“Mmmmm mmmmmm ahhhhh ahhhhhh mmmmmmmmm.”
The other noise was at least human and it was in the room and it was in the here and now. Dorothea was wallowing in her own breasts. That is, she was on some kind of weird huge water bed that seemed to be in constant motion – like a constant reminder that the tide was always coming in or going out. And there was a naked Dorothea wallowing on that bed, slightly sunk into the bed as though she were semi submerged in that latexed water that had moulded itself around her. And the naked bit, well that wasn't complete true either. There was the silktex corset thing still there – which meant that those tendril things were still up inside her doing whatever it was they did to her and with her. But one would have to have a good hard look to see the silktex – it had taken the form of her flesh – and it wasn't transparent exactly but neither was it opaque. It was just part of her overall makeup. But there were differences that can only be described as the scene or the dream unfolds. It was Dorothea who was making the sounds – the second track of the overall soundtrack. She was making those sexually induced noises and she was using her full delicious lips and her fleshy wet tongue to form those sounds. One could not say that she was forming words, because, in all honesty it wasn't words she was forming, it was sounds. They were certainly sounds of pleasure being gained – and they were certainly sounds that told of her immersion. That she was dreaming of her own immersion in sexual pleasure was a simple fact. She was stroking the almost obsceneness of both of her breasts. Using full arms swings with her spread fingers so that she could stroke as much of her wallowing rippling flesh that she could. Those ripples of udder flesh seeming to move and ebb and flow with the movement of the waterbed she seemed to be planted in. Her legs, as delicious and gorgeous as ever were raised a bit and spread a lot. The siltex 'thing' or stuff had seemed to part, or had seemed to have formed its own cunt so that access could be gained. A real and organic cunt formed of silktex and yet that was part and parcel of Dorothea. Dorothea was stroking her breasts and then with every few strokes her fingers would splay and play in a special way and she was brushing the new formation over her hugely obscene, swollen, stiff teat nipples. Except that they weren't really just nipples, or just teats – they were huge, like organs of their own self-containment. It was as though those things had become the hub of her enjoyment – the hub of a joy that had frankly become obscene. But in this dream, much like in her own real world she didn't care about this. It was the pleasure – she seemed to be lost in it and central to that pleasure was the stroking of her breasts and the playing of her nipple teats with her fingers.
“Mmmmmm mmmmm aaaaaahhhhhhh ahhhhhhhhhhh.”
Almost like a specially written symphony. It would be a fact that Dorothea would have to 'like' the breasts she had. She would have to like them, and adore them – or she would plunge into something like loathing, or self-loathing. Maybe to stroke them, get pleasure from them and sing this special song that she seemed to be singing was the only way that she could get through life – this new life – and this was the message she was getting from these dreams. She could only love those jugs, those hooters much like a mother could only love her ugly baby. Except that the love was manifesting itself in the form of sexual adulation. She was sexually addicted to her own disgustingly huge hooters. This was the only way she could cope with it. The only way she could deal with it.
“That's right baby, you stick those right inside, turn them and twist them inside me – make me feel them in me. First one then the other and don't you DARE stop until I tell you to.”
