Dorothea was computing every single word being spoken to her. Every single word was crystal clear and with a clarity that was alarming – and yet she still uplifted her boobs and smiled away. Hooter Tutor spoke as though her speech had been prepared and had been rehearsed – even down to the last little bit of 'street' – it just ain't gonna happen.
“You've used your sexuality, and mostly your jugs for all of your life to get your own way. And I know it is Wendy's aim to reverse what you have felt about your breasts. We know how high a regard you have held your breasts in all through your life – and quite frankly how much you have adored your own breasts. But well, the fact is that as you travel this path, the one that has been chosen for you, you will learn to hate your hooters. Hate them with a passion. You will hate them, despair of them and loathe them. As your mind is taken away from you leaving just the bit that lets you keep on knowing how you are suffering, you will learn to 'blame' your bangers for everything that you are suffering and will suffer in the future. You will hate them with a passion and you will loathe them with equal passion. Indeed there will come a time when you will dearly wish that you were no longer attached to your breasts. If I can promise you one thing, it is that you will hate your own tits – and yet, at the same time, you will be all positive about them to.”
Once again the words were filtering in and tumbling round Dorothea's diminishing mind-set and once again she smiled wide, and lifted and squeezed her hooters as though she were trying to tempt the two freakish women. And then it came, the bombshell, the utter carnage, or the equivalent of a mind bending atomic explosion in the mind – the one that Dorothea had to take, had to be convinced was the one that would mean her reverting to Plan B. Not that there was a Plan B.
“Oh yes, and before we wind up this little conversation, or should I say, before we put this little conversation to bed once and for all – let me just assure you that we KNOW what you did to your helpless, defenceless husband. We KNOW how you waited – waited until he was suitably frail and unable to defend himself – and how you kept him medicated up so that his mind would be more confused than his age let on – and we know how you then smothered your helpless, old, frail husband with your breasts. How you pressed all of that flesh onto and around his face and how you ever so slowly cut off his air supply and how in effect you drowned your own husband with your hooters so that you could get your hands on his wealth and fortune. And we KNOW that it worked. We know how you leant over him and how he looked up at you adoringly as you lowered your jugs down to his face – he probably thought you were trying to give him a little thrill in his old age because he loved you deeply – more than deeply – and yet you callously lowered your tits down over and onto his face, very slowly mind you. Oh yes very slowly so he wouldn't panic, or struggle even with his failing health. You lowered your hooters down, felt all of that flesh surround and envelope his facial flesh and then you lowered some more, pressing the tit flesh down and very slowly, and yet very completely cutting off his air supply – and then we KNOW how you stayed like that. How you stayed bent over him, his face drowning in your hooter flesh until all of the life was taken away from him – until YOU took all of the life away from him with your jugs.”
The colour began to drain from Dorothea. How could they know? No-one had known about that. The death certificate had said “natural causes” and that was what had been accepted. There had never been any suspicion of concern as to cause of death – there had never been a point when the question had been asked or the finger pointed – at least not out loud. So how could this woman, these women, know all of this about her and her husband. The creepiest and most mind numbing thing was that Hooter Tutor had got the facts completely and utterly right. There was nothing in what she said of those events that were wrong. It was all right. That is was she had done – that was the exact method she had used to finish off her failing husband. And that was the reason that she had done it – for the money, for the wealth – for the huge house and all that went with it. There had never been a finger pointed, not seriously anyway. But having that, in that dream, pushed right in her face. It brought it all back to her. Dorothea had barely given that 'killing' a second thought after she had done it. In point of fact and if truth were known Dorothea had got a sexual thrill out of what she had done. There was more to it though – she had got a sexual thrill as she had actually carried out the act. As she had drowned her old husband in all of that tit flesh, she had orgasmed. She had squeezed her thighs and she had orgasmed. The orgasm had been intense and it had been wet and slippery. She could remember like it was just yesterday, feeling the wetness running down the insides of her thighs and as she had felt that she had pressed down with her udders just that little bit harder – just that little bit firmer. It was like the more she pressed down into, and over the face of her husband to snuff his life out, the more intense her orgasm got. It was like one feeding the other – but at the same time she had not wanted the life to be drained from him too quickly because then the thrill ride would be all over and done with and she didn't want that. She wanted it to last and last and last. So she pressed down and felt him meekly struggling for breath then she took the hit of intensity, then she ever so slightly lifted herself off, before lowering again and taking another hit. As she finished off her old helpless husband she rode the orgasm that act produced by lifting and lowering her huge mammaries – she did this many time thus extending the orgasm she experienced several fold. Oh god she remembered that day like it was just yesterday and it made her shiver. It made her shiver as she thought of how she had stayed, her breasts crushed over the face of her dead husband for what seemed like hours and hours but what in reality must have only been minutes – before then lifting herself off of him and looking down at his wide lifeless eyes. But the strangest thing was that there was just the hint of a smile across his thin fleshed lips. It looked to her like he had died happy – at least that is what she had told herself at the time and that had seemed to ease the burden of her guilt. She had felt guilt – in that few minutes after that intense orgasm and then the coming down from it – the guilt had hit her like a steam roller and her knees, as strong and as shapely and as stunning as they were had almost given out on her. But then that guilt, that nerve shattering, mind melting guilt had simply evaporated – simply vanished as soon and as quickly as it had appeared. There one second and gone the next. And she had never experienced the guilt ever again – or even thought about it. But this brought it all back to her. Plan B she had to have a Plan B.
