Mega Tits 1

by DrkFetyshNyghts

  'Just play along with it, go along with it – they can't keep you here forever. They can't break you completely, ever. Your time will come and you'll be able to get out of here.... just hang on in there.'

  Chapter Two - Dreamland

  The dreams always started the same. A bright shard of light shearing through a high set window and so bright that it showed up and highlighted the particles of dust and minuscule debris that seemed to be ever present in the dead still air. The location was irrelevant just like Dorothea's location in her new real world. Maybe, the thinnest thread of a connection to her real life. The two worlds emerging as it were, becoming one even. A hint that she would not be able to escape to these dreams forever more.

  Dorothea was perched on the top of the highest, most pencil thin stilettos that it was possible to get her feet into. The court shoe's heels were so high that there was only just that bend back of the toes, to allow for balance and for walking. There were no platforms for the shoes and so the arches of the feet were at their most acute. But Dorothea was an expert on those heels – a consummate professional – and despite the size of her breasts she seemed well balanced – she seemed well co-ordinated. Given the fact that she towered, literally towered Amazonian like over the tiny, fragile form of Wendy – her feet were parted quite wide on the floor and slightly bent at her nylon sheathed knees. She was bent over Wendy almost stooping over her. But she was doing this threateningly. Dorothea looked angry. That is the well-defined structure and the high set cheekbones seemed posed in such a way that it conveyed, at the very least her annoyance at the pathetically tiny Wendy on the floor beneath her. Wendy was whimpering. She was whimpering and she was cowering on the floor. It was like she was sliding backwards on the floor, trying to slide away from Dorothea but it wasn't working. For every few feet she slid backwards, it was taking just a couple of those long stocking legged strides of Dorothea to catch up to her. And when she did catch up to her she was looming over her – slightly stooped – like she was proving a point – like she wanted the pathetic little bitch Wendy to 'feel' her anger. Wendy, in an almost childlike fashion would slide and then pull her bony knees up under her chin – just about falling short of the foetal position in that she remained upright. It was as Dorothea got closer and closer to her that her eyes opened wide and stark like she was frightened. Like she was utterly scared shitless about what the immediate future held for her in that location-less room with that sharp shard of light that seemed to dissect the atmosphere – much like one might be able to cut any thick atmosphere with a knife.

  “N-noooo, n-noooo please Mistress Breasts Dorothea.... please please don't do this to me – please don't do it to me again, please don't – please, please I beg you Mistress Breasts Dorothea please don't do this to me again.”

  When the begging and the pleading came, it did so seemingly in a never ending stream. It was like once the stuttered words started to pour out from Wendy's thin lipped mouth, there was no stopping them. They just came and came and came again. But somehow, one might feel sorry for Wendy – the cowering was extremely realistic and very unlike the confident Wendy of the real world. Yes, in the real world, inside Dorothea's hell that was the real world she was still tiny, still minute and minuscule in everything she did. But in that world, Wendy, or Miss Chest as she was known, was confident and she was in control. Seeing her in this dream, in this dream dissected by that shard of bright light that may, or may not have been the sunlight coming in from the outside, she was a petrified, frightened little thing. If it was possible for her to recede into herself any more then she had. This dream was taking place after that encounter – the encounter in the supermarket and then that had gone on back at Wendy's huge house where even more huge amounts of red wine had been consumed. And after those nerve shattering orgasms that Wendy had showed that she could create for Dorothea. It was true, those orgasms, one for each of her chubby, bloated nipples had blown her mind and she had immediately re-assessed Wendy. Not normally a 'woman' for want of a better word that she would befriend or count in her list of friends. But this was one that she could keep as a pet. Easily she could keep her as a pet and just take her out when she wanted another of those orgasms – or even a whole string of them. That second orgasm had barely left her juddering body when she had made that decision – that decision to make Wendy, this little tiny, insignificant woman Wendy her pet. And this dream was a culmination of that master plan. This was how it was meant to be. It was how it was going to be. It was how she was going to liven up a life that had become a little mundane – a little boring.

