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Interrogation Chronicles: One-Night Shrink (Chapter 5)
🕑 Added 2025-08-07 13:00:05 +0000 UTCOf course Angie didn’t really need to command me this way, since my lips were already parted in awe of everything I was seeing and feeling, but I guessed she just wanted a wider target. That suspicion was confirmed when, right after I hungrily plied my jaws fully open in readiness for this maternal feeding, the frothy dairy spurted from her teat with the intensity of a high-flow showerhead. I might’ve winced with surprise, but I had Angie to anchor me, and plus the lukewarm goodness of her motherly liquid was so satisfying from that first splash down my tongue and into the throat, going down more smoothly than any more-adult beverage I’d ever drunk, that I was seriously enjoying it by the end of the first swallow. Like the mysterious mixed drink she’d handed me before, I’d expected needing to look past the flavor of my hostess’s moo juice. But to my shock, the stuff made my tongue light up with tasteful need in a not-dissimilar manner from what was still happening with her butt and my pants tent lower down. The rich stream of falling milk shortened, then, as Angie gradually descended her bosom again toward my face without halting the pour, so that her cream had less and less distance to travel, until that wide milk-damp areola greeted my thirsty lips, and her generous nipple was inserted deep enough into my mouth for me to gratefully pucker and slurp directly off it like a man-sized infant.
“Show me how you can suck, baby,” she cooed. “Show me what you’re going to do downtown later.”
I didn’t just suck, but straight-up guzzled. This wasn’t exactly how I planned to eat her out, and only hoped she knew that I wasn’t a barbarian, but the desperation to tongue that teat and take in its liquid magic as fast as possible was too great to hold back. Luckily, this method still seemed to get the job done, based on Angie’s low-throated moans. Had I been able to reach back in time now and give myself a hint of what was happening right now, I can only imagine how hard I would’ve laughed in my own face. I truly would never have believed that I could be having one of the most erotic experiences of my life while still fully clothed and imbibing heavily off a mature stranger’s mammaries, with bowling-ball girth enough to smother me with just a slight adjustment of pressure. And, hell, I just might die happy, were that the case.
Luckily it wasn’t, though, because even as I felt a flash of disappointment when Angie’s nipple slipped its way out of my mouth with a final squirt, I couldn’t mourn its departure too badly, since her upward-arching posture could only mean we were getting ready to move onto new business: the grand finale. I was fired up, especially with this tasty round of calcium in my system, certain that I could handle whatever else this woman dished out in the bedroom for hours on end. It would be tough to keep myself from finishing too soon, but given Angie’s obvious penchant for enjoying life’s unorthodox pleasures slowly and methodically, I trusted that she’d be able to keep me under control. She climbed backwards off of me yet again, her still-active teat trickling occasional gems of milk onto my clothes in the process.
Breathless, I was just about to request that we move to the other room, but the look on Angie’s face caught me off guard enough to swallow those words as instantly as I had with her milk. It wasn’t disgust or anger or boredom I read in her, since the woman’s body language was still unquestionably inviting our passions to collide, but for the first time all night, I saw a shade of an emotion that appeared foreign to a woman with her godlike confidence: bewilderment. It was very subtle, a single brow furrow or oddly-timed batting of an eye, but all the poker I’d been known to play during these business trips (if I’ve struck out with the chicks) has taught me enough to recognize a tell. Something was bothering her.
I could only pray that whatever it was didn’t prevent us from fucking sometime in the next sixty seconds. Before I could gently reattempt to scoot this thing toward coitus, though, there came a soft clatter from the other room, and I saw Angie’s tell again, but more emphatic, as her largely naked figure tensed up so hard that her milkbags almost completely stopped jiggling.
“If you could just… give me a moment. I think that’s the cat. Don’t want him making a mess. You just stay right there, big boy,” she said as she held up a finger, still wearing a sultry smirk, but addressing me now with that same off-kilter mood, as if we’d somehow lost the whole last hour of familiarity. And then she sauntered out of sight again at power-walk pace to tend to her misbehaving pet.
Again my pulse clenched to think of coming so close to getting with this woman, only to lose that chance at the five-yard line. The atmosphere had taken a turn: I knew that much. Worse, I’d probably spend the next weeks if not months wondering what the hell I did wrong. I’m not usually the paranoid type, but my yearning to know what was suddenly wrong with Angie and hopefully fix it in time to salvage our night made me take notice of the fact that in the whole central living area of her lavish apartment, I didn’t see a single sign of a cat. The place was classy top-to-bottom, without so much as a scratch or stray hair visible on the expensive furniture. If she was lying to me, that could only mean she’d changed her mind.
