Chapter Four – Dreamland
Jugsalina was grunting. She was grunting due to excessive and continuous effort she was putting into getting herself and her fucking obscenely sized hooters around. These grunts were a little more telling though as she slashed the steel cored dressage whip through the air.
“You better smile you old cunt – remember what I said about positivity and you needing to convey it to me? Well you better start showing me what positivity across an old cunt's face like yours looks like. If you don't, well, if you don't there will be just a little more of this to come.”
She was talking through gritted teeth at the same time as stooping over Hooter Tutor. She was stooped over her in such a fashion that her huge pendulous jugs were swinging and colliding with each other. There was nothing tidy or synchronised about the way those tits swung and collided and then carried on their own jolly way. It was as though they each had a mind of their own and it was as though each had separate life to the other. Her tits had already undergone some modification in this dream. Wendy and the twins had worked on her – but it was a dream of confusion. In reality she should have been suffering at the hands of this mental bitch Hooter Tutor and that illegal school she ran. She reasoned with herself in this dream, within the dream that Hooter School MUST be illegal. There could be no way that a place like that could exist with the constraints of the law – there was just no way that that could be. But this dream, god this dream like so many of the others was wired up all wrong. It was just wired up all wrong. She should be the one on the receiving end but instead, she was the one towering over, or stooped over a cowering Hooter Tutor. It wasn't just that she was stooped over her, stiletto heels either side of the older woman's hips – she was also using with alarming accuracy and skill, the braided, steel core dressage whip that had been used on her. It was like somewhere along the line, the line had been crossed and somehow, Dorothea had regained all of the control she once had and she was unleashing some kind of hell on the older woman. The whip slashed through the air and across the upturned, protruding ass cheeks of the woman. There was a whistling of the whip, then like a split second of silence before the CR A C K of the high tensile steel whip across the fleshy ass of the older woman. And following that crack, the split second of silence again before the ungodly screech that seemed to come from between the clenched teeth of the woman. That noise was not one that told of pleasure – or even one that told, or hinted at the control and torture that she herself was capable of inflicting. Instead, it was a screech that seemed to pierce the soul, and some. Dorothea laid the whip on – just one perfect stroke right across the buttocks highest point and right across the two of them. At right angles across the fleshy valley where the ass cheeks met and yet perfectly also enough for the flesh to ripple and quiver – that is ripple and quiver right through the screeching.
“I can't see that smile yet cunt. Are you gonna get all positive for me, huh you old witch?”
There was another whistling of the whip, then the split second silence and then the C R A C K. This time that crack was followed by a louder, sharper and more intense sucking in of breath between the teeth of the older woman. In actual fact, it was a far from fair impression, or picture that Dorothea was painting of this older woman. She wasn't actually an 'old cunt' – it was just the derogatory way that she seemed to 'enjoy' referring to her as. In point of fact, Hooter Tutor was an imposing, stunning woman of middle or slightly older age and to say that she was an attractive woman would be something of an understatement. To say that she was an 'old cunt' would be not fair in the slightest. But one might guess that when compared to Dorothea's beauty and build, and age, well then she was an old cunt. This time the stripe from the whip was slightly below that of the first – toward the sweet spot, if one may call it that. That is the sweet spot where the buttocks roll into the thigh flesh. In that very crease – the sensitive crease. The crease of flesh which when hit at the right angle, with the right trajectory and with the correct level of viciousness could bring on an enforced orgasm as the senses fought and tried to compute whether or not it was pain or pleasure that they were feeling. Usually those senses got it all wrong and the intensity of orgasm was the result. Except in this case it was not the result. In this dream Dorothea wielded that whip with the expertise of someone otherworldly. She was not that schoolgirl any more, like she was in some of those other dreams – but neither was she a practiced dominatrix. And yet the way she handled this whip – the way she laid into the ass flesh of the older woman who was hissing through gritted teeth and yet at the same time was still in all of her Hooter Tutor finery, Leather finery, and expensive hose finery, and high heels finery – the sort of finery that only someone with the title Hooter Tutor could be dressed in. Except that this was different. Her finery had been pulled and tugged up and all dishevelled so that the whip could get to the flesh. What made matters worse was