Pacho did not know if he was offended or flattered by the way Tloche had just nabbed him off Trano’s hands and practically squashed him flat against her bosom with her two hands, hard, squeezing his breath out. If her chest weren’t so yielding, he could have been hurt. 

In any case, he relished being against her skin. Without any hint of perfume on, she smelled wonderful, and her delightfully warm skin was incredibly soft, despite her enormous size; he was too engrossed and relieved to be reunited with Tloche and to be away from the redhead that he did not have the energy to try to understand what the two women were loudly speaking about. To his embarrassment, he felt himself growing hard.  Before he could try to change position, so his hard-on did not poke her, he felt Tloche whirling on her heels, and the pressure on his body relented a little. A moment later, he winced as he heard the door slam.

His world spun again, and he found himself being held by Tloche’s fingers at his sides and lifted carefully until he was in front and very close to her billboard-sized face. His arms were almost pinned by her fingers and he struggled to cover himself as she scrutinized him very closely with her soft, deep and concerned eyes, looking him over to see if he was intact. He noticed how she glimpsed his member and then, conspicuously averted her gaze, reddening noticeably.

He was so embarrassed and aroused that it took him a few seconds to register and understand what Tloche was saying to him, in her soft voice:

-Gaidjuubo wa? Paa-tshoh? Man-kha wuarwi men garatta wa? Akshi kha nimi kha dhjinda djannta na to amawatte paihee djinpaa natta wa zuuu!! (Are you ok? Did anything happen to you? I was so worried, thought you had died on me!!!) she spoke so fast and so loudly that he struggled to catch her meaning, which he mostly did. He was so close to her mouth as she spoke that he, mesmerized with the movement of his sexy, full lips, could see delicate strands of saliva beyond them connecting the top of her mouth with her tongue.

When she locked gazes with him again, he was shocked to witness a veritable fountain, literally liters of tears, flowing from her beautiful eyes, down her smooth cheeks. He could hear the liquid pattering against her bosom; she was covering her mouth with her left hand, and. Her comely face was now reddened and twisted in a scary grimace of grief.  Again, before he could say anything, he found himself pressed against her exceedingly supple cheek, her palm against his back, again with a bit too much force to be comfortable, his breath coming out in a muffled “whoofff”, and the pressure increased even more, alarmingly. She started speaking:

“You could have died… and I never did say… never did dare to...”

Her speech slurring from there into incomprehensible babble as her voice broke and she started sobbing uncontrollably, squeezing him so hard with her trembling hand against her head, which was also bobbing with her sobs, he thought he might pop.

His squirming finally registered, and she gave a few steps, her shaking hands finally depositing him on her chair atop the handkerchief he used as a blanket. He looked up to see her pale arm retreating, her open camisole revealing an enticing amount of cleavage before she knelt and brought her giant face closer to him. Her soft eyes kept scrutinizing him, and her hand even appeared again to turn him around rather roughly so she could inspect his back. He covered himself first in front and then in the back with his hands as she manhandled him and probed him in the back, the head, and the abdomen, prodding and squeezing him softly with her long fingers. He struggled to cover his hardon, which had not completely disappeared, but one hand was not enough, as the other was busy covering his ass crack from her prying eyes. Tloche seemed to catch his embarrassment and annoyance and looked around for his purple makeshift shorts but could not see them anywhere. She straightened and looked away, embarrassed. Then she stood up and turned his back on him.

A few seconds of awkward silence ensued, broken only by her sniffles.

Pacho thought feverishly. The redhead had hinted at that Tloche was interested in him in ways beyond what he dared to hope. He had thought of himself as barely a pet to her, and her demonstrations of worry still did not convince him otherwise, but as he saw her avoiding his eyes, he realized that he had to take the first step if Tloche was to see him as a man and and not as an unwilling, stranded little thing that happened to live with her. He decided to take charge and act.

“Mukwiodó”. (“It is unfair”.), he yelled at her.

Tloche whirled her head as fast as if she had spotted a snake:

“Sorry, Paat-shoh, I did not catch that”. She knelt again and brought her face closer.

“I said it is unfair, Tloche”.

“Ummm…” she looked around. “What is?” her doe eyes looked him straight in the eye, questioningly.

“That I’m the only one naked in here”.

“Sorry… I don’t know what happened to your…”

“I don’t’want them. I don’t like them. I don’t’need them”

“But…”  

“Dear Tloche. If this is going to work, we need to be equates”

“Equates? Sorry, I don’t understand… maybe another word? You mean equals?”

He dropped his hands to his sides and said:

“I meant… that I think being only me the naked is unfair”

Silence ensued as Tloche’s eyes, as if drawn by an irresistible force, went from his eyes, down his body into his exposed manhood, which from nervousness and fear had finally surrendered… mostly. Her jaw dropped; lovely mouth half open. She stayed like that for a few heartbeats before catching herself and looking away, biting her lower lip.

And suddenly, without a word, she stood up so fast that the wind displaced by her body ruffled Pacho’s hair. She stood very close to the chair, and he strained his neck to look the giant woman in the eye, from knee level. He could only see her flaring, ivory camisole in front as the curtain to an immense stage, and up there the swell of her breasts almost covered her face, of which he could see her dark nostrils as she looked down at him with unreadable eyes, dark long hair framing her face, draping over her chest. He began to worry he had made a terrible mistake. Then, in silence, her hands appeared above and she undid the girdle of her camisole, and dropped it to the floor. Her fingers found, clumsily, the buttons which she undid. Then she flared the garment open slowly and deliberately. The colossal, thick satiny fabric slid off her shoulders to the floor in a whoosh. She had been wearing nothing underneath.