"Mmmmmmmmmmm pppphhphpphphpphphphphp."

There was that noise again. With that noise just the tiniest, the very slightest adjustment of the silktex thing inside her - just letting her know that it was watching her - that it was keeping an eye on things and making sure that she didn't lose any of that painted on positivity. Not enough to torture her - oh no not enough for that - but just enough that Dorothea would KNOW that she was being watched and being controlled by it. What can that have been like for the poor poor woman? That she was here, like this, in this situation and being controlled by Miss Chest from a distance and at the same time at the mercy of this man who was in the process of suspending her by her own tits - as if that wasn't enough - this thing up inside her - like an alien thing with a mind of its own - having made itself part of her, having latched onto her deeper femininity and now using that to further subjugate her. What can that have been like for her? One could only, but only hazard a guess at that. And yet as those final few notches were yanked on the hoist as she for one and all lost her footing - she was having to contend with that and all that went with it. She went a deathly pale as for the first time she went into free swing and free revolution. Her long delicious legs splayed - they spread, and they flailed and yet it was a flailing and a splaying on a reducing basis. They splayed but that just added to the torment at the base of her breasts - and it seemed that if she splayed and flailed too much, then the swell of her blue, translucent tit flesh was emphasised and furthered more. Her udders became more bluer - her nipple teats became darker, more erect - seemingly more thick and rubbery, but at the same time her complexion lost some of its colour. It seemed to drain from her as she realised that she was hanging, and swinging and revolving by her tits.

"Keep your arms limp at your sides Jugsalina. Show this delicious man how subservient you are at all times whatever you are going through."

The smile stayed painted on her face even as Chest's voice tumbled through her psyche - but that was what it was, painted on. It had been instinct for her to raise her hands, try to get at the rope that was binding her udders so expertly and so tightly - try to take the strain - try to take the strain off the bases of her tits. It wouldn't have mattered. It wouldn't have mattered even if Chest's voice had not instructed otherwise. She wouldn't have got her finger through the rope to take that strain and she would have broken perfect sluttish nails if she had tried. But as the voice crackled through so her arms went limp as her sides. Just bent slightly at the elbow - the suspension meaning that her torso was just hanging a little at an angle - her elbows just slightly behind that angle. The Chest having an amazing insight into what looked and felt subservient. In the first instance the man, the coffee stand operator took a step back to look at his suspended victim - that was how he looked on all women he had in this predicament. He couldn't possible know that Dorothea was acting upon instruction and that she was simply complying with his requirements, and his lusts because that was what she had to do. As far as he was concerned, she was a victim and he was having his own brand of 'fun' with her. He took a step back and looked. Walked around her because there was plenty of room for him to do that. He walked around her and spent a long long time looking at her breasts - and then he spent some time looking at how her arms were hanging limp, slightly bent at the elbows, as though they had been suspended themselves. He rubbed himself at that sight. He rubbed himself a little harder at the sight of her mammoth distorted and contorted breasts. The way they hung over the rope. The way they eclipsed and blitzed the rope altogether. Where there was the overhang - where the rope bit into the flesh, under the tits and where she was then hoisted up and eventually off her feet, the flesh had wrapped itself around the rope. Inside her mind Dorothea was having problems coming to terms with the fact that she was hanging by her tits. Not ever, not in her other world, the one she had come from, the one she had been taken from, the one it looked like she would never get back to, did she ever envisage, or envision that she would ever be hanging like a piece of meat by her tits. It was like as though torment was being heaped upon torment - if that was possible. It was possible she knew it was possible because she was suffering it. Torment of the mental kind being applied with torment of the physical kind.

"Tell me what a cunt you are. What a big titted, disgusting cunt you are - and how you deserve to be here with me right now. Tell me that and sell yourself to me in those terms. I want to hear those words from that pretty little mouth of yours."