  “Oooooohhhh Mistress Breasts Dorothea ooohhhhhh please noooooo please that hurttsssssss please please Mistress Breasts Dorothea, pleeeeeeaaaaaasssseee uhhhhhhhhhhhh.”

  The ludicrousness of the situation was there, painted along with the words that Wendy used. Mistress Breasts Dorothea. It was as though Dorothea's breasts had been singled out for being made a point of. It could have been that this tiny woman had labelled Dorothea in this way all by herself – as though she was some kind of nut case who was also breast obsessive. As if! Dorothea, even 'pre modifications' did have something approaching stupendous breasts. She was proud of them – more than proud of them. But looming, threateningly over the diminutive Wendy in this fashion the breasts, hanging free and swinging much like huge wrecking balls would swing before the controller chain had taken hold of them, were swinging perilously close to Wendy's head – and her face. Wendy would slide, stuttering and whimpering back and then Dorothea would, with her perfectly manicured fingers spread across both nylon sheathed knees, kind of stoop to follow – taking huge long steps to keep up with the scampering Wendy. The breasts of Dorothea huge, heavy, pendulous as they swung and swung ever closer.

  “Come here this instance you little shit – you know I want to smother you with these things. It's only right, it’s only fair that I do that to my pet – don't ya think Wendy?”

  Dorothea sounded as manic as she looked. Her full lips a deep, deep blood red in colour and they had been outlined with an even deeper, almost black red – if there was such a thing. Her eyes were similarly heavily made up. Lashes thickly mascara'd and with long rich curls that she blinked from under. Even her blinking was a frightening feature that seemed to exist in these dreams. The way she spoke, the way she almost 'spat' at Wendy was at odds with itself really. There seemed to be no reason why this huge Amazon of a woman would or should treat this tiny, seemingly harmless, even retarded woman in this way – and yet she did. In this dream, this particular dream it was as though Dorothea was getting some kind of revenge for something that had not happened yet. Like as though she was getting some kind of revenge for a lot of things that were about to happen, or that would happen at various points in the future. When Wendy had backed up against the wall, actually in the corner, where two walls met at right angles, she could go back no further and the wrecking ball breasts that were Dorothea seemed to swamp her in a tidal wave of flesh that was impossible to escape from. Like a tsunami of flesh that was colliding with Wendy's head and facial features. The way that Dorothea moved, primarily on her long, strong stockinged legs, but also the way she shifted her hips – twisted them one way then the other, dictated how the hanging mounds of flesh collided and then swamped the tiny woman. Firstly the twin bazooka orbs collided with themselves, making each other ripple and dance. This was like a deliberate thing that Dorothea did – like a well-practiced deliberate thing that she did so that energy was built up, kind of stored in all of that tit flesh in readiness for when it hit its target. When it did hit the target, it did so without mercy. There was the spluttering and muffled squeal of Wendy somewhere under all of that flesh, but there was also the knocking of her little head against the wall as she failed to stop the onslaught of breast flesh from enveloping her head and face. It was like those first few contacts, those first few swings of the jugs were designed, like a shock tactic. The deliverance of them like a shock and awe tactic. Like weakening blows. Not simply
physically weakening but also mentally. There would be no doubt, before that initial contact, before that initial cornering that this tiny woman was somehow and for some reason scared shitless of Dorothea, or at the very least of Dorothea's pendulous tits. Then the stark staring of the eyes, almost out on their storks as the stooped Amazon came in for the kill. Long striding steps followed by the tiniest, almost imperceptible shimmy of the hips to send those jugs colliding with each other and then twisting this way, then that way so that the energy would build and build.