Dorothea's words were dripping from her like some kind of sexually addled, thick syrupy liquid. The voice that poured and dripped from her this way was as obscene as the scene that it had become a part of. Hooter Tutor was between Dorothea's raised spread legs and her own milky, heavy jugs were out. To say that Hooter Tutor possessed the most splendid pair of breasts in existence would be something of an understatement. They were big. Oh yes they were big. But they were not so grotesquely big, and cumbersome at Dorothea's had become. Hooter Tutor's breasts were perfectly splendid. Perfectly large and perfectly sexual. Probably, Hooter Tutor's breasts were in this crazy world – the crazy world that she lived in, the crazy world that Dorothea lived and was forced to exist in, and the crazy world in which these dreams seemed to exist, the most perfect breasts known to man, or woman. Breasts that fulfilled their natural function, and breasts that fulfilled each and every sexual fantasy that ever existed in the mind of men and women alike. Milky breasts, full breasts. Heavy breasts. Pale flesh tipped with first a huge diameter areola which were permanently speckled in raised pimples. These pimples a feed and a constant sending process for the pleasure that Hooter Tutor herself felt. Those areola then tipped off with thick, perfectly round button like nipples that were made, or skinned with the same kind of pimpled, raised speckly flesh that her areolas were. In this instance though and as a sign of Hooter Tutor's own intense sexual pleasure, the nipples had been erected – thickened into broad, almost perfectly round cylinders of nipple flesh. Something approaching three point five centimetres in diameter and then each of them an eye popping seven centimetres in length. With the erection had come the filling of the nipples, the engorging of them turning them almost an opaque black in colour – and yet at the same time, nipples that seemed to 'quiver' with a life of their own.
“That's a good slut. That's right my Hooter Tutor – you just show your 'pupil' what real breasts can do. You just show me, your pupil what you can do with YOUR hooters.”
There was almost a derision in the voice that was dripping from Dorothea. Hooter Tutor was on her knees between Dorothea's spread, luscious legs and she was dipping her nipples into the silktex cunt that had formed where Dorothea's own cunt should have been. For Dorothea though, this cunt, the live and pulsating cunt was a better one than the one she had been given at birth and the one that had be subsequently taken from her by Wendy and the twins. This one was alive in more ways than one. In the dreams – the pleasure she was being given was fading from her cunt a little – or more like it was fading from her old cunt – the cunt that had been smothered by the silktex – and her pleasure was being given, when she was allowed pleasure, through her nipples – but in this dream, the one she was having now – Hooter Tutor was fucking her cunt with her thick, engorged nipples. And, the thing was that, the silktex had adapted – like it could adapt to any given situation. If it needed to adapt and resize and re-shape to take the most gargantuan cock that ever existed it could do just that. Just like if it needed to tighten up in order to receive a nice slim slippery finger – it could do just that as well. In this instance though, the cunt, as life like and as a part of Dorothea as her womb, had adapted to be tight enough to just make sure that Hooter Tutor had to hold up her perfect, pale, heavy udder and offer it to Dorothea's cunt – and then she had to position it right. Push the full bloated perfect cylinder of a nipple in order to part the puffy, slug like lips of the silktex cunt apart. Silktex that was a perfectly formed appendage, a perfectly formed sexual appendage. That cunt then, that perfectly adapted cunt just letting a slow, but continuous drip of fluids. Oily fluids, oily sex juices that were produced by her new cunt and yet originated from deep inside her femininity and her sexuality. Her cunt being fucked ever so slowly at first by the thick nipple. But then a third sound track to the master soundtrack. There was the thump thump thump from somewhere that was not distinct and then there were the noises that Dorothea was making as the thick nipple slipped itself inside – pushed in like a little cock – a cock nipple. On the first dip, the dryness of that nipple causing more friction and more drag with the delicate folds of cuntal flesh that was on offer. Dorothea was crooning and almost singing as she felt the in stroke. But it was more than just the sensation of it happening that was sending her to a place near to euphoria. It was the knowledge as well. It was like that melted mind of hers had become an extension to her sexuality. Like a sexual organ. Her mind was able to fill in th
