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Interrogation Chronicles: One-Night Shrink (Chapter 9)
🕑 Added 2025-10-02 13:00:05 +0000 UTCHer thumb eased its way across my lips, then, wedging them open until she could pin my tongue against the bottom of my mouth with the oversized protrusion of her digit. I didn’t know whether I should bite down on that finger in my mouth to help my escape cause, or kiss it so she wouldn’t leave me hanging in the orgasm department two times in a row. Choosing neither, I looked up at her with a whole night’s worth of horniness-turned-dread frozen in my face, though my sightline couldn’t stay dead-on to her gaze, while she continued more passively rocking and rolling on my junk, and thus my whole body, like we were screwing on a water bed.
Then she leaned her weight into that hand currently braced against my skull, until her obese slung-out breast was compressed against that arm, tighter and tighter like an airbag bunching around a driver, and then that liberally spouting teat was sufficiently pinched by the necessary narrowing of her cleavage to start piping an a unbroken stream of white down from her elbow to the wrist. The milk trickle widened as it traveled down Angie’s arm, almost like it was gelling into a liquid glove which then wrapped over her knuckles and spilled between her fingers. Letting the hysteria catch up to me again, I closed my eyes and sealed my lips tight around Angie’s thumb to keep too much cream from entering, right before the rest of it splashed across my face. Even so, a couple droplets managed to slip in, almost making me forget the price I’d eventually pay for their addictive taste.
“Ah-ah-ah,” she scolded with such a low grumble that it was like Angie had started moaning in tongues. As most of the milk she’d pumped was getting soaked into the sheets beneath us instead of absorbed down my throat, though, she soon leaned her distorted funbag back toward the center again until its rubbery faucet stopped oozing dairy down her forearm. “What kind of a gesture is that, to refuse when your hostess offers you a nightcap? This isn’t your bottom shelf spritzer, either, this is the good stuff. And if I told you what I paid for it, your heads would spin. Both of them would. Then again, these tits have paid for themselves many, many times over. Just like they will tonight, again. As they always do. You can believe me when I say that I want you to enjoy this, too, my little boob-man. I don’t usually choose men with… attachments. The cleaner, the better. And milking the married philanderers always requires extra closure before I can really add your notch to my bedpost. But still there was something about you. Something I really wanted to take – and I will take it, whether you get your shit together in time to like it or not. So while I’d hate to put damper on the mood, Shawn, because the last thing I want is for you to go soft before the big finish, are you really going to spoil the last normal fuck you’ll ever enjoy? Just imagine how much you’d kick yourself for it later in the great beyond…”
I don’t know if it was the haunting fry of Angie’s voice, or the fact that she’d just openly told me that my minutes of life were now numbered, but something in these last murmurs from the giantess currently fucking me silly made the circuits in my brain finally light up red again across the board. This really was it now, or at least it seemed that way in the moment. Whether I willingly drank the stuff or she choked it into me through a straw, there’d be no stopping her from shrinking me down if that’s how she desired me, just as I could either squirm to a flaccid end, or ride along with the squirty tidal wave wrought by her gigantic body and accompanying pleasures. The decision was mine.
Terror tore through me like an out-of-control pneumatic drill and my life flashed before my eyes: a life I didn’t think I was even close to finished with yet. I saw my parents on the front porch, old friends by the creek, the back alley behind the school where I puked after my first joint, the wad of prom night condoms in my wallet, my wife’s smile on our wedding day, my wife’s much-more-familiar frown when I tried to initiate a pity-fuck with her on the day my sister told us she was sick, the parade of variably attractive unknown faces in hotel rooms of questionable class, and then at last Angie again, sitting at that fancy bar, magnetizing me toward her unbelievable god-tier chest moons. If this really was the penultimate frame of my mental slide show before I hit oblivion of some kind, then goddamn it, maybe she was right about this decision too, just like she had been about everything she’d presumed about me this evening. After all, I could think of no worse tragedy than making final act on this Earth an unfinished orgasm.
Angie must’ve read my choice in my face, because after a wink, she resumed thrusting me inside her cunt with the same disastrous crotch-swallowing vigor. I think I made a noise like a stuck piglet, went pale as her boobs, and let my lips part limp again while the undammed euphoria washed back through me even faster than the shock of her previous warning. If I had to go out of this mortal coil on a lay, at least it was with a maestro like her. Rather than taking this golden opportunity to pour more milk down her arm and into my gaping little maw, though, Angie instead let go of my head and cupped the underbelly curve of the same dribbly udder, drawing it upward until the cumbersome northern flab began to fold on itself and her nipple was pointed topside, whereupon she surprised me yet again by doing what I’d failed to do before and closed those full crimson lips of hers around her own arousal-prickly milk jet.
Baffled but largely just surging with refreshed arousal over what I was seeing, I watched Angie’s mouth pumping and her cheeks puffing steadily out with self-fed lactate. For a curious moment I pondered if she was about to start shrinking on top of me, too, until it occurred to me that if this woman had apparently infinite gallons of the stuff already sloshing around inside both her mammaries, then even a bullfrog gulp of it down the hatch wasn’t going to make her lose an inch. But, as it turned out, she wasn’t sipping for her own thirst.
By now the squeaky bed was shaking so hard that I half-expected it to launch through the roof and fly us off into the night. The heat in the apartment felt like it had climbed by forty degrees, and there was no distinguishing my sweat from Angie’s now, except wherever plunks of rogue milk were interwoven with saltwater. I barely felt like I was in my own body any longer, so remorseless and satisfying was the living machine of our sex, engineered solely by this story-tall amazon treating my body like a dildo with a little man glued on to the non-business end – yet I still wanted to feel the explosive finale to our sexual fireworks so badly, that even the looming specter of my possible demise was just barely my highest order concern, with our climax in a close second.
Cheeks full of milk, and struggling not to drool her calcium-thickened shrink potion out as she bowed her head again to meet mine, Angie contorted herself then atop me in a manner more exuberantly flexible than I wouldn’t have expected someone of her heavy-asseted endowment to manage. Still she kept our nethers plugged together, but also heaved her twin jiggle sacs down on so that practically everything except my head was buried under a giantess’s feverish pulsing chest-and-booty flesh. Then the raven-haired succubus’s puckered milk-wet lips met mine, and recognizing that I wouldn’t be able to stop that dairy froth river from crashing into me whether I closed every orifice or not, I strained my shrunken neck out like a baby bird’s and met Angie’s mouth with the kiss I knew she wanted.
