The
pressure stopped.
When I
opened my eyes again, her vast face loomed at me, her gaze trained on me with
anticipation. I couldn’t turn my head; my temples began to ache in the clamp of
her fingertips, which were still tight around my ears.
A long nail
slid around my lips, trying to pry them apart.
“OPEN UP
WIDE.”
I stared at
her questioningly. Her bright green eyes ran over me with arrested longing.
“YOU WERE
ADORABLE TONIGHT, JERRY, SO MUCH FUN. YOU CAN’T BLAME ME IF I WANT TO HAVE MY FUN
WITH YOU IN PRIVATE AS WELL.”
“But we’re
serious now,” I countered, “I mean, in addition to this.”
“MMM. I
KNOW YOU ARE, SWEETIE. WE HAVE A NICE
BALANCE GOING ON. YOU’RE A SOFTIE, AND I’M MORE…NOT.” She seemed about to say something more, but then tapped my lips
with her nail and concluded: “NOW, OPEN. GIVE ME ROOM. A LITTLE TEETH IS OKAY,
TOO – YOU’RE TOO TINY TO HURT ME.”
I obeyed
and she steered my head onto her nipple. The tight red bunch passed my teeth,
scraping the roof of my mouth, and finally lodging between my tonsils, sealing
off my throat. I couldn’t bite her even if I wanted; the hinge of my jaw was
stretched around her areola. Her scent filled up my head, pulling a chemical
trigger inside my brain .
As she
leaned back, I was left clinging to the underside of her breast like a baby, my
legs stretched down, and the balls of my feet pushing against the ridge of her
upper rib.
She drew my
head back, the nipple escaped my throat. Her fingertips nudged in tighter as
they framed my face, sharp nail tips digging into my brow and jaw. One nail
slipped deep inside my mouth to keep it prised open. The underside was alkaline
and slimy with soap. My throat quivered in disgust. I must have grimaced
suddenly because she chuckled. My reactions of surprise or shock to her body
always made her laugh, where it would have made other women self-conscious.
Her other
hand cupped her breast, keeping the point of its swollen tip locked onto my
mouth. She drove the hardened nipple back in, manipulating my head around the
mass, encouraging me to suck deeply and stretch the nipple as she drew my head
back, until she made a noise of frustrated arousal. When this wasn’t enough,
she began to flick my head around with rough swipes of her thumb, grazing my
face into her nipple over and over.
The nub
slapped and poked at my face for a long while, growing faster and more
insistent. Giving my head a rest, she adjusted her grip of me to sit upright
against her fingers while making my stiffened dick do slow, circling laps
around her areola, and playful flicks against the nipple until my butt was
unconsciously bucking into her hand, straining to release the pressure in my
balls. Her nipple probed and traced my shaft delicately with the firmness of a
finger. It felt just as good for her, too; her head drove back into the pillow
and her breath came out in trembling gushes as she directed my dick to flick at
her boob, faster and faster. As the feeling built up to a dizzying height, I
was switched to the other nipple, which paddled rapidly against and around my
shaft. Then switched back.
As the
point of the nipple teasingly ran up and down my shaft and stroked my glans, I
gave a shiver and came in multiple rounds, and then, feeling totally drained,
slackened in her grip. She let out a long sigh – not satisfied, but frustrated
I was over before she was happy. The hot air of her fierce breath combed
through my hair, as she stubbornly carried on drawing my penis back and forth
over and around her breast, drawing rapid circles around the areola, which
tightened before hitting the bullseye of the nipple. Then, cupping her free
hand up under her breast and tensing the nipple between her forefinger and
thumb like a pencil tip, she perched my groin on her nipple and began trying to
work the hard nub up behind my balls, towards my butt. This was weird and
nauseatingly erotic to me. Confusing even, as the nipple was so hard and thick
compared to me, it felt like a phallus trying to batter into my ass from
behind. I struggled and groaned, and she just giggled, loving my powerlessness,
absolutely aware of the homoerotic suggestion of what she was doing.