“See now, I can see that I have hit a raw spot there. Right there. You thought no-one would know. No-one would ever know about what you did, didn't you Jugs, hmm? You thought that you could just use your mammaries as weapons with which to murder a frail old man, your husband no less, and no-one would ever know anything about it. Well, let me just enforce upon you my dear, that there is a lot known about you – there is nothing that you have done in your past that we don't know about, and that we can bring back to the surface if we have to, or need to. You need to learn that it is going to be much, much better if you just chill it out and take the ride that you are going to be taken on because for you, there is no other way. No other way at all.”
Those words, those fucking words were just going round and round in Dorothea's head. She had done her husband in years and years ago. That was all done and dusted – there was no way that it should be able to be brought back up now. That it was in fact being shoved right back into her face at this point in time, at this point in this dream was almost like a bolt of electric that was paralysing Dorothea. She did a final uplift of her tits and as she did that she licked her lips. It was kind of a last resort – a last resort that she had relied on successfully so much in the past – using her sexuality because that was all she could do or would do. It was what she knew the best. It was all that she knew. She could do it and she could do it well. That she could make the uplifting of those ever growing hooters of hers appear provocative and des
irable was a credit to Dorothea really. It hadn't been actually true that she hadn't learnt anything. Oh she had learnt lots and one of those things that she had learnt was that those thing inside her, the things that had become part of her could hurt her really bad if she lost that smile and positivity – so she didn't. And somewhere, somewhere right down inside her melting mind, she was thinking that this whole 'situation' this whole thing was sexually related. She had this feeling, just a feeling, but maybe she had it because that was how her mind, all through her life was conditioned to think, that the two women, these two freaking nut jobs, were living out their own sexual fantasies and so, by acting provocative, being sexually alluring to them in the here and now, in this dream, then maybe, just maybe she would get somewhere. Maybe she could just use her sexuality and her assets in order to win over these two women. It was a sign really that she was not thinking right – or not thinking at all. She licked her lips wetly and she lifted and squeezed her udders for the women. But the lifting and the squeezing faded with the realisation that it was getting her no-where. The two women – the tiny almost frail looking Wendy and then the bigger, more aloof and imposing Hooter Tutor simply looked at her blankly and then at each other. Hooter Tutor's smile was not so much a smile, but more a grimace of disdain as Dorothea offered herself and her assets obscenely.
“This 'creature' simply does not learn – she does not take anything in what-so-ever. But there is time for that. There is time for her to adapt. Indeed there is no option but that she does adapt and learn. Because if she doesn't she will simply suffer like no other creature before her has suffered before.”
Hooter Tutor spoke, but the words, in Dorothea's mind had begun to fade – like the volume or the clarity had begun to fade and had become muffled a bit. Inside Dorothea's mind, at that precise time, and that precise split second of time she had decided that she had needed to implement Plan B – not that there was a Plan B. Not that a Plan B had even been thought of. Dorothea had barely even had time, or the inclination to think of the plan she had been entered into, let alone a Plan B. But as Hooter Tutor's voice droned on and became less distinct, as the edges of those words faded into a kind of audio blurring, so the decision in Dorothea's mind snapped into place. She was going to have to make a run for it. She didn't know how, or where she was going to run. She was somewhere in Wendy's house and yes it was a big house, bigger than her own – but if she just ran – if she could just make a break for it and run for her life the surely she could use her basic instincts to guide her out of the house and out of the grounds and once she was out, she would be safe. Once she was out of the house and out of reach of these nut cases she could re-assess her life – just simply re-assess. She could sell up, move away, start again.
