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This was bad. There was absolutely nothing for Phoenix to take a grip on around here. Mrs. DeLite's utterly colossal breasts were far too smooth and rounded for him to stabilize himself against them, and with her continuing movements, the puny lawyer stranded on her tit was finding himself helplessly tossed and jostled around with every step she took. Wherever he was going to end up, he had no control over it. That much was frighteningly obvious.
It was hard to ignore the vast gorge at his side. If Phoenix couldn't stop himself, there was a dangerously high chance that he would end up sliding right into Desirée's prominent cleavage, and if that happened, there was no guarantee he would ever be coming back out alive. Her breasts were like entire fleshy hills at his massively diminished size, and he doubted there was any way he could hope to survive ending up sandwiched between their shuddering masses.
Desirée was lonely; there was no point in denying it. Her beloved husband Ron had been cleared of both the larceny charges tied to his secret alter ego as the infamous phantom thief Mask☆DeMasque, as well as the charge of his former employer's murder, but in spite of the Not Guilty verdicts that had ended both of his trials, he wasn't entirely free to come home yet. As a "special witness" tied to Detective Luke Atmey's trial, Ron had spent the last two entire days away from home, being questioned by and providing information to police and the Prosecutor's Office for the ongoing investigation.
Two entire days, and the closest thing Desirée had been able to enjoy to Ron's company was a single phone call with him. Even that had been more than twelve hours ago now, late at night. She still wouldn't be seeing him for at least another day, as well.
Restlessly pacing their apartment, Desirée hadn't yet noticed that she had quite suddenly gained a guest. Unnoticed by the energetic young woman, a tiny, blue-clad figure was scrambling about against her left breast, slowly being jostled closer and closer to the deep gorge of her prominent cleavage as she moved around.
Finally, the tiny figure had ended up close to the front of the motorcycle jacket she was wearing, just an inch or so shy of the exposed edge of her bra.
At last, she detected a faint tickle against her skin, like an itch. Focused on thoughts of her husband, she absentmindedly reached a hand up to brush her fingertips against the spot and relieve the itch. It wasn't hard to get rid of, and within a second or two, she had adjusted her bra and returned to pacing.
Things had gotten worse for Phoenix in a hurry.
Sliding and bouncing helplessly along Desirée's skin as she continued to obliviously walk around in her home, the shrunken lawyer had found himself drawing nearer and nearer to his unaware host's bra, which was partly exposed from the halfway-unzipped jacket she was wearing.
For a moment, amid his growing terror at the idea of tumbling right off of Desirée's chest and falling to his death, he had briefly entertained the hope that he might be able to grab onto the sturdy-looking undergarment and finally stop bouncing uncomfortably around. Unfortunately, however, just as he was getting within a few feet of the bra's edge, a huge shape had appeared from above him, nearly crashing right down on top of him.
Phoenix had let out an alarmed yell, trying to cover his head as Desirée's huge fingertips assaulted his position. He somehow avoided being crushed, but that was only of minimal comfort when accounting for what happened instead.
Desirée had, for just a second, tucked a fingertip into the cup of her bra, apparently to adjust it, and Phoenix had subsequently slipped right into the opening she had just created, falling headfirst into the inside of the bra.
Almost instantly, the diminished attorney was immobilized, the solid wall of Desirée's bra snapping back down onto him from above.
He couldn't budge so much as an inch anymore. He was completely trapped, snared between the crushing hold of his host's bra and the mountainous mass of her breast. Stuck on his front, his upper body was angled downward, pointing even further into the dark confines of Desirée's underwear.
(This can't seriously be happening...!! Pearls, what the hell did I do to deserve this...!?)  indicates the next chapter needs to be written. |
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