e little gaps left by the physical sensations. Yes she could feel, almost as crystal clearly as she might be able to see, the thick, engorged hyper-nipple slip past the outer labia and into her soaking, wet oiled inner flesh, and then she could feel her inner hole opening up to accept the tip of the nipple. But in her mind she could see it as well. And the thoughts that went with it – the thoughts that here she was in a state nearing bliss, with someone who had caused her so much grief in the past – sometime in the past. But that was the thing, in the dreams, the timeline became existent on more than one level – like parallel levels. She had been through all of that grief at the hands of Hooter Tutor, but there was no distinct time when that had happened – it was just a fact that it HAD happened. And here and now, there was Hooter Tutor between her legs, and crawling into her on her knees so that she could pleasure her. Crawling in close and then offering those superior tits, those perfect tits, those splendid pale, big milky feminine tits to her cunt so that she could fuck her with those nipples. Those thoughts and that knowledge was like facet of the pleasure. Another string to the bow. She let air escape from between her full lips as she felt the full length of the full thick nipples slide into her. At first the dryness of the nipple, and then the slow but definite oiling of the rough speckled thickness. Those raised, almost sharp speckles then all oiled but making their own little grooves in the most sensitive of flesh. It was like Hooter Tutor knew what she was doing and how she was doing it. Keeping her big, milk mature breast uplifted from under as she rocked herself on the hips. Forwards then backwards and the then forwards again. The nipple slip sliding in and out and then Hooter Tutor holding the thick throbbing nipple out and playing it around the outer lips and introducing that third level to the master soundtrack. Her own singing and her own gasping as she was receiving the pleasure. Then exchanging nipples. Slightly swivelling the hips and repositioning herself – the dryness of the second nipple then being offered to the saturated slippery wetness of the sexual flesh. Then a morphing occurring, the second nipple sliding inside Dorothea but somehow, from somewhere between her legs a tendril forming and then snaking between Hooter Tutor's legs. There was the casual licking of her mature full lips before the tendril and slipped up inside her, but then that casual licking at transformed into a lascivious dirty licking. Her eyes widening, almost popping as the tendril made its way up inside her deeper femininity. Somehow and for some reason, Dorothea 'knowing' what was happening like a piece of her was sliding up inside the Hooter Tutor. A smile crossing her lips and one that was feeding her mind more and more. Her mind becoming more lucid, more crude and filthy in thoughts – those filthy dirty thoughts feeding the neurals from her cunt, to her mind. Both feeding each other.
“Thatsssssss right you dirty old woman – you just fuck my whorish cunt with your perfect nipples – you dirtyyyyyyyyyyyy old slut.”
There were those verbal abuses again – simply not true in their content and yet at the same time feeding the sexual buzz. The funny thing though, Dorothea's clitoris not existing in this dream. There was what had been a clitoris – but that was taken over and smothered by one of the silktex things. It was as though her clitoris had been all eaten up.. but what was in its place was better. A better joy. That thing taking over the nerve endings that used to make up her clitoris and stimulating in a whole new way. The tendril up inside Hooter Tutor finding its way to her inner vagina and then deeper – up to her cervix – not torturing it, just massaging it – a piece of it splitting off and attaching to her own clitoris. Her gasping and Dorothea not smiling, but tossing her mane of thick hair back and laughing a little – softly, but laughing and in that laugh somewhere, something a little evil. That shard of light splashing over the floor. The three soundtracks to this dream all melding into one – and yet those sounds still separate still distinct and still filling the air. The little tiny micro particles of dust seeming to fly around in the wider shard of light in a more erratic manner the closer the both came to orgasm. Dorothea's orgasm intense and squirting – it seemed to use the offered and sliding nipple of its own accord. Using it to pleasure itself. In the meantime, the silktex tendril up inside Hooter Tutor, bringing her to the precipice of orgasm with ease and then holding her there – just there. Holding her there and not letting her come straight away. Dorothea seeming to know what the tendril, that was part of her after all, was doing and how it was doing it. Her laugh extending with her dripping gasps and her wet lustings. Bucking her hips a little so that she could get a buzz to where her clitoris used to be. The silktex seeming to know what she was doing and helping out. Her fingers dancing over her own disgustingly hard engorged, almost dripping nipples. Her orgasm exploding at the same time as Hooter Tutor's was being withheld. Hooter Tutor gasping and then gasping a little more. Each gasp getting shorter and shorter as she took in little breath after little breath. And then.. and just then the silktex 'allowing' Hooter Tutor her release. Her own sexuality squirting. The silktex expanding and contracting inside her. The colour draining from her face. Hooter Tutor usually with an air of confidence and dignity, draining of colour as she struggled to come to terms with what was happening to her and how it was happening. Dorothea throwing her head back and laughing harder this time. The latexed water of the bed ebbing and flowing around her part sunken form – her huge breasts, udder, hooters, mammaries ebbing and flowing in time with the water. The orgasms, both orgasms slowly subsiding – both coming down and Dorothea stirring in the dream and then slowly into her waking state.