that in this dream, Hooter Tutor had been made to dishevel herself. As the hugely jugged Dorothea, or Jugsalina had stooped over her, even offering a helping hand, Hooter Tutor had been a helping hand, in her own demise as it were. Dorothea got down, her massive, vein riddled tits brushing over the bun of a hairdo of the older woman and then spilling down over her face as she stooped a little lower to see that smile of positivity. This dream, all of it was all fucked up. In the reality of Hooter School, and the Hooter Tutor's world, the older woman hadn't given a flying fuck for Wendy and the twins ideology of positivity. She had told her as much. But here in this dream it wasn't like that. It was like it was all blending into one. Like the two worlds were colliding and somewhere in the middle was the perfect world. Perfect in whose eyes no-one would be able to tell, or explain. But this was somewhere in the middle. Dorothea's eyes flicked to the pained expression that Hooter Tutor was leaking out, and to the rising welt on the somewhat glorious ass that the woman surely possessed. A third crack of the whip, this time the other side of the first and with the sucking in of the breath was also a little whimper. This time the teeth were not gritted, not in the slightest. It was just the terrible pained expression of an older woman being whipped in surely the ways that an older woman should not be. But Jugsalina wouldn't hold sway with that argument – in this dream, she knew all about Hooter Tutor and what she was like and what she was capable of. She knew all about her and it was like in this dream she was getting the revenge in before the main event had even happened. Dorothea lifted and swung her stiletto'd foot over the prose, face down woman again. This time such was the stretch and the swing of her massive hooters that they brushed across the silk bloused back of the woman. That little brush of teat nipple across the finest silk brought a sucking in of air from Dorothea herself. She knew all about silk, and nipples. Nipples and silk. Dorothea moved, almost like some kind of alien life form. There was that stoop – it seemed to be a permanent stoop although one might not be able to tell if it was a stoop because of the size and the weight of her udders, or whether it was a stoop just because she wanted and needed to be nearer to the woman she was tormenting. Either, or both could be true. It seemed like she wanted and needed to be using her udders in some form or another throughout the process and that is what she was doing. Using her udders. Using them – the weight of them as they dragged over Hooter Tutor's back, and over her head and face. Jugsalina shifting and then making for her head. She wanted to get right down, all the way down so that she could see the expression and the face of the older woman.
“There, now that's much better. Much better. I do like a bit of positivity, I really do.”
Dorothea smiled a wide lipstick smile. That was it too – a wide lipstick smile – it was like the lipstick had been tattoo'd onto her lips. She could never remember applying the lipstick in the dreams she had. It was always just 'there'. Like it was a permanent addition to her – like the modifications to her tits. Always there and irreversible. She had moved to the head of the woman and she had lowered her stoop into a squat. She had had to sit, like perched on her own heels and
with her knees spread wide. It was ok, she could do that because the silktex thing that was wrapped around her lower torso, and the extensions that were deep inside and part of her femininity seemed to like it when she spread her knees wide. And she was dressed to spread her knees wide. Just hosed legs and knee length boots with stupid sized heels that were just designed to be squatted on it seemed. And then there was her hooters. Huge, and with flesh stretched from her chest and which seemed only just to hold the weight without ripping away. Those udder so big, so cumbersome that they hung between her arms and down between her spread legs. The nipples dipping into and dragging on the floor. But as she squatted, just rested there between her arms and between her legs. The nipples dipped into the floor and slightly compressed into the floor. It was a pose, a position that she would enjoy because that contact with the floor would be feeding the pleasure of the nipples into her nether region and that was why the silktex liked it. The silktex liked that – it wasn't like in the real world, where her pleasure was controlled and permitted only as long as she played the game – the game of positivity. If she dared to show this domination, this audacity in the real world she would be tortured beyond belief. It was why she liked coming to these dreams because she didn't have to suffer like that. She didn't have to suffer, or worry that at any moment, any second, that terrible pain would seem to invade her every nerve ending making her want to die, or at the very least pass out. But she didn't pass out, or die in the real world. It was odd that she even knew about that world in her dreams. The dreams were like an escape, but not and entire escape. Little did she know that those dreams were slowly merging, slowly coming into one with the real world. Even the shard of light was changing in some imperceptible way.
