Interrogation Chronicles: One-Night Shrink (Chapter 3)

“Can I offer you a drink?” Angie asked while bolting the door closed behind us, though given the filthy honeyed quality of her voice, the effect would’ve been no different than if she’d asked me to squat down and tongue-punch her pussy then and there. Taking a deep breath, I leaned in closer to her, wondering whether I had the clearance to start the macking.

However, she again removed all questions from the equation by taking the lead, grabbing my cheeks between both of her large hands and jerking my skull toward her waiting lips as though I was a coconut from which she meant to draw sweet fluid. Naturally I took the initiation of this kiss, just as deep and passionate and hungry as from any twenty-something hookup I’d ever had, if not more so, to make myself more at home by clapping my own hands to the undersides of her knockers. They’d been screaming to be touched all night long, and I was liable to go metaphorically deaf if I had to wait any longer. The combination of Angie’s tongue in my mouth and the squishy yet leaden presence of her enormous udders over my palms lit me up with goose bumps and re-energized lust (as promised) so fast that I almost shuddered toward the floor. As if anticipating how quickly I’d fall into her spell, Angie briefly let go of my face, though the undulation of her oxygen-suckling lips didn’t cease, to instead place her hands over mine and forcefully hug them yet closer to her chest, not only approving, but encouraging me to tighten the pressure.

Just going with the flow, our eyes-shut tongue-tango continued, while I happily latched onto those cellulite spheres at her behest and pushed up into them so hard that, even through Angie’s blue dress, I could feel the warm malleable swell of each shape sagging hard around my trembling fingers. Now that I was apparently grappling those tits more to the liking of my gracious hostess, she let go of my hands and instead pushed me right back into the goddamned wall. I wouldn’t have expected the amount of power I felt in that two-handed gesture, coming as it did from a woman with such a deceptively unmuscular physique; she had size in the top and bottom of her hourglass figure, but not much elsewhere. Nevertheless, Angie proved she was ready and capable of taking charge, which delighted me all the more.

As the back of my head met the wall, her lips followed and kept us busy. Her fingers balled into fists, grasping at my shirt and causing a button to pop clean. Not that I cared. From the aggression of her posture, with her exposed thigh now sidling up between my own so that my miserably-obvious groin protrusion had to rest against her beautiful leg, my heartrate quickened in recognition of how easily, in a split-second’s time, this could turn into a beating. I didn’t doubt that I could defend myself in such a case, but it wasn’t lost on me that, were it not for the fact that she was currently kissing, nibbling, and tongue-invading me with a master’s expertise, this might’ve appeared to an outsider like a shakedown: my back to the wall, her fists tugging at my clothes, her knee poised to ball-bust me. Full disclosure, I’m not really into the leather scene, nor the amazons who usually wear it and get paid to spit on kinky dudes’ faces, but I could certainly have imagined Angie owning a closet full of black medieval-style garments, and never blinked an eye. Perhaps a gothic countess’s collection of gowns would’ve been more accurate. At the very least, while feeling her knuckles and fingernails twisting against my stomach the harder she pushed me, I could believe that this woman really knew how to use those claws.

Deciding to temporarily guide our dance again, even if I didn’t want or need to play the leader for the rest of the night, I managed to un-pin myself from the wall without ending our snog. Angie obliged, and we twirled slowly across the carpet into the living room, which thankfully was spacious enough that neither of us risked tripping on anything en route to the closest armchair. Of course she pushed me down into it first and then proceeded to climb right on top of me, impressing me yet again with how limber she could be, and particularly while still encased in that dark curve-loving dress, though I hoped soon to free her from those restrictions of attire, and myself as well.

Feeling her legs wrap around mine as she effortlessly crouched into the chair overtop of me like the perfect succubus, all without so much as altering the pressure from her plush, moist, cherry-and-vodka lips or that stimulating writher of a tongue, I could sense I was going to surrender to whatever her idea of plans for the night held even quicker than I’d suspected. We’d been alone for, what, three minutes, and already I felt like I’d become her toy. And still I didn’t give a damn. I was ready for it. I wanted it, even. Her kiss now made my head sink into the leather cushioning, and as she was straddling me now, albeit fully clothed, gravity itself replaced Doug as my new best friend by dragging her blubbery pearlescent twins into more smothering contact with my body.

Granted, I couldn’t see them now, and my senses overall were too electrified to judge the size of much, but it sure felt like those jiggle-happy boobs of hers, when left to hang here and compressed rather tightly by the limited space between our overlapping bodies, could distend out far enough like half-flattened doughballs to cover most of my torso in their hot, heavy, sweat-glazed magnificence. As if it wasn’t hard enough to breathe already, though of course the natural resting embrace of those things was desperately welcome. The greatest mystery of all was how her dress still managed to keep those massive milky-white girls largely contained.

