The Interrogation 4 (Chapter 6)

The frat boy scrambled to a seated position, which put his face perfectly level with her stunning rack. He showed no hesitation, after so much buildup, in thrusting his face into the tubby embrace of her milky flab, his determination allowing him to press forward until his nose met the deepest crevasse, while tit fat blossomed back in from the sides as Angelina slowly relinquished the pressure from her grappling fingers. Though she felt his huffing breath intensify as cellulite ballooned over his face, molding itself to his features like rising bread, Angelina could also tell he was relaxing into the experience, with no intention to withdraw, and so she happily let go, leaving him to the buxom pressure of the twin walls caving in on their dopey-headed obstruction. This freed her up to instead caress his shoulders and arms, stopping just shy of sliding her palms up around his neck, though it would’ve been the easiest thing in the world from this position to close his windpipe, especially with so little oxygen making its way betwixt her cans.

Immediately upon being submerged, Tim commenced tonguing the tacky dried popsicle rivulets, even as his light and air were squelched away by the enclosure of his hostess’s bosom taking him into a full-skulled headlock. Taste alone was enough to guide him in his duties, the saccharine sugar-lines melting into his throat, along with an equal quantity of salty sweat dredged from every overheated pore in the spongy alcohol-whiffed valley, though he seemed not to mind this grunginess. If anything, it improved his experience, making his hips quake on the bed. He began to reach for his sore erection before it could go blue-balled, but Angelina stopped him. Now with her adorable victim’s head squeezed in an overwhelming tit-vice, she took hold of his hands, like a blind man in need of aid, and guided him away from his genitals to her nipples instead, which he began to tweak. Even in masculine athletic fingertips, the goosebumped mounds of her teats were meaty enough not to be overpowered. Nearby, Randy’s handcuff chains rattled as he attempted in vain to stretch far enough to masturbate, but found he wasn’t going anywhere, or touching anything, until the temptress unlocked him to perform the so-called special plans she had in store.

As Tim was so intent on his task, wanting to do well and earn himself some reciprocation afterward, he failed to notice the feeling of creamy liquid beads forming where he manipulated the spigots of Angelina’s bosom. While still encouraging him with upper body fondling, the woman cautiously began collecting the milk droplets along her fingertips and sensuously rubbing them over the upper shelf of her cleavage, allowing the samples to trail down into her chest gulch, much like the cherry juice had earlier.

With Randy kept at just enough of a distance, and Tim’s head literally buried in mammary excess, neither boy was aware of the increasing quantities of milk leaking from her ducts. Drip by drip, twin rivers of stark-white lactation made their way like thick external veins from the nape of Angelina’s neck down the slope and into the compacted darkness, though thanks to her semi-smothered motorboater’s head, there was plenty of space for the milk to penetrate all the way down to his exploratory tongue. Suddenly the flavor of this intra-breast worship became that of cherries and cream rather than liquid fruit alone, but Tim either didn’t notice, or was too lost in lust to care.

Then, after he’d imbibed the equivalent of full swallow, right when he might’ve started to notice the calcium-rich addition, Angelina kept Tim’s mind deeply in her gutter by wrapping one milked-up hand around his cock and using the dairy as rough lubricant to jackhammer his needful manhood. He quickly responded by synchronizing the motion of his body, gently heaving himself back to forth to match the pistoning of Angelina’s hand around his member and the delicious red-and-white fluids painted gummily in the obese central nook of her cleavage. Naked and hunched at the level of her bare chest, he looked rather like a piglet feeding off its mother’s underbelly.

“Oh, God… p-please, can… c-can I have a turn?” Randy pathetically whined from his front-row seat. “M-Ma’am?”

“Very soon, love,” she purred, while clandestinely feeding Tim another milk trail. “I want you piping hot and raring to go for when you finally wrap those pretty lips around something tasty.”

“M-My dick is gonna… oh, fuck, it’s gonna explode. Please, ma’am, j-just… touch it?”

“Oh, I’ll do more than touch you. You’re going to have far more than you can handle. Just give me a minute to finish with your friend. It won’t be long now before he’s hit the peak. And then I’ll be more than happy to help you explode.”

While Randy rolled his head back and closed his eyes just to ease some of his tantalized strain, Tim felt long fingers clutching the back of his head, keeping him face-planted between Angelina’s globes. Not that he needed the encouragement to stay, even though he was beginning to long for a quick breather before more snorkeling amidst clammy udders. Still, she seemed to like taking charge during the foreplay, and Tim had nothing against that. He was surprised at just how far around his noggin she could reach with those elegant digits, her nails digging in for an aggressive scalp massage, though he was also just a little perturbed upon trying to lean back, finding it impossible thanks to Angelina’s single hand imprisoning him. While not wanting to offend her, he ceased unknowingly squeezing milk out of her nips for himself and tenderly patted her hand, hoping she’d take the hint, but this only made the woman mash him more firmly into a cushy sandwich of boulder melons.

Maybe it was claustrophobia finally catching up with his horniness, but it only occurred to Tim now how truly spacious Angelina’s bosom was. The longer he spent clasped between these record-breaking boobs, the less like languishing in a human female chest it seemed, and more like getting gently clobbered between two car airbags post-crash at once. Though the alluring texture of her tepid flesh and bouquet scents of misted perfume, beach sweat, and tropical drinks helped make up for the overbearing experience, he was beginning to lose some of his sexual zeal, and in fact would have if not for Angelina still jerking his hard-on.

Upon first dipping in here for a lick, only Tim’s face fit, yet now the woman’s swollen skin seemed to have bulged around from all angles, the flab going concave around the sides of his head, and blooming back to its naturally doughy shape over his ears. This left just enough room for Angelina’s hand to blockade him in a potentially-suffocating face-hug. Finding she was unwilling to release him, Tim’s shaking hands obediently returned to the risen isles of her areolas, only to find the skin now sticky-sopping with milk. Though it made so little sense, the unsettling volume of liquid glazed down the underhang of her tits, plus the ambiguous cream flavor coating his throat, let Tim start putting the unlikely pieces together.

Perhaps feeling the young man go limp in the clutches of her breasts, Angelina’s fingers cinched around his head and yanked the rasping boob-diver clear out of the squeeze. The force of her thrust knocked him flat on his back again, strewn across the bed, and while the beleaguered frat boy coughed back to normalcy, he looked up to discover that his odd sensory suspicions while locked blind and airless in a floppy sweat-and-milk-laced hooter pile-up were correct. Angelina’s already-enormous chest had, if such a thing was even possible, become even more humongous, as had the rest of her body and the entire room, which was right around when Tim took notice of the fact that his previously six-foot-two naked frame had been impossibly reduced to just under four feet. He’d shrunk.