Finally she
let up, accepting that I was spent. My balls felt utterly wrung out, entire
genitalia aching like an overworked muscle.
“What are
you thinking about?” I said, more eager to sustain the break than anything.
“WEIRD
QUESTION…” she said under her breath. “DO I HAVE TO BE THINKING OF ANYTHING?”
“I
mean…you’re not fantasizing?”
“YEAH…” she
answered, “I DON’T DO THAT. WHEN WE PLAY AROUND, MY BRAIN DOES THE OPPOSITE OF
THINKING.”
“I don’t
believe you.”
“DON’T
WORRY ABOUT IT, TEENSY ONE. YES, MY BRAIN USED TO BE KIND OF A JUNGLE,” she
admitted. “BUT I DON’T NEED CRAZY THOUGHTS TO GIVE ME A LADY BONER ANYMORE.”
She peered
down at me for a second and then brushed my lips with a finger.
“ALL DRY?”
Next thing
I knew my head was racing up through space before getting snagged into place
between her parted lips like my head was the neck of a bottle she wanted to
drink from.
Her tongue
darted out and muscled around against my face, filming it over with a generous
lather of her own brand of natural, orally-derived lubricant. The tongue
summoned a seemingly endless supply of it from the depths of her oral cavern,
and sending buckets of it bursting over my face, dumping me in warm slime,
before the tongue brushed back and forth over my features with vigor, while
scooping up more and more newly produced saliva to dump over my ensnared face,
even as I tried to thrash my head away, but only getting an accidental mouthful
of it for my effort.
Then my
head was free again, cooling in the air, before being swirled around and around
the aroused red bulb of her nipple, battering the nipple with a gentle swatting
motion of my head, as I struggled to gargle on the saliva I’d accidentally
swallowed.
She said
breathlessly:
“EVER SINCE
YOUR SHRINKING – WHATEVER – ACCIDENT THING, MY SEX LIFE HAS JUST GONE, LIKE
‘BOOM!’.”
“I can tell,”
I gasped when her boob wasn’t mashed against my mouth.
She went
on, exhilarated:
“NONE OF MY
VIBRATORS DO WHAT YOU DO.”
“I’m more
than a vibrator,” I said, while slightly perturbed that her reference to
vibrators was in plural.
“EXACTLY.
YOU’RE A TALKING VIBRATOR. A SMART VIBRATOR. I DIRECT YOU, YOU WORK WITH ME,
AND IT’S A DONE THING. LIKE YOU KNOW MY BODY – OR LIKE, YOU’RE BECOMING A
LITTLE PART OF ME.”
Suddenly
her attention was drawn to the bedside table. My phone made a sound and in a
blink, she snatched it up, bringing the novelty-size phone right up to her face
and was squinting, trying to make out the tiny screen.
My head
jerked up. Her other hand still had me applied to her breast.
“Hey!
That’s mine – you can’t just—!”
“OH, STOP.
YOU’VE USED MY PHONE A MILLION TIMES.”
Either her
face was screwed up from the effort of deciphering the tiny text, or she was
displeased. Her eyes glued to the tiny screen, she remarked with a playful
taunt:
“IS SOMEONE
IS JEALOUS YOU MET ANYA?”
But – was I
imagining it? – there was an understated bite in her tone, as if this ‘someone’
embarrassed her.
“You were,”
I pointed out.
“DOES THIS
SOUND LIKE ME: TVB…KISS KISS…” Her brow scrunched and she muttered to herself, “—WHO
IS THIS…THAT NATALIE CHICK?”
My breath
hitched. There were too many problematic texts on my phone. I needed to get it
out of her hands.
Without
another word I whipped the sheet over my head and pulling myself up the dark
hill that was her torso and grabbing at every square inch of flesh within arm's
reach.
Surmounting
her abdomen, I began to scurry on hands and knees down her body, the silky
flesh of her stomach dimpling lightly under the impact of my tiny hands and
feet, heading towards the cleft between her legs, which were shifting
restlessly in the dark. All I could think about was burying inside her and not
stopping.
