The Interrogation 3 (Chapter 9) (Patreon)

Angelina, stunned into another rare bout of speechlessness, only stared the man down, fumbling for the right combination of flirtations or trickery that might finally get her out of this mess. But she came up dry. She could see the intent in his beady eyes, the assuredness in his position of power, even more entrenched than Williams had been. While the now-deceased sheriff seemed primarily after a prison pet he could use at his will for some buoy-bouncing and nipple sucking, this gray-haired creep didn’t appear open to a buyout.

“I asked you a question…” the man spat, and swatted Angelina’s cheek: not enough of a slap to leave a whip-crack in its wake, but plenty to sting. “Speak up, bitch, before I become discourteous.”

Angelina flinched again, harder even than she had when the senior sheriff had stabbed her in the chest with his probing fingertip. But her reaction wasn’t even to the act of being hit across the face. It was the man himself who burned her up inside. Nobody, but NOBODY, had treated her like this in a very long time, not even Williams himself, and the last people who had done so to this degree were among the first to taste her gifts and enter hell via prolonged squeezing between her breasts.

She wanted so badly to lash out, to curse this cocksure nitwit and then milk-board him with enough special lactation to drown a horse. And unlike the horny Sheriff Williams, whom she was ultimately content to kill in sloppier fashion due to all the entertainment value he’d provided for her in falling for the ridiculous one-tit-shrinks-one-tit-grows gag, the crotchety misogynist asshole who stood before her now deserved something even worse: something Angelina could watch play out steadily, perhaps swirling him with a straw in a tall glass of pure maternal cream and blowing bubbles into the beverage so the froth popped around him, sopping milk through his skin and into his throat and lungs, until he diminished into a mite just like Williams.

Then again, it might be equally as delightful to shrink him just enough that he became a foot-tall doll-man, the perfect size to be crammed between her hooters and caressed violently from both sides, smacking him about the chops until his skin was reddened from the continual impacts with perspiring milky boob-meat, until his dusty bones crumbled, until all the life was squeezed out of his little pleading face, and only when he was beaten to death by her tits would Angelina hook his lifeless shrunken jaws over her nipple like a pump tank and fill his entire body up with dairy until he was just a tiny bloated milk-balloon: suitable to be left out in the front yard on a stake as a warning to other presumptuous fuckers who dared cross the most secretly powerful woman on Earth.

“I’m… afraid I don’t know what you’re talking about, Sheriff,” Angelina whispered as politely as she could, given all the homicidal fury swirling within her at the utter sickening novelty of her own helplessness.

“That’s what I was figurin’ on,” the old sheriff grunted. “All right, Deputy, take our new troublemaking friend back to the station. Get her sobered up any way you can, while I stick around and find out what happened to Sheriff Williams, though I doubt we’re gonna find much evidence until the sun comes up. I’ll let you know when I’m on my way, because if my investigation here doesn’t prove successful, we’ll have a lot of talkin’ to do with this little lady here. Get on it.”

“Y-Yes, sir,” the meek redhead replied. Still too afraid to look at Angelina’s top-half nakedness, he approached with his head bowed to take hold of the handcuffs and lead her to the squad car. Though fuming with rage at the man who’d just ensured her night was truly ruined for good, Angelina couldn’t help but be amused at the deference of the rookie, and obediently followed after him. Her long confident strides through the mud and back up the ravine hill made it so she was more in control of their partnered gait than the nudity-averse young man.

Her gaze bore through him, as did her smeared-lipstick grin, and she took her time getting into the backseat, essentially forcing the deputy to gently push her inside from whatever awkward angles that allowed him to avoid touching those astronomic fat-padded pillows hanging from her frame. Once loaded up and buckled in, the deputy backed the car onto the road and drove off with Angelina in tow.

Though her need for payback was still simmering hotly inside, the woman now had just enough solitude to find clarity, to refocus her thoughts, and begin formulating a ploy to correct this incredible perversion of the natural pecking order. The old man would be a tough cookie to break, yes, but already this gangly newbie-cop seemed easy enough to chew up and spit out, shrunken or not. All she needed was an opening.

After a long silent ride, during which she repeatedly noticed the deputy’s nervous eyes flashing to her in the rearview mirror, they pulled into the station. Angelina was pleased to see, at least from the outside, the small-town law enforcement HQ was more Mayberry than Fort Knox. If she played her cards right, she could walk out of here a free woman long before the sunrise. The skinny deputy removed her from the squad car with minimal contact, again like she was a piece of fine china, much to her quietly smirking amusement, and brought them both inside. They marched through the empty office to the booking area behind a locked door.

“Think I can get out of these cuffs soon, honey?” Angelina questioned the deputy with a wink, giving her chains another rattle. Unsubtly, she gave her hips a sway, which in turn made both weighty tits swing and smack one another, bouncing off her slender shoulders on either side. “Whatever happened to innocent until proven guilty?”