“I’d love one,” I gasped when she abruptly liberated my mouth in a pop of saliva and climbed off of me, leaving me flattened there in a sensuously steamrollered heap, though the weight of her chest could’ve been to blame for that. Breathless, I wondered if she even remembered what question I was answering to begin with, because I’d almost forgotten myself.

“Good. Because that left me… thirsty,” Angie declared, wiping a pinky finger at the corner of her lip, then marched off around the corner with an efficient bluster, as though we hadn’t just been sloppily using each other’s lungs like oxygen tanks for the past few minutes. “Don’t go anywhere, now.”

It would’ve taken a special kind of psychosis for me to have moved a single muscle from that chair, with or without her soft command. I listened to her humming and the clinking of classes as liquid was poured. Not that I was especially thirsty now, when biologically, I needed to get off with Angie almost as badly as I needed to continue breathing oxygen to survive, and even that seemed negotiable at this point. But I wasn’t about to contradict the woman who was fast putting to shame every other one-night stand in my history combined. I sat up straighter in the chair, not wanting her to see me as a lifeless throw rug either for when the real festivities commenced, and again got ahold of myself with a few deep exhales.

“I doubt this is a mix you’re used to,” she said, coming back around the corner, “but trust me, it goes down easy.”

I turned my head to tell Angie that whatever drink she’d fixed me would be spectacularly fine. Honestly, I would’ve said as much and still drunk it with a smile on my face, even if she’d delivered me a mug of bleach and petroleum. But of course the thing which far and away won my attention wasn’t the pair of glass tumblers housing cloudy white beverages in Angie’s hands, but a very different “pair” entirely. Specifically, her tits, which were now fully splendidly nakedly on display, along with almost all of the rest of her. Except for her snatch, which was still veiled behind fire-red panties that matched the hue and shine of her manicure. Though given the pace we were going here, I doubted that cover would last very long either.

“I’m… sure it tastes great,” I mumbled, mostly without choking on thin air. Though obviously the flavor of the actual drink she’d brought was the furthest thing from my mind now, and Angie probably knew it too.

At least I didn’t have to limit my gawping any more. Watching her slink toward me across the room, in her birthday suit except for that thong, I’d have to be brain-dead to believe that Angie wanted anything from me now except my pupils glued unblinkingly to her nips. And I was quite happy to oblige. The fleshy mounds, brown and broad, were lacquered with a curious sheen in the dim penthouse lighting. But of course my gaze couldn’t just remain there at the centers; now that the whole robust landscape of her set was out and about, not just a tempting V-window of it at the top of that gratefully-gone dress, I admired every crook and cranny, every freckle and furrow on those blanched orbs resting contentedly against one another at the long quashy intersection of perky mature cleavage like giant freshly-rolled snowwoman bodies. I really was in the presence of a one-of-a-kind queen.

“I’ve only gotten good results, believe me,” she promised as she stood above me again to pass down the drink, and I didn’t doubt her claim. I only had the willpower to tear my gaze from her just long enough to watch my hand closing around the drink, for fear of splattering it all over myself while the hypnosis effect of those funbags roped me in deeper. “Let me know how you like it.”

I nodded, and drank through half the beverage in a single continuous breath, all while watching Angie’s proud figure majestically displayed over the glass horizon, with one hand on her hip and the other raised to her own lips for a gulp. Ordinarily I might not have even registered the taste passing over my tongue, having devoted pretty much every functioning brain cell now to searing the sight before me into my permanent mental records. But the drink was indeed surprisingly good, maybe a little sweet and rich for my usual needs, akin to the fruity half-milkshake options I’m usually asked to buy for my dates, yet there was something about this one which compelled me to keep going back for more.

Licking my lips, and genuinely enjoying the after-taste that awaited, I continued letting myself sink into this view, watching those erect teats like they represented Angie’s sightline, and noticed how I’d only have to reach out to graze my fingers across the glamorously rounded bulk of that porcelain-pale skin slicked by liquor sweats and the intensity of our prior make-out. To pinch those plump nipples and massage them until she begged me to bed her. But I had just enough wisdom left, as I slumped deeper in the armchair to again better showcase the full-chub flag trapped in my pants, not to grab that life-changing rack without a final hint of permission. I felt I was being tested now, the last stringing-along of a tease before we really tore into each other, and I wasn’t about to blow it at the final hurdle.

“It’s fucking phenomenal,” I answered with a shake of my head, swirling the last few swallows left in the glass. I hardly even needed to exaggerate for the purpose of double meaning. Understandably, my voice had dropped to a sex-machine croak, just in case my newly-raging tent didn’t tip her off well enough. “I’ve never had anything like it.”
            “And you never will again,” she promised. Finishing her own drink faster, she set the tumbler down on the table beside the chair where I was still laid supine and horny to bask in the aura of the massive-titted still life model standing like a monument above me. There was a certain expectation in her gaze now, as if she was waiting for me to make a move and yet hoping I’d delay it further. It was the most focused I’d seen Angie yet.

“I don’t doubt that at all.”