“That's what I like to see, you old cunt. A nice big wide smile across that sourpuss face of yours.”
Jugsalina had squatted, sat on her heels, spread her knees and rested her gargantuan nipples on the floor between her spread thighs and was holding Hooter Tutor's head up by her bun styled hair. The older woman had squirted tears, and these tears had streaked her makeup and more or less wrecked it. But, that attractive mature face was conveying something else. The lips, although cracked, and chewed a little were stretched into a wide and sincere smile and Dorothea as a result smiled too. She smiled and she tilted her head, as though she were studying Hooter Tutor. It was a bit like she couldn't believe the reversal in fortune. Like she was still trying to come to terms with it but at the same time she was having to instil her domination over the older woman.
“You make sure you keep that smile, nice and wide now you old bitch.”
The verbal abuse was, just that. None of the descriptive nouns used really applied to the older woman and yet they were used like weapons. Much like Dorothea had used her breasts and her femininity as weapons in those old school days so she was using her verbal assault here as a weapon against the older woman. There was no doubt that the words would sting a woman of Hooter Tutors standing in the community. Both communities that she existed in. Her real life in which she did countless charity things, and in her secret life as the principal of that god awful Hooter School. This was a woman who was used to the best of treatment at all times. Used to the utmost of respect at all times – and within Hooter School was revered and reviled in equal amounts. But this was Dorothea's dream, and in this dream she was the queen. Queen of her own dreams. Queen of her own dream world. In this world, Hooter Tutor was still Hooter Tutor but the tables were turned. They were turned on their heads and the Hooter Tutor simply experienced all of the humiliation, the degradation and the subjugation that was heaped on her. In Dorothea's dreams, all of these negative emotions and effects were quadrupled. And here, in this dream, the shard of light slashed down almost at a forty five degree angle from high up in the corner of a location-less room and across the field of play. That is, it slashed down across in front of the squatted, spread legged Dorothea, with her tits resting heavily on the floor between her legs – that light then splashed on the floor in front of the older woman face. Her tits, now scooped out of the silk top were crushed into the floor and Jugsalina was poking them, and prodding them with the very end of the dressage whip. She was poking and prodding the soft succulent flesh and seemed to be mesmerised by how she was indenting the flesh. She would poke, poke deep and then she would move to the other breast but pick a different area. Then she would move back to the original tit. She seemed to do this for an age. Poke each tit in several places – seeming to want to leave marks of the indentation. Then she seemed to get bored of that. Not bored as such, just, she seemed to reach a point where she wanted to move on with the demise of the older woman. It was like that she had suffered all that she had suffered at the hands of Hooter Tutor during her initiation into Hooter School, all of that was like water under the bridge and now it was payback time. Payback time big style. Another of the anomalies of the dream. Just adjusting herself on her heels a little – those high heels, metal tipped and scraping the bare floor, making teeth jar and clench a little. At the same time, the slightest adjustment in movement making her huge heavy udders drag and pull on the floor. This would result in yet more sucking of air between the teeth as her nipples took the hit of friction and pleasure. But the movement, the slight alteration of her position was not for that – it wasn't for the pleasure. It was so that she could yank the hair harder, pull the head up, stretch the neck of the older woman a little bit more. Stretch the neck so that the neck and the crushed cleavage could be seen clearly. The pale stretched neck and the heavy cleavage crushed into the floor and yet with enough lift to be able to get it. And that was it about Hooter Tutor – she had not exactly been last in the queue when it came the hooters being handed out. Dorothea had noticed that when she had been being indoctrinated into Hooter School. Or actually before that – when she had been introduced to Hooter Tutor by Wendy. That had been when Hooter Tutor had gone to great pains to inform her that whilst Jugsalina's tits were obscene objects that had been used for flaunting purposes and little else – her own breasts were just that – magnificent, epic breasts that deserved all of the respect and worship that they could and would get.
