The Interrogation 3 (Chapter 16) (Patreon)

“What’s the matter, Mr. Chatterbox?” Angelina questioned, turning back to face the deputy, at which point she and the eight-inch newbie noticed the spread-eagle form of the plump shrunken sheriff pressed hard as a tattoo against her milk-and-saltwater-glossed skin until he’d seemingly melded with the flab like a tiny tumor. “Oh, right. To tell you the truth, I was so looking forward to hearing your answer, I almost forgot he was down there. I’m sure he did too, considering he doesn’t look capable of much thinking right now, let alone breathing.”

“Y-You mean…”

“Relax, little one. Trust me, you’ll get further in life that way,” Angelina all but cackled. She propped the door open then sauntered back toward the table, displaying her impromptu tit ornament for Owens to witness: ruddy, bruised, and head-to-toe sticky with lactation and cleavage sweat, but wearily breathing. “He’s not dead, though he’s certainly at the door. I suppose he lucked out he’s so lumpy himself, because he fits right in here, snug as a bug.”

“W-Will you call an… a-ambulance for us?” the deputy asked.

“Beg your pardon, little one?”

“Y-You said you’d l-let us… go… if I t-told you the code.”

“Oh, that is almost too precious now,” Angelina cooed. She stroked a fingertip over the young man’s milk-battered cheeks. “You really weren’t listening too well, were you? That book-smart noggin may be able to keep track of a password, but you just aren’t cut out for police work. Certainly not interrogations, where your most important skill is listening. I said I’d allow you out of this room without leaving you floating in an ocean of mother’s milk. But I have no intentions of just unleashing you, when you’ve seen so many of my hidden talents. Especially because now we know for certain… well, let’s face it… you’re a bit of a tattle-tale, aren’t you, Deputy? And as helpful as that fact was for me finally getting the hell out of this podunk town, I’m afraid it doesn’t bode well for your chances of walking out of here alone.”

“B-But… but…” Owens stammered. He looked down at his ever-tremoring hands and the sheen of dried milk glazed over them, perhaps for the first time coming to grips with his shrunken future stretched uncertainly ahead, with him still trapped in orbit by the personal gravity of those lunar tits. Lost for words again, he crumpled forlornly in a cream puddle.

“Hey, don’t take it too hard now,” Angelina scoffed with a nonchalant flourish. She grasped the barely-conscious sheriff by his stump-limbs and peeled him off the supple flank of her orb, dangling him upside down at a healthy distance from her chest now like a discarded insect husk. His miniscule shape left a vague snow-angel impression in her bouncy skin for just an instant before the rounded canvas re-inflated to its normal puffiness. “You’re still coming out on top here, sweet-pea. Well, relatively so. Believe me, most men I’ve spent this much time with are a great deal smaller than this by now. Compared to them, you’re coming out a big winner. Think of it this way: I got you out of a career you were definitely not suited for, so no more bills, no more responsibilities… just you, a very comfortable bedding arrangement, and all the liquid nutrition you could want. Granted, I can’t promise how long it’ll last, since the time I keep you will be a direct reflection of just how much longer I find you adorable instead of a nuisance, but… well, nothing truly good ever lasts, does it? And I anticipate having a good time with you once I’ve finally made it back home to unwind. I think I’ve earned that much, and more. So turn that frown upside-down… believe me, you’ll live longer that way… and come to mama.”

Angelina had the lowly rookie snatched in a fist and stuffed halfway down the pudgy slot of her cleavage before she’d even made it out the door. At eight inches tall, it took some maneuvering to wiggle his legs into place, given how insistently her chest ballooned inward, creating bone-numbing pressure at its fleshy epicenter, but this worked out well for keeping the naked bug-eyed deputy securely in place, even while his top half swayed to the momentum of his keeper’s bosom and his member fitted nicely at the plump upper divot.

The woman stalked through the ghost-town sheriff’s office, snickering to herself at the distinct sensation of the little thing’s traitorous cock stiffening in response to the heaving of boob flesh clamped in from either side, especially when she used two fingers to push him yet deeper into the divide. His moans, whether from existential dread or involuntarily stimulation, only fueled Angelina’s satisfaction, and she crammed him lower until he was entombed in cleavage up to his Adam’s apple. No matter how long Owens lasted, he was going to make for a fun little consolation present from such a hectic evening.

Just before stepping out into the night, a free woman at last, Angelina realized she’d nearly forgotten the other micro-man in her possession, but beginning to stir. Shrugging, and totally uninterested in babysitting the yapping misogynist since she’d already fulfilled the bargain of letting him live past the interrogation room door, she settled on introducing the three-inch man’s tiny flapping jaws to her engorged teat. Knowing he’d fall the moment she let go, Angelina happily held Sheriff Pullman’s skull in place, pressed hard to the firing end of her bulging breast, and once she had her meaty nipple in place to hold his lips wide open better than surgical retractors, she just had to wait for the flowing outpour to feed its way past his muted screams. Soon he was missing more white-gold liquid than he was bingeing, his already-insubstantial body diminishing into itself like a rotting grape, but it hardly mattered by then. He was too small to feel.

Wiping her milky palm off down the side of her dress, Angelina paid no heed to Deputy Owens’ last horrified gasp at the second lactating murder he’d witnessed tonight. Instead she clicked the car keys she’d swiped off a “discarded” uniform and hopped in her temporary ride, eager to lose it as soon as possible and replace the more fashionable vehicle she’d so unfortunately wasted. Settling in, Angelina hiked her velvety black neckline back over her areolas, and just like that, the shrunken man decorating the center of her breasts became the only unusual element of her appearance, aside from her muddied garments and the astronomic bulk of her girls themselves. But it wouldn’t be long before she was cleaned back up, with the evidence disposed of, and the city again ripe for her prowling. A white maternal trail leading from each nipple all the way down the cushy undersides still trickled in anticipation of the next catch as she roared off into the night.

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THE END (for now)