The Interrogation 4 (Chapter 2) (Patreon)

Angelina was hardly proud of this reply she’d just given, but it was better than silently taking their abuse. Especially given how easily she knew she could shut these idiots down, if only she wasn’t quite so buzzed now, having to sit idly by and accept defeat made the woman all the more bitter. She’d heard far cleverer jabs at her tits before from much-less deserving men, all of whom succumbed to her widow’s web. It was like a major-league athlete getting schooled by pee-wee kiddies: a shameful enough event that the woman couldn’t help but blush even pinker in the places it counted.

After observing Angelina with straight faces for a good ten seconds, thinking over her C-minus answer to their jokes, the four fratsters in front burst into laughter heartier than before. Even the two Betas in back offered humble snickering.

“What, are you just gonna let her make us into her bitches like that?” the fourth frontman cheesed.

“So fuckin’ what? Yeah, she burned us REAL good, by telling us our dicks are big? Get real, Austin,” the Alpha growled. He turned back to Angelina, hunching over slightly to bring their faces closer together, and let his twiddling fingers hang so close over the upper gulch of her doughy cleavage, she could feel the heat of his palm. Part of her wanted him to close the gap, too. “I bet you’d like to get a real good look at our stuff, huh, Mom? Bet you’d like to feel us slipping in between those gazonkers of yours, all good and cozy. You don’t mind if I call ya “Mom,” by the way, do you? I mean, you just look the part so much. Shit, I wouldn’t be surprised if you do have a kid around here somewhere our age, and you’re just hoping somebody mistakes you and your creepy big-ass boobs for some fifth year senior. And you really want us to believe these nasty bags are the real thing? Well. I think I oughta be the judge of that!”

The Alpha finally cut the tension by slapping his palm down hard against the top flank of Angelina’s right breast, letting the excess freckle-crossed flesh wobble and bounce in the insufficient container of her red bra. Then he raised his other hand, bopping the left side of her chest, and immediately returned to patting the opposite. Soon the lead frat boy was alternately bobbing his hands on Angelina’s rack like a set of bongo drums, though unlike tight musical instruments, her flabby twins were dancing a blubbery tango, malforming and sagging deeper each time the Alpha’s palms made contact, only to reluctantly rebound back up. In time, he spread his fingers out, gently digging in his grip whenever his hands clapped back to her blanched skin and giving them a quick squeeze that briefly pronounced the blue branching veins which shone almost-luminously through her sweat-caked contours. It was only due to the volume of perspiration especially on her chest, in fact, that prevented the guy from getting a sturdy grip, but the salty liquid also made the snap impact of his hands cavorting with her malleable sacs all the more resonant, echoing all the way down the bar.

“Jesus, that, um, looks pretty real, doesn’t it?” Kyle laughed. “Fake ones are way harder, and those look like they’re made of… what the fuck are they called again? You know, those like slippery jelly tube things that you have to try to hold onto, but they get away? Whatever. It’s like those, only WAY bigger.”

“I’m thinking more like sandbags. Yeah, the outside’s all squishy and fat, but look how hard he’s slapping those big fuckers, and they’re still barely moving in the middle,” Austin pointed out. “You could probably stop a truck with those things.”

“Either way, it’s gross as shit. How can you guys look at that?” Chad gagged. He covered his eyes, whooping and retching in equal measure. “Even if she didn’t get a tit job, that’s definitely not… normal!”

“Yeah, no way she was born with these things…” the Alpha snarled, though some of his malice was tainted by fascination, as if just laying hands on her girls had partially enchanted him with the lure that drove most thirsty men to their untimely demises.

Slowing his drumming pattern, all while maintaining intense and unbroken eye contact with a solemnly mute Angelina, he fondled both hands toward the pinched divide in her boobs, and pried his fingers down amidst the two mush slabs. From there, he pulled her cleavage as far apart as the substantial forces of rotund lard within the misshapen spheres could allow, even for a musclebound college kid trying his best. Still, thanks to Angelina’s sweaty lubricant and a can-do attitude, the Alpha managed to ram his hand betwixt her obese hooters down to his wrist, making for a rather obscene distortion of ghost-white age-speckled boobs by a thick tanned forearm.