“Owwwww ohhhhh Miss Jugsalina that hurts sooooo much pleeeeease Miss Jugsalina that hurtsssssssss.”
Dorothea tossed her mane of hair back and laughed out loud. She was still squatting in her own heels and she had slashed the dressage whip across the tops of Hooter Tutors breasts at the same time as holding her head back by the hair. Her balance and her dexterity was something to behold. To be able to squat like that, hold the weight of the head and some, and then strike across the tops of the partly crushed globes of udder flesh to such a degree that it brought out the begging pleading and quite pathetic tone of the older woman. First one slash, then another – and then another in quick succession. The simple flick of the wrist holding the dressage whip was quite deceiving as to the actual energy and amount of pain that was being inflicted. After six, seven or eight strokes, Jugsalina lay down the whip, right in full view of Hooter Tutor – right in front of her, but at the same time she pulled back harder on her hair and on her head and she pulled it right back. She wanted to look into those eyes – she wanted to look beyond the eyes. It was pretty ironic really – that Dorothea was feeling particularly positive right at this time – as she squatted on her heels and as she yanked back on the hair of Hooter Tutor and looked right into the eyes of despair. She felt positive and she didn't have to. It was the older woman's despair filled eyes that made her feel very positive. And there was Hooter Tutor – the tutor of tits and udders of all shapes and sizes, having to feel positive because this was Dorothea's dream world. She yanked back her head and looked into those eyes and the dropped her eyes to the slightly quivering mouth of the woman – and those lips stretched into a smile. A very genuine smile – an extremely genuine smile – but those eyes... oh those eyes.
“Ready for some REAL fun Miss?”
Dorothea aka Jugsalina smiled, and she stirred in
her sleep, just a little bit before she faded into a deeper sleep again. The deeper sleep that she could relax in, and wallow in that dream.
That shard of light was at a different angle. And it was coming from a different place. Not like a side window – or a gap in a side wall. This time the shaft of light was wider. And came from above, maybe in a roof light – and a much wider source than when it came from the side. Also – also it seemed like it was of a greater intensity. Like maybe the dimmer switch of a high output spot lamp had been ramped right up. But the shaft of light was wider and created more of a splash on the floor. It was like as though it was to cause a bigger drama or something. Yes that was it. The light, that shard of light that signalled the dream state, or the dream world had been altered to increase the drama involved in this particular dream. Maybe. It was a signalling of the changing of the guard and maybe the dreams were changing full stop. Maybe it was a whole new shift in the way things were going to be from this point on. It was true the drama had been ramped up. There was that light – that light first and foremost seemed to splash and cast eerie shadows by the rest of the room that had been left in shadow. But there was a soundtrack as well. One couldn't be sure what the soundtrack was – at least not at first. But it was there. A sound. Somewhere in the distance there was a 'thump thump thumping' sound. Not loud, or distinct in any way. In fact it was very indistinct. Like it was a thumping sound but one that had blurred edges. And it was like maybe, or possibly that sound was not in the room at all. Maybe outside it – or even under the floor. From a basement maybe – but then, the dream state, this dream room offered no means by which one would identify the location of the room. Upstairs, downstairs – several floor up or several floor down. It was all at odds with itself. Likewise there was no real explanation of the light – or where that came from. If it was natural, or artificial. But then it didn't matter. And the same now, that soundtrack – or one level of that soundtrack, because there was more than one. One had to tilt one's head to listen to it – even tilt it again to make sure that the noise even existed because that was far from certain.
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