Pacho sat on the giant plastic table, covering his ears. In front of him, a veritable pandemonium had been set loose. The three giantesses were squabbling aloud in the full volume of their thunderous voices. He was pretty sure they were arguing, in their foreign language, what to do with him. The blonde, Peteh-whatever and Cantlutloche (what a mouthful of a name) were the most vocal. The red one, whatever-Soprano, was trying, unsuccessfully, to mediate in the heated argument, arms as long as cranes waving around menacingly.
He had taken the time to take off his boots, feeling quite ridiculous with only those on. His clothes were nowhere to be seen. The stunning brunette took them away at some point. Sitting down he could cover himself better without using his hands. He ran these along the well-applied bandage in his leg.
A lot can happen in fifteen minutes, he mused. After he was caught, Cantlutloche had taken him to whatever abode these had. Through the gaps in the giantess’s clutches, Pacho managed to get glimpses of a tree-lined street, cars of an unfamiliar make and a flight of stairs as his captress ran as a madwoman, the other two in tow. Then he had been scrutinized, bandaged, cooed over, asked to strip, and even his prick had been fondled. And now three beautiful, huge women were fighting over him.
The girls lived in what was a clearly modest, shared student’s lodging, judging by the neat but cheap-looking furnishings. Along with a portable radio in a rather archaic-looking leather case, the fruit bowl from before, and a porcelain cup, he was on top of a table. There were three chairs of each occupant of the small flat around a few photographs were on the walls. Beyond, open doors to narrow rooms, where only a cot, a small wardrobe and a desk and chair were the only accommodations. Besides that, a big window and the door they had all come in through. No bathroom or kitchen in sight. Probably somewhere else in the building, shared, he pondered.
Now that the unsettling attention of three pairs of keen eyes were not set on him, he had time to consider his near future. I have no fucking idea where I am or what I am going to do. Ni puta idea. He was also deeply ashamed by being naked in front of these strange women. And my prick chose this time to get stiff. At least they were (mostly) respectful. Trágame tierra. He put his face in his hands and shook his head, unsure of how to look at them in the face from now on.
They did not seem to have noticed he stole some glances at their chests as they bent over him before he was treated by the brunette, who obviously had some kind of medical training. The giant boobs were kind of difficult to ignore. The loose neckline of Cantlutloche allowed him to even glimpse a dark nipple as she bent to work on his wound. She was wearing no bra, and neither was the red one. Pete had a kind of strap around her modest chest. A veritable growl from Cantlutloche broke him out of his reverie. Looking up, he saw Peteh glaring at him and then storming off the apartment. Next thing he knew, Cantlutloche grabbed him almost roughly and she stormed to one of the rooms, leaving behind a clearly flummoxed Soprano. She slammed the door so hard his teeth rattled.
She set her medical purse on her desk and him down carefully on her bed (it smelled like her) and started to pace her room as a caged tiger… or rather caged tyrannosaurus, biting the nail of her thumb, muttering indistinctly under her breath, looking around her room in quiet despair, glancing occasionally at him. His low vantage point treated him to peeks at her shapely, muscular but slender legs, pale as living porcelain, muscles rippling as she paced back and forth. Her unfettered breasts bounced rather distractingly with each determined step she took.
Despite the glower from the blonde, Pacho was warier of Cantlutloche. She was intense. Her tall, willowy frame concealed a springy, unpredictable energy and irradiated a powerful sexual allure. Her dark eyebrows, long eyelashes and huge eyes, black as coal, her proud mouth and chin had a fiery set to them that revealed an iron will, not easily thwarted. He suspected his future depended largely on what the passionate, pale girl would decide. With a mixture of fear and trust, he realized he was in awe of the giant woman. Her look of pity and concern when she was curing him was completely unfeigned.
Whatever had just transpired in the recent argument, he was sure Cantlutloche had taken his side.
