Dr Hooters  Pt. XXXVI



"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.











































