The Interrogation 4 (Chapter 3)

For half an hour following this rather alien brand of frat boy humiliation, Angelina had carefully chosen not to take another sip of liquor, as it was mostly to blame for her inability to verbally fight back against her numb-skulled opponents. Of course, she still assigned full responsibility on the anonymous creeps themselves. Instead of guzzling more like she was planning, she sat quietly, spinning a paper umbrella in an empty glass, and still fumbling to conceive of her anger in the correct proportions. Strangely, Angelina hadn’t even found herself this furious after being taken into police custody that one irritating night, when she was placed in far more physical danger, under threat of becoming a prison bitch to a bunch of crooked sheriffs. Maybe it was the beverages amplifying her feelings now, but drunk or not, Angelina simply couldn’t be asked to suffer fools. And these boys were not only some of the biggest fools she’d encountered in years, but they’d cleanly gotten away with damaging her pride: mocking her age, her appearance, her very right to be there, all while the top dog went fishing in her cleavage like his own personal claw machine, in search of a prize.

Never in her life had Angelina allowed rude boys to get away with their behavior, and she’d milk-shrunken incalculable bastards for doing far less than the sins committed by these fratsters. The fact that they were still out there on the crowded beach somewhere, partying it up and groping college sluts, totally unaware that they’d just repeatedly poked a powerful bear, only made her blood boil faster. This wasn’t ideal, considering she was already overheated and sweating bullets from the alcoholic comedown, but Angelina wasn’t about to let a little humidity get to her. Gulping water to wash out the toxins, she studied the wood patterns in the bar while methodically strategizing her next move.

In any other situation, Angelina would’ve had the luxury of time to revive her herself from a bender while sexing up some hunky stranger, then when she could finally see straight again, fill him up like a dairy balloon until he popped as a shrunken whelp. But her prey hadn’t even bothered to stick around, apparently impervious to the entrancing charms of her larger-than-life assets, and she recalled the Alpha stating they were departing from the vacation hot-spot the very next morning. Which meant that Angelina didn’t have until then to let her steel-trap mind tighten back to normal again; if she was going to get those boys, she had to start acting now at half capacity, still boozed and a little dizzy. But sure as the sun rose in the east and set in the west, she was going to have all six lads floating belly-up in a shallow grave of a milk whirlpool: of that much, Angelina was deadly certain.

Naturally, she’d have to go hunting for needles in a haystack of humanity, which was sure to be the trickiest part, since she had little more than a few first names to go off. While their generic and dopey college-boy faces were cemented in her mind’s eye, they were also dressed like hundreds of other university kids throwing a rager on the sand. This meant she’d need some serious luck, but Angelina had also learned to trust her intuition and regular blessings of serendipity. Taking a final swig, she tossed the tender a tip and ventured out to the masses.

Closer to the water, Angelina found an unoccupied lifeguard tower. After adjusting her blood-red swimsuit again so her nipples didn’t protrude through quite so egregiously, she scaled the ladder and observed the crowds from her elevated perch. Purse-lipped, moving only to let her jugs swell and deflate with air while the sun’s glare turned her anemic flesh snow-white, Angelina scrutinized the dense drunken assembly through her dark-tinted glasses. The people were difficult to track at once, but after spending a focused period playing live Where’s Waldo for the boys who would soon be left drifting in a milk pool like pitiful soggy Cheerio bits, she had to concede. Her targets probably weren’t here.

Instead Angelina took to stalking along the nearby boardwalk, frustrated but not deterred yet. Even while buzzed and purging herself of the last coconut hiccups, the ire in her veins was too sharp to let the slim odds of revenge get her down. She could feel the eyes of young strangers upon her, some in simple shock at her proudly displayed gifts, others gaping at her bouncing udders with libidinous intent. In any other circumstances, Angelina would’ve used this as a prime opportunity to pick up a few playthings and let them blissfully half-suffocate under her bloated boulders, even if she didn’t shrink them tonight. Many of them were just drunk, high, stupid, and adventurous enough that she might’ve even gotten several boys to accompany her somewhere. But this was no time for games. She was on a mission.

