Dr. Hooters  Pt. XXXVII



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.




















































