The Interrogation 4 (Chapter 18)

            On the stumbling return journey back to her rented cabana in the dead of night, Angelina wasn’t quite sure what kind of hilarious state she’d find Randy in, though she hoped there was still enough of him leftover to approximate a pleasant little night-cap fuck. She’d abandoned him in quite the pickle, what with his limbs stretched out by handcuffs and a baby bottle taped to his face, but she had no doubt, and in fact hoped, his survival instincts would have kicked in to try for an impossible escape during his hours alone. It would make for some added fun upon her homecoming.

Angelina’s vacation misadventures, while occasionally irritating when it came to enduring Logan’s lunkheaded disrespect, had nonetheless gotten her deeply hot and bothered, particularly in the milky aftermath of smiting the most deserving targets of her ire. Odd as it was for her to admit, even to herself, there was a certain illicit thrill to be had when the fates conspired to challenge her like they had today. It kept things from getting boring. Her libido was only spurred on when, after turning the alpha-dog into a corpse in a cream-and-lard-filled punch bowl, she’d celebrated by wearing him in her cleavage and then helping herself to a few expensive tequila shots from Logan’s cooler. After all, they would only go to waste now, what with his ceasing to exist.

            But of course, Randy was on her mind the whole semi-tipsy time while she cleansed the place of all evidence suggesting Logan and his buddies were ever forcibly breastfed, shrunk, and caved inward by encroaching chest flab. She teetered slightly during the stroll home, no longer requiring pinpoint sobriety to clean up the last dangling loose end of this sloppy-yet-rewarding tango with the frat boys. If anything, a buzz was only going to improve things now, especially if Randy got too shrill and whiny about the systematic hunting down and dairy-flavored murdering of his little buddies.

            Alone again at last in the pricy beachside lodging, Angelina first poured herself another drink and sipped from it while wiping down a crunchy speck of human bikini she’d neglected on her left tit. Then, feeling re-centered, she headed upstairs and unlocked the bedroom door, holding her breath for whatever amusing and slightly depressing scene she was treated to. The bedside light switched on, illuminating only part of the shadowy decor.

            As Angelina had expected, the armchair was no longer occupied, the handcuffs hanging off the sides, since they became less useful the farther from human-scale that Randy diminished. And the hearty milk tank she’d kindly taped into his mouth as refreshment was sure to have reduced him over the many hours since she left him to stew in thoughts of his upcoming eroticized doom.

            “Honey, I’m home!” she cheered, hiccupping on the end. After shutting the door behind her, Angelina advanced to the center of the room, playing with the sunken neckline of her sequined evening dress so her overstuffed tatas were made to alternately boing. “If you were planning to try and take me down, maybe with a cute little shiv you carved out of… I don’t know, a drink umbrella… now is the time to take your shot, big boy! C’mon. You’re never going to have a better chance. I don’t see where you’re hiding yet, and at your size, that’s really the only advantage you could hope for. On the other hand, if you were to come out politely, so I can just go ahead and screw you until you shrivel too small to make me feel anything… well, I’d make it worth your while! Namely by screwing you until you shrivel too small to make me feel anything. But if you come out waving a pointy stick at me, instead of that thick one between your legs, we’ll be putting you down for your forever-nap much sooner.”

            Angelina revolved in all directions, squinting into the dark, while gradually hoisting enough boob pudge overtop of her dress that her all-natural twin-barreled milk squirt-guns were ready for action at the first sign of pointlessly hostile movement. Her thumbs and forefingers twirled provocatively around her areolas, getting warmed up for a bullseye-spurt into his little face, no matter which direction he came at her from, or what makeshift weapon he’d fashioned for himself. However, Angelina found cause to let go of her exposed mega-cleavage, and throw her head back in raucous guffaws, when at last she discovered Randy: not prepping a sneak attack with a plastic knife in his micro-mitts, but hunched defenseless and shivering in the corner at roughly a foot tall, with the half-full milk bottle still tape-strapped around his miniaturized head.

            It was a whole minute before Angelina, with mirthful tears streaming down her cheeks, could catch her breath well enough to look straight at Randy again, though this only made her break into more choked laughter. The tequila did make her more susceptible to this humorous sight, but sloshed or not, it was still difficult for her to comprehend the pathetic depths of the boy’s ineptitude. She’d been gone for eight goddamned hours, and this was the best he could do?

            “Tell me something, sugar-bean, just how old were you when Mommy taught you to tie your shoes?” Angelina cackled. She took a seat on a stool, which she turned and dragged to face the corner, giving Randy no way around her. “Fifteen? Sixteen years? I mean, really. Do you realize how long you’ve had here to at least try and escape? It’s not like you had to pull off a Houdini move to get out of those cuffs. That delicious beverage I poured you would’ve done the trick. Then, what, you flopped out of the chair and wandered around in circles, trying not to suck the rest of it down? I know that tape is sticky, but you couldn’t find some way to saw your way out? Look, I hate to break it to you, Randy-dandy, but I’m probably doing you a favor by giving you one last pity-hump before I put you out of your misery for good. This world would chew you up and spit you out post-graduation, trust me. It’s a harsh place, even for the smart people. And I should know, because I’ve harshly disposed a lot of people much smarter than you.”

            Randy was already quivering with obvious fear from the moment Angelina first addressed him, but after she had him cornered again, he went into traumatic spasms. Though he couldn’t scream, his anxious cries were heard despite muffling by the rubber spigot clamping his jaws open like dental retractors. A few bruises dotted his naked frame that weren’t apparently from the earlier rough romp with Angelina, which lent credence to her guess about his poor survival skills. It was clear too that his neck was getting tired from holding up a bottle half the length of his whole body, especially while anchored down with lethal lactation, so he braced the cylindrical container against the floor in an involuntary bow to his newly throned tormentor.

            “I can’t imagine how bored you must’ve been, just dragging that thing around with you all this time. Thank goodness I came back to give you a break, before you went totally out of your mind. You must be getting thirsty too, huh?” Angelina teased. “Don’t be shy. I left you looking that ridiculous just so you’d have all the vitamins and nutrients a young man needs to shrink nice and weak. The way you downed the first more adult drink I gave you, I thought for sure you’d have it polished off. Now it’s probably gone sour.”

She leaned forward, propping her arms on her knees and letting her bare rack suspend fully uncovered from the insufficient swaths of her gown. Ruthlessly tugged by gravity, both naked dough-ball breasts slouched into their typical stretched-out oval shapes, as though reaching for the ground with the woman’s increasingly erect teats. Faint traces of sweat, tequila drops, and fratster gore were speckled near-invisibly across the age-spot-and-vein atlas of her chunky twins, but came into sharper relief when the bedside lamp bathed them in light and washed even more color from Angelina’s blindingly pale knockers. As she was primed to splat a retaliatory shot of reduction cream into Randy’s face, had he tried rushing her like a possessed doll, her nips were already swollen plump as cherries, and the dangled weight of her hung boobs concentrating everything to those two points aided her ducts in beading white with milk. Flinching at the moment of the droplets’ release, the little guy watched a pair of liquid opals plunk from his captor’s mammaries, fall, and sop into the rug below.

“But you’re in luck. Because sour or not…” Angelina purred after a lengthy pause. She arched her back and sat higher again, letting her malformed tits bobble back into their normal hyper-inflated balloon geometry, then unfastened her dress. The velvety material swept down her curve-extreme silhouette, falling around her thighs and bunching at the floor when she stood upright, towering in her birthday suit over Randy once again. “…I just so happen to have a lot more where that came from.”