Interrogation Chronicles: One-Night Shrink (Chapter 12) (Patreon)

“Of course,” Angie sympathetically cooed to my wife. She adjusted her posture slightly then, maybe resting an elbow on the edge of the table with her fingers cupped around her lips and tilting forward by a few extra inches, until her bust must’ve been bracing against the surface. In turn, the pressure around me was upped to a degree like I was stuck in the middle of a Venus flytrap taking the final munch on its prey. How my lungs were still inflating enough to keep me awake and listening to their conversation, or even breathing anything at all from of the ongoing pudgy solidified abyss that was Angie’s labyrinthine tit mush, I truly can’t say. “Now, I’m not normally the kind of girl that jumps into bed on the first night I meet someone, no matter how… deprived… I do sometimes feel. For my own protection, you know. But he was insistent, or I would even go so far as to say thirsty. Desperately so. And since at the time I had fallen into his little web of deceits, I was afraid to lose the chance to see him again, so against my better judgment, we… again, to my shame… left together and went back to my apartment.”

“Angelina. Come on, now. I told you already,” my wife begged. “So far as I can tell, there’s only one person in this story who should be taking any responsibility, and he’s already fucked off to God-knows-where. Please, continue.”

“…so we were alone, together, and right away I began to have second thoughts. He was clearly just trying to seal the deal as quickly as possible, even though I would’ve much preferred to sit down with another drink and get to know one another better. Then again, I suppose he wouldn’t have let me get to know the “real” him anyhow,” Angie sighed. “But, that’s what I get for putting my trust into someone based only on a hope, isn’t it?”

She seemed to relax back in her seat again, or at least gave the impression of it by leaning away from the table. I could only guess at this move because of the throbbing sway that briefly jolted the globular bulk of her hooters gently back against her reclining torso like a sledgehammer taken to thirty-pound spheres of pizza dough. For an instant the flexing effect around me tripled before it soothed to a flabbier equilibrium again, no-doubt coating me with a polka dot spread of bruises, though I couldn’t have flinched over this soreness even if it was possible to do so while stuffed within the most restrictive crevasse on Planet Earth. Angie could’ve clapped me to a pulpy stain painted on her interior cleavage then and there and it still wouldn’t have stung as harshly as what I was hearing. The damning chatter happening between these two giantesses, coincidentally now the most significant women in my life, was making me so sick that I almost lost all awareness of my diminutive body nearly flattened to a two-dimensional sticker occupying that musky milk-porcelain negative space of these miraculously all-consuming boobs.

If only she could see me, maybe after the shock wore off, she’d be able to save me before I was shoved back into the cleavage pit and written off as a hallucination. Maybe more importantly, though, I had to let the woman I’d married – however caging that choice might’ve proved to be in the long run – know that I wasn’t in fact the completely selfish womanizing whole-hearted scrape of human excrement that Angie’s story made me out to be, but which my wife had believed without a second thought. I was just, you know, a little bit of one, sometimes. Certainly not enough to deserve what was happening here to my shrunken body and my rapidly-devaluing name. Valiantly I struggled to squinch my way like a grub toward the closest gently-greased horizon of Angie’s enclosed tittage, even though I had no way of knowing which direction that was. And in the end it didn’t matter where I was going, since the literal insect I was trying to imitate would’ve had more luck pushing through the seeming miles of tightly-kissed bosom flesh that constituted my captor’s chest, still soft as warm blubber yet resolute as bulletproof steel.

“I’m so sorry it went that way. Believe me, I know a thing or two about putting trust in the wrong guy,” my wife coldly concurred with Angie. I even heard her take a long slurp from what was probably a brunch mimosa, so self-assured in this idea that she could suck down a delicious presumably-undrugged beverage in the middle of admitting how little she thought of me already. “It’s all right, Angelina. This… might sound strange to say, but I think I might understand you better right now than I ever understood Shawn in all those years I wasted on him. Keep going.”

“Thank you. I know what you mean exactly,” Angie said with a brave sniffle. “Well, what more can I say? Much as I wanted to keep things cordial on the first evening together, unfortunately I just can’t seem to meet a man without him pouncing for my breasts the minute he thinks he has an unspoken invitation. I suppose it’s wrong of me to complain too much, in the end, since I paid to have them done specifically to give myself greater self-confidence, but-”

“Angelina,” my wife interrupted. I heard cutlery shifting as she supportively took the hand of the near-whimpering mastermind who had me discombobulated, cooked, and near-smushed to nothing but a tiny hatefully-recalled footnote betwixt her world-ending knockers. “Do. Not. Apologize. For him. Anymore. Understand?”

“All right. But the same goes for you too, now, for your own sake,” Angie agreed. “As I was saying, he wanted to move things along quicker, and my desire to be appreciated at any cost made me go right along with it, even when he insisted on… forgive this inelegant choice of wording for brunch… pulling on my nipples like cow udders while he mooed in my face, which was quite a new experience for me, even when I thought I’d already seen the full gamut of male behavior. I mean, he did openly announce to me that he was a, how did he put it, “boob man” minutes after we were first acquainted, but still – no, you’re right, neither of us should keep apologizing for him. It ended, as you’ve gathered, with sex, and for that I am still deeply ashamed, no matter how kind you are to absolve me. If it’s any consolation, I did not even finish, myself, and he didn’t seem to care either way if I did. But perhaps that’s no surprise to you, either. It was only after we were done, when I was filled with so much regret, that Shawn began to tell me his real story. He seemed to take pleasure in explaining this game of his, picking up women whenever he was out of town, and his many infidelities against you. Almost like a sport to him, and I was just another point in his eyes. I tell you, I had to excuse myself to go throw up, while he just kept laughing. Yes, laughing. Right away I felt the need to tell you, to help you get away from this… disgusting person, even if it was tremendously unnerving to think of having to reveal such painful information to you after I had played such a large part in his latest breach of your marriage, unwitting though I was. But then, when I was feeling at my lowest and the most sorry for you, the night… truly took its most bizarre turn.”