The smile hadn't faded from Dorothea's lips for even a split second when the silktex things inside her gripped, first just like taking hold, like making sure that it was a good grip, a good non slipping hold that they took and then they tightened. They tightened around her cervix and put pressure inside her womb so a point that she winced and screamed out. But that was the same time, the exact same time that she made the break for it. She was still holding her hooters – like she was carrying them with her. Almost as though they were not attached to her at all but like they were separate pieces of baggage that she had to take with her. Making a break for it, meant just that and if she had the choice, or the option, she would not take extra baggage with her... but she did – she took her hooters and she was carrying them. This made her progress cumbersome and erratic. She managed to side step Wendy and Hooter Tutor who appeared to remain motionless simply because Dorothea's break for it had been so unexpected and so sudden. She seemed to weave between them with some expertise and yet as she did that she had to make sure to keep hold of her hooters so she cradled them in front of her. Both of her massive mammaries swaying and bulging with every erratic step that she took. Her long strong legs came in useful for the strides – and they were long strides that she took. Except the corsetry of silktex was squeezing and constricting her there as well. The most bizarre thing was that she felt the silktex working her waist smaller and smaller, which was uncomfortable in itself and at the same time she could feel the out corset of silktex squeezing and squeezing her waist smaller and smaller. It should have stopped her in her tracks but it didn't. At this point she had decided to make the break for it and that was what she was doing. The thing was that, the sight must have been something approaching a comedy sketch because of the cumbersome, fleshy load of tits she was having to carry. At one point she almost spilled one breast over one arms and then as she had changed direction she had almost spilled the other tit. Both times, still on the move she had re-grasped the flesh and poured it all into the dish like shape she had formed with her arms.
She ducked out of that room and then down what seemed like a never ending corridor that seemed to be in complete blackness. It was like she could not see where she was running – or indeed if at any moment, any second that she would run into something, or someone coming the other way out of the blackness. That could happen – she knew that the twins were most likely in that house somewhere – and that even maybe somehow they were 'connected' to each other and therefore would know, at any given time if there was trouble, or if the other twin, or Wendy would need help. These were the weirdest thoughts that Dorothea was having as she lunged into the darkness in that house. She was running but she didn't know where she was running. She had a feeling that she was on a lower level, like a basement, or even a sub-basement level. She didn't know why she felt that. Maybe the lack of windows, or even the fact that the shard of light, the one that told her she was in that dream was beginning to fade. She was running but that shard of light was not running with her. It was not moving with her and even though she kept moving she was wondering what that meant. Did that mean that she was not dreaming anymore? Had the whole nightmare now ended – had somehow the two worlds, that is, the dream world and the real world somehow morphed into one and now she was running this was the end – that she would get to the end of the black corridor, the dark corridor and burst through some doors and into the streaming bright sunlight? Yes that could be it. That would be what was happening. And the thoughts of that were making her positive again. With that positivity came the manic smiling. She didn't stop running but the smile came back – that perfect lipstick smile. That was what the dream was telling her was that her smile was perfect and her thick lipstick was perfect. The smile and the positivity feeding through to the silktex and that stuff loosening a bit. Not loosening entirely but just a little bit. A little reward for her. But she was running after all and so the stuff did keep a hold. There was a light at the end of the corridor and Dorothea thought that was it. She had escaped. Just a single light bulb, quite dim, but bright in the pitch blackness that had existed – and it was like it was leading her – guiding her to the exit door.
As she lumbered up the narrow, black corridor she looked for the door that she would burst through. But there wasn't one. When she got to the end, all there was was a right handed turn. A ninety degree turn to the right and then there was blackness again. But that was alright. Ok, so it was going to be a longer run, a longer escape than she had thought, but she was getting there. At one point she stopped and all she could hear was her own deep breaths – quite laboured breaths. But they were her own breaths. She listened – she hauled her hooters back into her arms, just where her flesh had spilled over her forearms, she had hauled that back into her 'dish' and then she had tilted her head – she had tilted her head as though she was listening. She was listening – she was listening for anyone who might be following her – or chasing her – or coming to bring her back into the presence of those two nut jobs. But there was nothing. Apart from her own laboured breathing there was nothing – just a dead, still silence. She listened again – maybe Wendy, or Hooter Tutor would call her back – tell her not to be so stupid that there was no escape after all and that she should just go ba
ck and take what is coming to her. But there was none of that – none of it at all. That told her that she had made it. She had made the break and she had got away. No-one chasing her, no-one calling her. She must have made it! Not even the shard of light had followed her. In her melting, slightly erratic mind, that shard of light had changed anyway and now that she was escaping and getting the fuck out of that place, maybe the light would just go out. Maybe it had gone out already. She seemed to stay at the end of that first long black corridor for a long time just tilting her head and listening. And staring down into the blackness that she had just run out of. But she wasn't out yet and she had to make progress – she had to get out. There couldn't be that much further to go – but she had to get out. She began to run again. She gathered up her mammaries and she began to run again – the light of that single bulb fading as she ran into the blackness again. At one point she thought she heard something and stopped but all she could hear was her own breath. She ran again, this time, at least in her own mind putting more and more effort into it. She looked ahead, just that same pitch blackness – the need, the sheer need to get out of that place stronger than the fear of her running into something – and then, there at the end another very dim but very distinct light. Another single solitary light bulb signalling the end of that corridor – as she approached it she slowed. Looked for that all important door again – the one that would let her out into the sane world. The weirdest thoughts go through people's minds at the times of the greatest distress and anxiety. At that precise moment as she reached that second light she wondered when she got out, how would she explain those tits to other people. How would she explain those monstrosities that had once been her pride and joy? How the fuck would she just explain them. Then she hit herself with the obvious answer – that being she would cross that bridge when she came to it.
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