And just when Angelina was on the verge of acknowledging that maybe she was fighting a losing battle here against the poor odds of a thousand-plus strangers, she saw them. Not the Alpha and his trio of yes-bros, unfortunately, but the two marginally more respectful cronies from the back of the pack. It took her a moment to be certain it was them from afar, seated by a popsicle stand, but after some cautious observation, Angelina was assured. Funnily enough, she hadn’t even been offended enough by this duo specifically to have deemed them worthy of capture and lethal shrinkage on their own. Too bad for them, however, they were currently her only link to the real bounty of the Alpha, Chad, Austin, and Kyle. Which meant they had to go.

“Sorry, boys,” she whispered under her breath, before crossing the boardwalk to the stand. There was still a definite waver in Angelina’s step, but her determination helped make up for it, taking hard strides that thumped the dock underfoot and made her puffed chest bobble all the more heartily.

By design, the pair saw her coming from a mile away, as did everyone around them. The boys went stock-still, each with a popsicle halfway to their mouths, and pressed their backs into the stand, but made no attempt to retreat as Angelina approached. They didn’t share the exact same superheroic physique of their other friends, but still had plenty of features that appealed to their huntress, namely their abs and the shape of their swimwear just below. Jaws hanging open, the only movement in the two milder-mannered fratsters came as a result of their pupils boinging up and down like plastic googly eyes in order to closely track the heaving rise and fall of the woman’s buoyant melons scarcely contained by those tiny red hammocks which made up her swimsuit. Insinuating herself between them, Angelina gripped the counter for balance, then ordered a cherry popsicle. While the attendant retrieved it, she turned to face both quiet hunks, peering at them over the rim of her sunglasses and winking.

“I don’t think I caught your names back at the bar,” Angelina said, accepting her frozen treat. She ripped away the wrapper and immediately pressed the cold hard tip to her pouted mouth, showing the popsicle to be lighter in hue than her lipstick. Rather than insert the frigid dessert, she extended her tongue and lapped up from the base to the top, leaving behind a darkened spit trail. “For the record, I’m not really a mother, like they guessed. But, would you two care to give a mature lady a better introduction?”

The pair, going ashen-faced with embarrassment such that their own complexions briefly resembled Angelina’s marble-white exposure, shared a frantic glance with one another, then looked back to her, fidgeting and stuttering garbled noises under their breath in much the way she’d intended to make their four ruder cohorts react before. Taking another full-tongued lap up the side of her popsicle, Angelina raised a hand, quieting both their stammering with a single wave of her long manicured nails.

“Now, now. There’s no hard feelings, and no need to trip over yourselves. Believe me, you can’t pull off this outfit I’m in now if you don’t have the self-confidence to handle a little goofing off from immature little boys,” Angelina said, finding some of her bravado returning after such an immediately anxious reaction from the pair. If it wasn’t already painfully obvious, these two were the bottom of the fraternity totem pole, and she could feed off their subordinate personalities to make up for any bleary shortcomings brought on by an afternoon of tropical drinks. “And besides, you two weren’t so forward as your friends, which I can appreciate, even though I do believe I saw those eyes of yours wandering to particular places. Don’t worry. I take it as a compliment. So let’s just start with your names.”

“T-Tim,” one boy peeped.

“Randy,” said the other.

It was plain both boys were again struggling to keep their gazes from plunging into the bountiful valley of those pillowy hooters, though as usual, Angelina’s rack had a gravitational pull all its own, which was doubly exerted on the weak-willed. This meant both Tim and Randy were caught with their attentions flitting awkwardly between those impenetrable sunglasses and her nipples erecting back into pointed summits with every additional lick on her popsicle, chilling her otherwise overheated body from the core out. They may as well have physically tipped forward at once to head-butt her buxom flanks, and probably wouldn’t have even realized they were falling until they’d already had their faces submerged in a swollen yield of hyper-pale flesh.