The Interrogation 4 (Chapter 5)

With all three glasses in hand, Angelina returned to the pair of young idiots and handed them their rewards, taking a seat in a chair directly opposite the sofa. They still appeared nervous, but especially after taking their first sips, the duo seemed to be making an effort to smile more and pronounce their best qualities, which in the case of Randy and Tim meant unsubtly revealing more musculature while slumping into the couch so their bulges were shown off better. This amused and pleased Angelina, who didn’t bother to hide her gaze any more than her guests did while checking out each sweaty curve and every freckle of her bleach-white globes, as if invisibly playing connect-the-dots with the glamorous age spots adorning her rounded anatomy.

“That’s really good,” Tim said, looking into his glass. “What is it?”

            “Coffee liquor,” Angelina said. “And a touch of cream. I hope I didn’t make it too rich.”

            “Rich is cool,” Randy said, perhaps meaning this to come off more flirtily than it sounded. He compensated again by tucking his trunks tighter under his thigh so they were worn skin-tight to his rod.

In response, the hostess leaned closer across the narrow gap between their seats, hunching enough that her breasts were allowed to hang deeper, spilling around the altogether-paltry strap-cups of her bikini. Both bulky sacs dipped until they met her knees, then mushed outward in both directions across her thighs like pizza dough thrown into the ground at high velocity. Her posture also helped shed light on the pudgy ever-spreading crack between cans, showing that the flirty drops of cherry popsicle had left behind thin red sugar streaks crisscrossing with the webbed blue veins that came into sharper relief the more blanching pressure was applied to her descending chest. This contrast, and morphing geometry of those jellied chest-bags, had Tim and Randy unblinkingly mesmerized while continuing to take pulls from their drinks.

“Eeny, meeny, miney, moe…” Angelina counted, swinging a lazily pointed finger between the boys. Her rack was set jittering all over again with each alternating sound, even while both sides still hung in deflated flesh slabs over her svelte thighs. “Catch a tiger by the toe…”

Breathless, Randy and Tim seemed unsure whether to follow the motion of their seductress’s hand or the vacillating shakes of her pliant assets. Adam’s apples bobbed and pants tents were subliminally encouraged to tilt yet closer across the gap between their seats, tugged by the living orbit of those tits and an increasing yearning to feel them wrapped around whatever parts of their bodies she was willing to accommodate. Or, if only to begin, they wished for that dominating hand to grab one of them through their trunks to take a crank.

“…if he hollers, let him go,” Angelina continued to sing. “My mother said to fuck the very best one, and you… are… it.”

Her finger landed then on Tim, who practically drooled at this conclusion, while Randy, though disappointed, was still enraptured by her playfulness.

“Don’t have any hard feelings, sugar. Well, maybe a couple…” she teased, reaching for the eenie-meenie loser and stroking a fingernail along his inner thigh, stopping just short of prodding his bulge. “Remember, everyone will get something special out of this, and patience will be rewarded. Now, why don’t we take this into the other room, before someone’s eyeballs pop all the way out?”

Again Angelina led the way. The boys trailed after her to the bedroom, up the winding staircase and past the cabana window view to the crystal-blue ocean beyond. The lair included a queenly four-poster bed and heavy mahogany furniture, with an armchair facing the mattress. While Tim and Randy awkwardly waited in the middle of the room, Angelina slunk into the bathroom and returned with two pairs of handcuffs spinning on her fingers.

“C’mon, lucky boy,” she said, indicating to Randy, who sat in the armchair when prompted. “Yes, I called you lucky. Remember, just because you’re sitting out for the first part of the game doesn’t mean you drew the short straw. I’ve got something good in store for you and only you. Understand?”

“Y-Yes, ma’am… I mean… sorry-”

“No, I like that. Go on and keep calling me that, and we’ll get along famously. Hold out your arms, now, and let’s get your seatbelts buckled,” Angelina insisted, jangling the cuffs. “It’s going to be a bumpy one.”

Though Randy hesitated for a moment, her pep talk and domineering attitude worked just well enough on his underlying beta tendencies. He gripped the chair and let his wrists be latched down by short-chained cuffs, making it impossible to do more than raise his hands off the wood. It seemed to sink in just how little he could do to participate only once he was restrained, and he looked forlornly down at his pants tent, which made Angelina take genuine pity on him, especially considering how few occasions he’d have left in this mortal coil to get his rocks off.

“Don’t fret. I’ll be back for you shortly,” she taunted, then in an act of tortuous preview, grabbed the waistband of his swimsuit and whipped it over his crotch, freeing his arousal at last. He shuddered and heavily exhaled, and doubly so when Angelina leaned over, spit on his rod, and gave it a single fist-pump, leaving him a moaning half-naked heap of hormones in the chair. Tim, meanwhile, already giving his full mental and sexual attention to this sight, found himself hand-in-hand with Angelina and led to the four-poster, where before he knew it, his already-meager clothing was methodically removed.

Though Angelina was still fighting her drunkenness, she used it to her advantage, massaging Tim’s musculature whenever it took her more than a few seconds to reorient herself in disrobing him. He seemed not to notice her imprecision, instead lying back on the mattress and letting himself enjoy the rubdown, while blatantly inching his tent up against the woman’s thighs, hoping for a similarly casual pantsing-and-jerking. All the while, Randy kept on mewling from his chair, probably regretting allowing himself to be handcuffed, though not nearly as much as he would soon. Once Tim was prostrated bare on the mattress, Angelina pressed a shushing finger to his lips, coaxing him to lie flat, while she backed up to provide a show for both visitors.

There wasn’t much left on the mysterious dark-haired vixen’s body that the boys couldn’t see, given the skimpiness of her garb that kept only the absolute sweet spots of her chest and nethers concealed, but she made up for this via a slow and sultry reveal. The bow strings around her back came undone, and even without needing to clutch the crimson cups of her top, they remained stuck over her upstanding nips.

While the cabana provided shade, the air was still hot, and even more so during these pre-amorous activities. This, plus Angelina’s lingering drunk-sweats that made her pearlescent pale curves glisten so, ensured her bikini stuck fast, requiring a steady peel-away, with one damp end pinched between manicured claws and gradually coming away from her skin like a popped gum bubble. Finally, there was nothing left encumbering her beach-ball breasts, and she revolved catwalk-style, letting the balcony sunlight spill over their already luminous paunch-curves for the benefit of her audience. She moved glacially enough that the bulbous merchandise hardly quivered, yet it did all the same when her tipsy footwork nearly caused a tumble, and the boys were again captivated by the ensuing shimmy-fest of white blubber and tessellating freckles.

“It sure is a hot one out there today. And I could really use a wash, by the looks of it,” Angelina pondered aloud, while grasping her boobs from either side and wrestling the surplus mass to widen the divide, again shedding light on the cherry trickles painted amongst the glossy cleavage-grease in the center. She looked down upon a full-mast Tim whose jaw looked ready to unhinge. “I don’t suppose you’d be able to oblige me, honey?”