  By the time those swinging udders were enveloping Wendy's tiny head and face the energy was at its most cataclysmic and the last thing one might see was the thick rimmed spectacles being knocked off her nose and then the blind panic and fear as her face was mashed and minced by the heavy tits. Dorothea would use that blow several times. She would wait for the energy to dissipate and dispel around Wendy's head and then she would step back and look at the result. There would be a slight rolling of the vacant eyes in their sockets and there would be that quivering of the lips. Dorothea would spend a few seconds, or minutes looking at that result – Wendy slumped in the corner – still cowering but now like a weakened cowering. She would take that in and then she would ready herself for a second, then a third, maybe even a fourth and fifth attack. Using the expertise of those killer blows to weaken Wendy – take any fight out of her. It would be true to say that the fight went out of her in increments – with each advancement of Dorothea and her swinging melons, the fight was taken out of her. Drowned in a sea of pure, succulent tit flesh. It would only be when Wendy was a complete and utter slump in the corner and when she was totally unable to help herself that Dorothea would consider that the groundwork for that particular day had been laid. Somehow, she loved taking it out of Wendy. She loved absolutely destroying the tiny, whimpering woman. She even loved how the whimpering became less and less each and every time her head and face became enveloped in all of that shifting, energy filled tit flesh. She loved that – loved taking it from her in the most cruel of ways imaginable.

  “It's gonna be a long day today pet. A very long day and I just want you to know that you are going to be put through the mill. If I don't get complete gratification – hmmmmm well – maybe I will just let you think about that one.”

  Dorothea stood arrogantly, one hand on a tightly skirted, jutting hip as she had looked down at the wrecked, tiny little form of Wendy. She was slumped in the corner, skinny arms limp and loose at her sides. Propped up against the corner of the two meeting walls and yet her head lolled forward. She was breathing heavily and she was also shaking, or quivering. It was like she was petrified scared, but it was also like she had no energy, or will to do anything about it. The close encounters with Dorothea's jugs had taken it out of her and she was just sat there – semi sitting, half lying, slumped.

  “Y-yes Mistress Breasts Dorothea.”

  The voice not even a whimper – more like a whispering hiss. Dorothea smiling that wide lipstick smile that she tended to do – and then her turning, for the first time to another corner of the room where this time the twins were sitting huddled, cuddling – but also smiling, leering. The twins even smaller than their big sister Wendy, if that were possible. But their demeanour was different to Wendy's. Wendy's was a definitive fear, fright and defeat and theirs wasn't like that. The twins were looking on with something like a sexual joy at the proceedings as they unfolded. They were huddled together still almost as though they were joined at the hips. Not quite siamese or co-joined twins but almost. And their movements, although identical, sort of opposite as well – like they were mirror imaging each other. But there were the bubbles of drool that seemed to be collecting at the corners of their mouth and then the unusually large, fleshy, almost black tongue that slithered out to collect that drool. They looked and pointed at their big sister Wendy, and they laughed and giggled at her apparent plight. Then they watched Dorothea, and there was no mocking when they watched her, or looked at her. Rather there was a look of utter lust at the hugeness of the breasts and the way all of that flesh moved and shifted. They stroked each other during the five times that Dorothea moved in for the kill, as it were. That was the most bizarre sight, these ageless twins, tiny, puny even and yet at the same time moving with adult motions, stroking each other in a loving, almost sexual way. Dorothea shifting, knowing that they liked what they saw and feeding them because of it.

  “You like this don't you, you naughty naughty girls. I'm gonna deal with you two a little bit later – but in the meantime I don't mind you watching your big sister get her just and proper treatment.”