“Y-You’re a prime suspect, ma’am, and we’re placing you under arrest while we ascertain the veracity of your claims,” he stammered, sounding like he was reading from an academy handbook.

Still, the kid produced a key from his belt and, after guiding her into a small holding cell through another door and around the corner, finally removed Angelina’s shackles from her aching wrists. Deeply aware of the young officer’s inability to look directly at her while her pendulous boobs were still hanging wild and free from her dress, the woman took her time in re-sheathing her milky-white bags, and ensured to use gestures that produced maximum jiggling from her freckled flesh in the process. Like a curse had been broken, the blushing deputy could finally bring himself to look at her, though Angelina could tell he was still having great difficulty with the fact that so much of her cleavage was visible through the window of her silken neckline. He winced each time his pupils accidentally flitted below the arrestee’s eyeline down to her sagging mammaries repacked in her tight-fitting dress, not out of horror or disgust, but like a schoolchild accidentally stumbling on retro nudie mags and going through a sudden awakening.

“Well, fair enough, then… I’d expect nothing less from a real man of the law,” Angelina sighed, nudging the leg of the cot with her high heel, then pivoted back around and approached the door. Naturally her breasts touched the bars before her face could, given how far they jutted out in swollen proportion, but even after the woman’s rotund spheres brushed the cold metal and her erect nipples flicked coquettishly over the lock, she continued to lean in toward the boggle-eyed deputy on the other side. Eventually her dimpled cheeks could press to the door as well, while the doughy geometry of her chest was stenciled by those jailhouse bars, spreading her top back open and causing veiny skin to puff slowly through the spaces between the bars like melting candle wax.

“Those are… j-just the rules,” he mumbled, now himself sporting a bead of sweat on his brow, even though he plainly hadn’t had a sip of liquor all day, if ever.

Try as he might to avert his gaze, it was hard to avoid the amorphousness of Angelina’s breasts jammed against the bars and rolling back and forth, bobbling and squishing new swaths of freckle-patterns through the spaces, all while the black-haired vixen held imperious eye contact. She could just begin to feel his attention gravitating solely toward her rack, when a crackle from the deputy’s walkie-talkie broke the standoff. He jerked his head at Angelina and left the holding cell area, though as he only stood just outside the door, she could hear him clearly.

“Yes, sir, she’s been detained,” the deputy said. “Yes, Deputy McDonald is gone, sir, so he must be on his way to meet you at the crime scene. What’s that? J-Jumpsuit, sir? Is a change of clothes, um… is that necessary? After all, she’s… what’s that, sir? Yes, you’re correct. No, there’s no need for that, sir. I’ll… see it gets done. And her processing. Of course. Right away.”

The man returned a minute later with a beige prison uniform in his arms, which he passed through a gap in the bars of Angelina’s cell.

“You’ll need to put that on, ma’am,” he said.

“Oh, right away, Deputy… I’m sorry, I didn’t catch your name?”

“Deputy… Owens.”

“Deputy Owens,” Angelina repeated, licking her lips. “All right. While I still insist there’s been a colossal misunderstanding here tonight, I won’t give you any trouble. But… I’m afraid I can’t change wardrobes.”

“W-Why not?”

“Well, this is embarrassing for me to explain, not wanting to cause even more fuss over Sheriff Williams, but he was, I guess to put it nicely, a bit rough when putting those cuffs on me, who knows what for, and until my shoulder has had a rest, I don’t think I’ll be able to reach the zipper and get this silly old thing off on my own,” she explained, giving her ravishing black garment another sashay that rattled the cage with the percussive tremor of her tits. “Does… that sound like the Sheriff to you?”

Deputy Owens swallowed hard, nervously scratching his neck and avoiding her gaze again, as if to imply it sounded precisely like the sheriff.

“S-Sheriff Williams is a good officer, and I’m certain he wouldn’t use… force that wasn’t necessary,” the deputy managed. “Are you… sure you can’t put it on yourself?”

“Absolutely sure,” Angelina insisted. She feigned trying to lift her arm up over her head, but flinched in theatrical pain just as her hand passed above the level of her teats, which were now pricking up so high under the velvety fabric that they easily poked beyond the cell bars. “But the last thing I want is to be out of compliance with the law. Could you be an absolute lamb, Deputy Owens, and help me into these clothes?”

The man looked numbly between Angelina and his walkie-talkie, obviously imagining the hard-nosed elder sheriff frowning at him, then nodded while quaking worse than his prisoner’s Jell-O funbags.

“A-All right, I… guess that’s what we’ll have to do,” Owens stammered, unlocking the cell again. “Please step away from the bars.”