“Believe whatever you want to believe,” Angelina shrugged, though her sternness was undermined somewhat by an unavoidable margarita-flavored hiccup, which caused the other boys to descend back into hysterical laughter. The expulsion of shrill air into the Alpha’s face made his expression pinch up with disgust at the flavor, but even more violent was the reaction of her boobs, which appeared to clenched momentarily, shrinking in volume by a paltry degree and turning yet paler for just a flash. During this split-second deflation, the frat boy with his hand in the cookie jar winced, obviously trying to hide his surprise at the pressure Angelina could exert in between the meaty walls of her sweaty knockers with just an involuntary gesture. Once her breasts swelled back to their usual extraordinary girth, he wrenched his mitt back out of the plush canyon. Angelina was pleased to see it took him a couple of tugs to get fully free, though he carefully hid this fact from his supportive audience.

“Freak-bitch,” the Alpha grumbled under her breath, massaging his wrist. He looked Angelina up and down in her ill-fitting red bikini and full-body frosting of humid alcohol-induced sweat, taking in every disparate shape both pudgy and narrow. “I’m glad we’re all going to Ashley’s dad’s island tomorrow morning. I just don’t think I could keep on partying whole-fuckin’-hog if I had to look over here to the bar sometimes and see all of… this happening. And by the looks of this one, she has to keep herself sloshed all the time just to keep from getting embarrassed at her fun-time bags hanging out so much.”

“Seriously, I think I’m gonna be sick if we stick around here,” Chad complained, covering his mouth. “They’re like something out of a horror movie!”

“Oh, give it a rest, you pussy,” Austin said. His eyes widened like saucers. “I think they look like they could be fun. Especially if you got super-drunk first. Or maybe high? Actually, yeah, smoke a whole bowl first, and then imagine what it would feel like to stick your face all the way in there? Wubba-wubba-wubba! And hey, she might be older than Kyle’s mom, but Kyle’s mom’s are definitely like half that size.”

“I’m gonna take a shit in all your food if you guys can’t shut the fuck up about my mom,” Kyle answered, though he too was still taking in the presence and enormity of Angelina’s globes. After all their leader’s jostling of her huge assets, the crimson slings making up her top had wrinkled and twisted in places, leaving behind even less coverage, such that the upper cusps of the woman’s broad brown areolas were peeking over the thin-stretched fabric, a sight Kyle was paying particular attention to. “Yeah, no joke, the longer I watch ‘em, the better they look. Maybe just because Chad’s girlfriend’s tits seemed so small the last time she let me suck on her nips for five bucks…”

Once again Chad and Kyle got to roughhousing, while Austin and the Alpha retreated several steps, all looking upon Angelina with theatrical distaste and an undeniable hint of begrudging respect, especially in the latter’s case, while the quieter two unnamed lads in back were caught between breast-gawking and edging for the door.

Nevertheless, their collective callous behavior, cruel insults, inability to be hurt by her subpar verbal retaliation, and especially the head boy’s abject forwardness at sticking his hand all the way into the mouth of her cleavage had left a drunk and disoriented Angelina fuming. Twitching, stammering, and sweating up a storm, she was practically foaming at the mouth now. The last time she was so rudely felt up by a man without giving him permission first, they were isolated out in the middle of bumfuck-nowhere, and she was just sober enough to trick the sheriff into drinking to his own death. Right now, she was surrounded by hundreds of witnesses, and too tipsy to even put the correct sentences together that would send these egotistic assholes into a depression just before she lactated them into shrunken comas. As such, even though the drunken haze, Angelina knew not just frustration, but utter fury that she hadn’t experienced in quite some time.

“See ya round, Mom,” the Alpha said. He waved, though his fingers quickly curled into a fist except for his middle digit, which he then used to crudely mime tit-fucking, sliding it up and down against his own exposed barrel-pecs. “Keep on drinking the pain away. Who knows, if ya buy enough rounds for people, maybe one of them will get drunk enough to fuck you.”

Still elbowing and whispering inside jokes to one another, the six frat boys departed, making their way back to the beach and vanishing into the throngs of scantily clad early-twenty-somethings. Though her expression was difficult to read due to her straight-lipped stoicism and pupil-concealing sunglasses, Angelina spun the stem of her drink glass between two manicured fingertips, and felt a storm cloud of untold rage beginning to swirl.