Dr Hooters - Pt XLII by the Road Dog 1401 OCEAN DRIVE The boy lurched to his hands and his knees, wincing with the pain of the effort. He felt as though he had swallowed half the ocean, and the fierce summer sun, beating down on him now unpro- tectedly after several stormy days, hurt his eyes. Seeing a white house with green shutters up off the beach, he began crawl- ing towards it. His long, thick penis dragged in the sand behind him as he crawled, and he found he needed to lift it with one hand as he crawled. ********************************************************* Amanda awoke with a start, finding herself the center of a circle of eyes. She looked around. There was the slender blonde who helped her inside last night, but the others were all strangers, of course. There was a pretty, coffee-and-milk-colored mulatto girl with white ribbons in her hair, and a tall, thin, pretty redhead in a green shirt. A Korean girl with beautiful long dark hair sat at the kitchen table, and there was a slim, bottle-blonde older woman with a tired expression looking up at her over a cup of steaming coffee. Amanda glanced over at the little, dark-haired, angel-faced girl with the pixie cut and the khaki shorts. Next to her was a chunky, freckled girl in the overstuffed armchair. That rounded out the circle. The slender blonde put a piping hot cup of coffee on the table next to Amanda's sofa-bed, and Amanda sat up to drink it. There was a collective intake of breath as the blanket dropped away from her, revealing her magnificent, trash-can-sized breasts. "I didn't believe it when you told me, Karen", said Pixie Cut, rising from her chair and moving in closer. "Its still kind of hard to believe when you see it up close." Freckles, Red, and White Ribbons nodded in agreement. "I'm sorry, Amanda", said the long-legged, slender blonde. "Good morning, even though its four in the afternoon. I should intro- duce you around. Mu name is Karen Pollock, and these are my friends and housemates." "Her name is Courtney Penrose, and next to her is Chrissy Sim- mons", she continued, pointing out the slim readhead and the dark-haired, angel-faced girl in the khaki shorts. "I'm Susan Kim", said the Korean girl, sitting down on the bed with Amanda. We were cheerleaders together last year in high school. This is kind of like a little reunion for us. Karen put her hand on the coffee-colored girl's shapely shoulder. "This's Tarah Morrison, a friend of Susan's from work, and that's Candy Ogden", she said, indicating the older woman. "She works in town. Her daughter's out on the beach, playing." Freckles introduced herself as Ginny Marshall. "I sleep in the basement", she said. "Pleased to meet you!" Amanda did another quick mental sweep. She wasn't able to detect anything untoward from any of the other women, no fear, no dis- taste. Just ordinary human benevolence and more than a little curiosity. "I'm very glad to meet you all", Amanda replied. "I've had a very rough couple of days. Thank you for taking me in." Karen explained to the rest that Amanda had come climbing up from the beach late the previous night, scratching at the door about four o' clock. She had been shipwrecked in the storm, and mirac- ulously, had survived almost twelve hours in the water, finally washing up right outside the cottage. She decided against burdening them with the story Amanda had told her the previous night. No one would believe it. She wasn't sure if she believed it. Eight years old? Kidnapped by a six- breasted demoness? Filling a pool with tit-milk? Mind-reading and lightning-bolt throwing? C'mon! It had seemed real enough last night, in the dark, with the wind still howling around enough to send a chill down her spine. But it was four o' clock in the afternoon now. She had been to town, and work, and back, and the everyday world had washed all that fantastic mumbo-jumbo out of her head. One by one, all the women in the cottage came up and gave Amanda a brief hug. Then Ashley bounced into the cottage from the beach, saw Amanda sitting up on the sofa-bed, and voiced every- one's unspoken thought. "Oh! You're awake now", she squeaked. "You sure got some big titties, don't you?" Candy grabbed her daughter and pulled her off to the bedroom, as the rest of them doubled over with laughter. ************************************* [On the telephone] "Dr. Morton told me I'd never be receptive to any man unless he had a big dick! He told me straight out, Cary, you can spend the rest of your life fooling yourself, or you can face facts. You love big dicks, and you won't orgasm unless you've got an abso- lute whopper stuck up inside you!" "No, sweety, I'm not lieing. That's just what he said. Now I know I was right in getting rid of Bruce when I did." "Yes, he was dishy, wasn't he? Even I'd have to admit