His confidence in her wavered a little when he realized she had stopped pacing and was standing before the bed, wringing her hands and staring at him unwaveringly, biting her lower lip. Then, quick as lightning, she moved to her wardrobe and started to rummage in, pulling a dark pair of leggings and a matching t-shirt like blouse, too small-looking, both of which she draped over the chair. She also rummaged in her medical purse and Pacho was startled to see she pulled a nasty looking, gleaming metal lancet, which she set aside; she also pulled a strange yellow pillow the size of her palm, a small bottle and a box of adhesive bandages like the one she put on his leg. What is she planning to do with that…? Soon after, she pulled a glossy magazine out of a desk drawer and flipped through it roughly, her back to him.
When she turned back to face him, Pacho saw, startled, that silent tears were running down her stunning face in twin rivulets, her face grim, her eyes defiant. He could hear the pitter patter of the tears on her chest. She was pale as death. What the hell is going on??
Cantlutloche showed him the magazine in mute appeal, clearly distraught at not being able to speak about whatever had her that upset. It was open in a rather blatant spread ad of what looked suspiciously like one for military or police recruitment, as he could not tell which from the unfamiliar uniform and the unrecognizable script. He looked at it, stupidly, and then it dawned on him. They are coming! Probably called by that bitch Peteh…he realized with a chill of true fear. At best, life imprisonment, at worst torture and even vivisection could lie at the end of that road. He shook his head and looked imploringly at her.
A sob escaped her beautiful lips as she looked down at him, her face twisted in a terrifying grimace of utter, unspeakable gloom. Another thought struck him. He had to get away! There was no point in getting these women in trouble over him. They were clearly no match for a military search operation, and neither was him. But Cantlutloche surprised him yet again. Her expressive face recovered her steely set and then she turned to grab the lancet.
Pacho watched as she sat on the chair, crossed her legs with one ankle on her knee and grabbed the lancet. Cantlutloche rubbed alcohol, judging from the smell, on a cotton pad, wiped it on the lancet and then under her heel. Then she took the lancet in one hand and one foot with the other and, to Pacho’s shock, she plunged the steel blade under her heel. Dark blood welled up, and the giant woman quickly scooped up the strange yellow pillow and smeared blood all over it. What kind of alien ritual is this? Then she bandaged herself, with no outward sign of pain.
And then, even more shockingly, she grabbed the sides of her dress and pulled it over her head, leaving herself only with a rather oddly cute gray loincloth on, which he nimbly stepped out of, and tossed it on the chair, where her dress now lay. All 25 meters of naked, giant woman, were in front of him. ¿Qué putas pasa acá? What the hell is she up to????
He looked up at her in disbelief. Her magnificent, great breasts, jutting out of her almost a meter from her chest were capped by dark purple areolas, as wide as jumbo-sized paella pans. Her tits were heaving with emotion. He averted his eyes with difficulty, only to see her rather hairy crotch; he averted his gaze again, not knowing where to look. Apparently Brazilian style did not catch here, he managed to think before he managed to look up, only to look down again.
I’ve got to get away from all this! Unthinkingly, he ran and rappelled down the bed covers until he was on the floor. He realized it was really awkward to run with a raging hardon, but he did try. He reached the closed door, but realized with dismay that the gap below the door was not big enough for him to squirm through. The giantess watched his flight with her mouth open in incredulity before she muttered a curse and stepped toward him. His back to the door, he could only look up at the towering edifice of womanhood approach him, her breasts bouncing.
Pacho had some instants to look up her infinite legs, the underside of her buttocks, pressed together creating a crack dimpled with her anus, crack which continued to her meaty genital slit, the surprisingly long distance between the mound of her furry pubis to her breasts and between and beyond, her exquisite downturned face in a mixture of annoyance and amusement. She talked to him soothingly and then her body descended as she squatted, hand outstretched to get him. His eyes zeroed in unthinkingly at her crotch, right in front of him. The last thought he had before being grabbed was that her clit was curiously large.