  It was only as Dorothea spoke directly to the twins that their facial expressions changed. Like it was not part of the plan that Dorothea was going to work on them at all this day. But she had just changed that and as a result their facial expressions had changed. Once again like the mirror image of each other there was a blankness that came down over there pale little faces, and then a shifting and a darting of the eyes as they looked at Dorothea's stupendous hanging, swinging jugs in a new light. They looked at the hooters and then at each other and then back again – real proper fear in their eyes and across their faces. Then they looked at Wendy, slumped and exhausted from the mauling and mashing that the jugs had just given her. That wasn't fair – Wendy was bigger than them and she could take more of that mashing than they would be able to. It just wasn't fair that they be subjected to the same treatment as Wendy – that just was not fair at all. Dorothea looked at them and licked her own lips. She had seen the change in their faces – she had seen the blankness comes down over their eyes and faces. She liked that. She liked it when she could simply change them in that way. She liked the control that she had over them and she liked the fear that they held for her. It was a nice blend – a nice blend of all of that ''positivity' that she felt about herself and within herself. She didn't know where that positivity came from, not in the dreams – but it was always there. She couldn't know that it was another of the slightest slithers of a thread that linked the dream to her real life – her horror life as it was now. The positivity – that positive smile. But with this positivity, with this thing, almost like a thing approaching euphoria, there were no things up inside her, waiting to hurt her if it all slipped. There was none of that – not at first anyway. The dreams, these dreams were the only way that Dorothea could escape these days. But even the dreams were not a complete total escape. They were weird dreams – like dreams which had threads of her new reality in them. The more dreams she had, the closer to her reality they became. Just threads first of all – but the threads got thick and thicker and thicker. Like they became a bigger part of her dreams – like they were taking over her dreams. But at first these dreams were just that – dreams – an escape with just the tiniest threads of reality.

  “That's a good girl Wendy. Good girl. You know how I like to feel those disgustingly thin lips around them, don't you, you little cunt, hmmmm?”

  Wendy was still cowered and slumped in the corner of the location-less room except that now the mighty Dorothea was right over her and she was in the shadow of those huge udder like jugs of tit flesh. Dorothea was holding Wendy's head still by the hair. She had wrapped the thin, greasy hair in her perfect finger and she had wound it around her fist so that she could get a nice tight grip and then she had yanked the tiny woman's head back – right back so that she was looking, eyes bulging stark and staring up at her tormentor. Dorothea was talking to Wendy and she was asking her questions but she wasn't really expecting an answer. Or she wasn't really expecting any kind of conversation with her. She might have, had the circumstances been different but as she spoke, or spat down at her, she was fucking the tiny, thin lipped mouth with her solid, rubbery like nipples. First one then the other. In this dream, her nipples were longer, thicker more obscene, almost more grotesque than they had become in real life. Like cocks at the tip of her huge udder. These nipples were the centre of her orgasmic experience. She had stepped out
of her skirt so that she could spread her legs a little wider to allow for the dipping motions she gave as she fucked the tiny mouth with her nipples. She held the head dead still, dead hard and she simply dipped the nipple in and out in and out. It could be a hard, dripping cock fucking a hungry cunt – but it wasn't. But similarly, the more she dipped the thick, teat like nipple into the dilating mouth of Wendy, the wetting the mouth and consequently the nipple became more cock like. It was a cause and effect situation. At first the dryness of the nipple contorting the thin lips a little, pushing them in and then pulling them out on the out stroke – but then slowly, ever so slowly the tiny mouth producing bubbles of saliva – the lips tightening and then the tongue coming in to play, wrapping around the shaft of the nipple. The strokes becoming slower so that the dip of the nipple into the increasingly wet and slippery mouth was longer. The full nipple being submerged in the mouth for longer. The apparent strength of Dorothea in her exaggerated stance over the tiny woman even more so as she exchanged one nipple for the other. Just slightly twisting at the hips, swinging her other massively heavy and voluminous tit over so that she could begin the dipping process. Dorothea herself, eyes slightly rolling in the sockets as she began to feel the pleasure that the lips and tongue was giving her stems. She liked this – she liked the way the little freak called Wendy knew how to pleasure her tits in this way. Even in that dream she remembered all about the orgasms that she had been given by Wendy. But this dream was the follow up to those orgasms. The plan that she had come up with to enslave and en-pet Wendy. In this dream it had been all too easy. In this dream Wendy had been exactly like she had always thought Wendy was – a pathetic wishy washy, puny tiny little woman who had been incredibly easy to take in hand and make that pet of. In that dream, Wendy was not the psychotic little, insidious vapid jealous bitch who would later gain total utter control of Dorothea. Oh no in this dream she was not that little woman at all. In this dream she was the ideal pet.