that. But I got so **tired** of pretending that his little needle-dick turned me on. You know yourself how fragile his ego was. He'd strut around the house like he was the stud-god from South Beach, and every night I was masturbating myself to sleep." "No, no, not even Seth. He was better than Bruce, but not much. Long is only part of the equation. Thick counts, too. Yes, I know. Where is any of us going to find a real man these days?" "Yeah. Yeah. He went on and on, Dr. Morton did. You know how these shrinks are. Talked about sexual programming and the self- defeating nature of fetishism. Doesn't matter in the least, re- ally. I need the big meat. I'm talking **inches** here. Black, white, brown, beautiful, repulsive, none of it matters. Just size. Yeah, I know it sounds superficial, but were talking or- gasms, not true love." "Wait a minute, honey. I hear someone knocking at the front door. No I have no idea who it might be. Postman's been and gone an hour ago. I'll be right back!" **** **** **** **** **** "Darling! You won't believe what washed up right outside the cottage! Loved talking to you, but I gotta go! " -click- ********************************************* Over the following days, Amanda settled into the routine at the cottage, if anything could be said to be routine in a house where eight young women, and one little girl, came and went at irregu- lar intervals for work, school, play, or shopping. Most of the young women living at 1401 Ocean Drive found it difficult enough juggling their time and responsibilities, so Amanda found a niche opening for her as cook and housekeeper. She moved into the basement with Ginny, a not-so-slim, somewhat unsophisticated brunette with an explosion of freckles all over her face, legs, arms, and body. By a stroke of good fortune, Ginny was a competent seamstress, and soon, since Ginny didn't work, Amanda had the beginnings of an adequate wardrobe. "I don't think you've ever had a bra fit you, Amanda, have you?", Ginny asked, pinning Amanda into her latest creation. "Boobs like yours must cost you a fortune. Still, I gotta admit, it would be nice..." She nodded her head in the direction of her own moderate bosom. "I'm a 36B. Have been since the eighth grade. Nothing to complain about, but not anything to turn heads either." Having Amanda to do the cooking, cleaning, washing, ironing, and yardwork freed the rest of the girls to spend more time on their own pursuits, and before long, the dark haired castaway with her enormous breasts came to be accepted as a necessary part of the household. Before the first week was over, Amanda was fast friends with them all. Despite her acceptance by the young women in the cottage, the disappearance of Amanda's family concerned her deeply. The first week, Amanda tried calling her mother's number several times a day. There was never any answer. She tried calling the club where her mother worked, but no one there recalled having seen Amanda's mother in over three weeks. She wheedled the number of her mother's supervisor out of one of the dancers at the club and gave it a try. The phone rang, and someone picked up. There was a loud clicking on the line, but no voice. Frightened now that someone would discover her where- abouts from a call-back service, Amanda slammed the receiver on the cradle, and gave up the telephone as a means of contacting her family. Desperately, she turned to her burgeoning mental powers. Little by little, she was able to extend the reach of her mental listen- ing until it extended far down the coast from Flagler County. It was no use. Her telepathic abilities were still too unfocused to be able to pinpoint a familiar mental pattern out of the general background noise that six million human souls generated. She learned one thing, though. Someone or something was looking for her, powerful and malevo- lent, and it wouldn't be pleasant for Amanda to be found before her abilities were fully developed. She felt the touch of the evil force brush against her mind as she lay in the cool base- ment, Ginnie was sewing away beside her, totally oblivious of Amanda's feverish mental activity. Breaking out in a cold sweat, Amanda sat up jackknife-straight in her bed. "What's the matter, Mandy?", asked the kindly Ginny. "Having a bad dream?" "I'm so sorry, Ginny", Amanda replied. "Its not fair of me, staying here like this. Its so dangerous for the rest of you!" Ginny looked at Amanda with a puzzled look on her face. "What- ever are you talking about, Mandy?", she continued, returning to her sewing. "You say the oddest things at times." Amanda balled her fists. It was so frustrating. She hadn't told anyone her story since her arrival, except Karen, and it was obvious Karen didn't believe her. Never before had she felt so alone, so powerless, so scared.