The sheets
lifted way up over my head as a huge thumb scooped up just below my ribcage,
fingers wrapping around my back, and with the smallest application of strength –
as if I was light as a feather – separated me from the floor of her flesh. As
the hand tilted, I moved backwards and my head was revolved around until I was
on the other side of the sheet, hovering in the air upside down in front of her
vast face, which watched me with calm puzzlement as I squirmed and yanked at
the thumb like a safety bar pinning my stomach, and paddling my legs in the
air, groaning.
"WHAT
ARE YOU DOING?" came a understated tremor, as if she'd caught me in some
quirky but harmlessly fascinating task, whilst internally debating if she
wanted the full story behind it.
“I’m trying
to fuck you,” I grunted, irritated by her patience.
The other
enormous hand shifted in front of my view as the tip of a finger extended,
moving up my body and probed lazily around between my legs, before scooping up
under my balls and lifting my dick onto the hard plate of a nail.
“WITH WHAT?
YOU’RE NOT EVEN THAT HARD.”
“I would be
if you stopped holding me back.”
She plucked
at my member until it was long and hard and craving the pressure of her
womanhood. It was shameful how quickly it perked at her touch, against my will.
“YOU’RE
DOING IT ALL WRONG,” she said with mock pity. “YOU’VE GOT TO TALK A GAME FIRST.
COME ONTO ME. GET ME INTERESTED.”
“Oh,
fuck—!”
Suspended
upside in the air, the blood was going to my head and making my brain sluggish.
“TRY
HARDER.”
The
pressure of her fingerpads was shifting all around my body as she idly turned
me over between her hands, as if inspecting me from all angles, until I began
to feel like a piece of dough being moulded. At the same time catching dim
glimpses of the shadowy hills of her breasts and the extension of her lower
body vaguely imprinted beneath the sheet, and the shapes of her legs – crossed
over each other – and way down the other end of the mattress, her toes tenting
up the sheet, curling and screwing the fabric up between them. All of this
should have ramped up my lust but the constant shift of gravity kept tugging my
blood flow away from my groin.
Her fingers
seemed to shuffle down my spine as she rotated me head down, a thumb pushed
against my forehead, then I was turned sideways, the fingers of one hand
grasping my chest, the thumb buried just under my jaw, while my ribcage was
held between the fingers of the other hand, and accidentally pressed down on my
groin, smushing it for a second, before lifting and planting itself on one of
my butt cheeks. It was perturbing how deftly she could juggle me around between
the fingers of one hand, like I was ping pong ball.
My mouth
was open but nothing came out. There were no words in my brain, just primal
instincts.
She
gracefully slid her feet over the mattress until her knees pointed up, legs
open.
The
rotation slowed until I was upside down again, staring straight ahead into her engorged
lips, slightly parted and wet. She brought my face against the puffy ridge of a
labial fold, and slid it down past the end of the slit. Suddenly everything
went dark as a tight sleeve hugged around my head, which squished around,
rubbing furiously. Fluid gushed over like a tide coming in, while my hands
searched blindly for the mattress surface, or something firm to push against,
but my palms kept connecting with a shifting landscape of slicked pulsating flesh.
Before I could free myself, her hand spread over my back, two fingers sliding
up my ribcage and hooking in beneath my armpits and holding, keeping me lodged
in place. Once I was still, she drew me out of her vagina.
“You didn’t
come,” I said once I caught my breath.
She gave me
a subdued smile as she looked me over, observing my condition.
“IT’S A
LITTLE WITHHOLDING THING I’M TRYING OUT. LET’S SEE HOW IT GOES.”
Scoops of
fluid began pouring over my head. Even as I shook my head to throw the fluid
off, sheet after sheet kept getting painted over.
"DON'T
PANIC," she soothed, after I was half-drowned under the sticky deluge,
"THIS NEXT ONE—” there was a small smile in her tone “—USE THAT BREATH
CONTROL AND IT’LL BE A PIECE OF CAKE.”