Shireen's impending first orgasm as a
lifelong slut and regarded his sibling's personal struggles to breathe.

   "You disgust me, Alana.  You tit-sluts all disgust me.  I'm going to put
you in the milking pool now.  Your sorry face-cunt has been replaced, and I
think she's gong to be even dirtier than you ever were." He shifted the
focus of his attention once more, "René, I want you to invite your mother
over tomorrow.  You said that her tits are bigger than yours, didn't you?"
As his sneer turned back on the groaning Shireen, he realized that she was
beyond responding to any outside stimuli.  Everything that was happening to
her was now a part of the turmoil that ultimate corruption entails.  His
hand pumped even faster at the bulb, while his eyes fixated on the tubes,
quivering as they met the exposed bases of the dildos.  His ministrations
were meeting resistance now as the expanding cocks reached their tensile
limits, and Shireen, stuffed with the two industrial-strength rubber
balloons, now over 14 inches long and five inches in diameter, was keening
constantly, the pain fueling her overloaded brain with erotic sensation and
forcing her closer towards a convulsive orgasm.  Her body was still trying
to expel the enormous cocks, but the strapping of the crotch harness
prevented their egress, only permitting the lips of her twat and her anal
ring to open and stretch agonisingly wide, revealing the glistening black
circumference of the slut-expanders.

   As she began to cum, Pearson could feel his own orgasm boiling into the
base of his cock.  With the slut on the back seat beginning to flop
uncontrollably from side to side in the throes of a massive mental and
physical explosion, added to the sight of her grossly distended belly
filled with the cocks he controlled, he dropped the bulb of the balloon
dildo pump, took his sister's head in both hands, withdrew his own rod from
the ring in her mouth and pressed the purple head against her dilated
nostrils, carefully unloading the spurts of his seed into the slut's nose
and sinuses.

   `Always in control' he thought, smugly, "Always in control.  Just like
any good doctor.

   Finis

   June 2012

   (C) Doctor O.