Look, I’m not one of those assholes who thinks “no” is a “yes” that needs more convincing, but I am one of those assholes who, when there is no other choice, will absolutely debase myself as a last-ditch effort. And there was truly no one I’d ever met that made me want to debase myself to a lower level than Angie. I stood slowly from the armchair, first eying the exit that I might well be ordered to use soon, then the hallway down which my hostess had disappeared. It was now or never. Angie was obviously all about control, being the one on top, and satiating what had to be a serious mommy fetish. So I had to get in there and give her a pathetic ultimatum. Commit to being her sex puppet for the night. Hell, maybe get on my knees, whip up some baby tears, and offer to eat her out three times in a row right there. Yes, the risk might backfire and turn her off, even make her mad over my intrusion, but the way I saw it, things were already headed south, so it was either go big or go home. And God, I hate going home. My wife’s rack was going to look even flatter from here on out, after I’d seen a real pair on a much realer lover.
So I stood up, straightened my clothes out, and stepped humbly down the unlit hall. As its door was ajar, I could hear rustling from the room at the end, and even what I thought was Angie’s whisper, though it was tough to know at first, since she was speaking more harshly to her apparently-real cat than I thought her voice could even go. I was five steps away from the bedroom, and seriously rethinking this aggressive do-or-die seduction move now, but before I could silently backpedal into the living area again, Angie’s saccharine croon rang out:
“Would you care to join me in here, John? I was just getting a little more comfortable.”
That was a surprising errand, considering Angie was already one panty short of nude, but I fully supported her going full commando now, especially since her buttery tone of voice again suggested that the odd moment before was just a glitch: a misunderstanding on my part. The fucking was surely still on. I’d been worried for nothing. Eagerly, but not so fast that I looked like a buffoon, I took her invitation and burst into the room. Sure enough, there stood Angie with her silken underthings wrapped around one ankle, and otherwise fully exposed now in her opulent lavender-scented master bedroom. Her hands were fastened around each side-boob swell, compressing them together with sufficient pressure to turn both rotund freckle-fested shapes oblong and lengthen her cleavage line by nearly double. For a moment I thought to ask politely if everything was okay with her cat, but soon realized I didn’t care.
“Don’t be shy, now,” she murmured while still plying firm pressure to both bulbous chest hocks. “You’re the one who’s still dressed.”
“Maybe now you’d… let me show you what I can do downtown?” I offered while unbuttoning my shirt and stepping slowly toward her.
“Maybe I would,” she concurred, widening her stance to invite me in for a taste. “Or make that definitely.”
Her bare pussy, though obviously not as visually arresting on its own as those disproportionately spectacular honkers further north, was glistening and smooth as her milk, and made me salivate in strange conjunction with the dairy’s lingering aftertaste in my cheeks. I was so glad to have finally reached this point, I scarcely clocked the way her boobs seemed to be jittering independently of the grip applied by her palms to each pudgy hemisphere, or the fact that Angie was frowning now with concentration. At this point, it would’ve taken a helicopter crashing into the apartment to interrupt my grateful march toward her sex. Licking my lips and taking a deep breath, I began to bow before my perfect one-night stand goddess to give her business the attention it deserved.
It was only as my face descended past her bountiful bovine twins, the one nipple now shining with a shell of semi-dried milk, that I saw something I honestly didn’t expect to see: my wingman Doug, naked, roughly six inches tall, panting like a maniac, and wedged halfway into the cellulite vice of Angie’s gorgeous tit trap. Nor did I anticipate the words that came hoarsely wailing from his mouth the minute he’d wriggled into sight and met my gaze:
“Holy FUCK, SHAWN! RUN! RUN! DON’T DRINK THE MILK! SHE’S A FUCKING WITCH!”
“Doug?” I yelped, the sound escaping at least three octaves above my normal speaking voice, while my eyes threatened to bug out of my skull. What happened next, I truly can’t attribute to either dumb blind coincidence, or some fucked-up Russian sleeper agent-type bullshit locked in my brain when I spoke my friend’s name. Because at this stage, based on what I was seeing, pretty much anything would’ve seemed believable.