Chapter Five
Jugsalina didn't win the tit-tug-of-war – why would she? But then neither did Head Hooter Girl. What the two did provide though was a visual feast – a complete and total visual feast. The Amazonian grotesquely hootered Jugsalina, against the younger, yet lithe, more modestly breasted, yet still top heavy Cheryl – the Head Hooter Girl. It could have been billed as the fight of a lifetime. Pay-per-view would have taken in an absolute fortune. Or not. Pay-per-view might have blown the lid off the barbaric set up that had been established. Well no might have about it. The authorities would have come down on Hooter School like descendants out of hell. But even so – such a visual feast as these two lovelies going toe to toe – or, tit-to-tit. Hooter-to Hooter. Jug-to-Jug. Honker-to Honker – would have been just that – a visual, perversely sexual feast. And it was – just in the close and very confined space of Hooter School gym. Dorothea hadn't stopped sobbing, at the same time as smiling for a long time. She was the most bizarre sight. The sight of her hooters all rigged up for the contest was a sight that many of the other girls seemed to revel in taking in and just savouring. The legend that was Jugsalina all rigged up for a tit tug-of-war and how splendid she looked. More than one or two of the girls licked their lips – not just at the jaw-gaping sight, but also the very fact that this older woman had been reduced in status, to something that could not really be described. Most if not all of the girls in that place knew why they were there – they were there for the titillation of others – rather than for their own good, as it was sold to them in the period before their induction. This was great for them – a spectacle like this – it took the limelight off them. In normal every day school life they had their own little trials and tribulations they had to get over. They had their own tests and exams and their own daily grinds to overcome – mostly to the detriment of their own bangers. But in the here and now – this was a much whispered about contest between the legend that was Jugsalina, and the other legend in her own lifetime Head Hooter Girl, also known as Cheryl. There had been whispering and wonderment that HHG had even been entered into the contest. She was after all the HHG – she was, or had been above reproach. There were surely other 'girls' at the School who could have been entered into the contest and maybe even put up more of a show. It could have been that this was the platform, or the show that she needed to launch herself into the stratosphere of legends of Hooter School. However the rumour mill had been rife and alive with whisperings and the truth of the matter was that
Cheryl had not been right for some time. There was nothing that anyone could put their finger on – nothing at all. It was just something in her demeanour – in the way she was carrying herself in the last few weeks. It just wasn't the same as it had been. She wasn't the same. She had gone quiet and kind of withdrawn into herself. She had become Head Hooter Girl because of her confidence and because of her leadership – but mostly because of her out and out arrogance and the way she was able to bitch it over all of the girls at the School. There hadn't been one that had got the better of her – there hadn't been one who had dared even to look at her sideways. And the thing was with Cheryl was that she very rarely had to resort to any form of physical domination of any of the other girls. Usually a look shot in a certain way – or the way she approached someone was enough. The way she talked as well, was usually enough. She was able to adopt a certain tone, just slight nuances and differences in the way she spoke to someone about something. It had been rumoured that at her best, she even got one over on some of the other teachers. Never Hooter Tutor, but definitely some of the other teachers had been weary of her. The way she had managed to talk them down and even tower over them had been something of a revelation. That was the thing about HHG, she was tall and buxom and strong – physically and in personality.
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