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.