Un Goût Exquis, pt 4

The titanic woman closed her eyes and grimaced pleasurably, cheekbones puffing as her long, long legs trembled with a luxuriant stretch. Her dress, almost living as it slid over her outrageous curves with a sensuality that… frankly, Herbert could relate to. If he were a sheet of silk or satin, he would glide and caress that artful mound of thigh just like that. He would slip coyly, almost unconsciously, between the supple bulges of her inner thighs, passing with an errant kiss upon her… oh God, her… and the heaviness of her breasts, coated in that sheer fabric that didn’t even pretend to apprehend or contain her. It was simply there for contour, to gild the lily of her abundant bosom, lavish entirely on its own merit. Cheery, multicolored crescents gleamed where the lamps showed off the fabric wrapping her breasts, and sparkled where her nipp-pp-gosh all hemlock…

Herbert realized he was jamming his spine hard against the back of the chair. His calves, such as they were, bulged with tension and his feet raised to tippy-toes: it seemed as though his entire body were wound up and braced for impact at a tremendous velocity, when all he was doing was watching the titaness. She writhed and lolled as it pleased her, and he sat in the chair she provided like stocking a dollhouse, and his cock was on fire like he’d never experienced in his life. Watching her, watching this breast hoist, heave with great mass, then spill dreamily down her ribs, he wondered if he might not just ejaculate right there. Not touching himself, not rubbing against anything, simply studying the perambulation of her left breast.

He should have felt self-conscious. Herbert, ever the classical gentleman of bygone mores, knew it was rude to stare and it was highly insulting to gawk at a woman for any reason, in any situation. And yet this giantess was rolling around for no other reason, seemingly, than his pleasure, and his body responded with a high-pitched, keening wail of a desire he’d never known before. Parts of him were still terrified, of course: she was enormous, for one thing, and she shouldn’t exist for another. Part of him wanted to crawl back into a cave for security, and another part wanted to bray against the illogic of the universe. The rest of him, however, only wanted her and it was no more specific than that. Should her arm roll badly and crush him, fine. Were he to lie beneath a massive boob that smothered his face, delightful. And should he find himself between those titanic thighs, and should they clamp shut upon him, yes, all of this was blissful and invited and desired.

So. What was he doing, sitting in a chair and writhing with the unbearable tension of desiring a woman who was showing himself off for him? In three more seconds, he resolved, nails biting into masterfully carved armrests, he would pitch himself from the chair and dive into the immense, squirming mass over mega-woman, and fate would do whatever—

“I was not wrong about you,” the titaness purred. “You have self-control. You can restrain yourself, when so many other, weaker men would have thrown themselves at me.” She ceased her sybaritic contortions and propped herself up on one elbow again, regarding him with beguiling, sleepy eyes.

Herbert looked down, then, and bit his lip painfully. His instinct for bravado would have foiled him; it was his cowardice and insecurity that served him now, albeit not in the way she thought.

“Tell me, Herbert”—he could hardly contain how much he loved the way she said his name—“what is it that brings you to me?”

While he still had the tendency to overthink simple situations, blood and endorphins and hormones surged through the least passageways in his head and clouded his ostensible cleverness. Speaking directly was all he was capable of. “I got the directions from the Madame, on this little card…”

“Yes, this we know. Promenade past this for the moment. But why is it that you are here?”

Where was this going? Herbert strained against the id-driven demands of his body, hunting for words like children pluck raspberries from the brambles. “I tried all the Madame’s girls—”

“Women.”

“What?”

“Surely her workers are women. If you were fucking little girls, our conversation is over.” Her expression hadn’t changed, but with a turn of phrase it could be interpreted as indifferent or lethally serious. So much subtlety on a canvas so large…

“Women,” Herbert repeated. “I only slept with women, I’m only interested in women. Adult women. Legal age of consent.”

And without words, without a physical shift, the giantess’s expression appeared easy and relaxed. It just did.

“But none of them were… right. They were wonderful,” he hastened to amend. “They were all beautiful, wonderful women with so much to offer a progressive society, all… with…” What did she want! “With their own stories to tell, their own unique perspectives of the world, from what life had shown them…”

She displayed the slightest, blink-and-you’ll-miss-it roll of her eyes and upturned one palm in a fluid gesture, beckoning him to get the fuck on with it already. But lovelier.

“Well. They.” The hint of losing this immense woman’s favor filled him with a mounting terror. “They. They knew their jobs, and they were very friendly and encouraging, but they could not do what I asked. They tried! They tried very hard, and they did the best they could, no question. But there was just something always off, something slightly wrong… and this was probably my fault. One girl, the last one, Morgan, she said that I probably didn’t know what I wanted, and I think she nailed it on the head.” He laughed uneasily, reliving that awkward night in her bedroom. He associated the scuff of her boot against his jaw with feeling completely at sea with his own desires.

“Tell me about the women.” She slid one bare foot against her shin, up and down, very slowly. He stared at it, and he could hear it: the rub of flesh on flesh had nothing to compete with in the silent cavern. It was a slight hiss in either direction, something slightly rough rubbing against something smooth.

“The women?”

“What each of them did for you, you silly little ma-a-a-an.”

Something flashed inside Herbert’s mind: she was toying with him. It wasn’t that he didn’t understand the rules of polite society: she was intentionally messing with him! His gaze drifted, impossibly, away from the titaness and toward a gently burning sphere of light. How many other women were toying with him, when he felt moorless, groundless, when one thing didn’t necessarily follow another thing in sequence? The corners of his lips twitched, turning up, and he drew a long, long breath that filled his limbs with lightness.

The giantess was messing with him, but not to be mean. It was simply another order, another script. Independent of his lust, he wanted to kiss this big, beautiful woman solely out of gratitude in this moment.

Obviously he didn’t. “Morgan was a heavy girl, so she lied on top of me.” His brow knit. “Layed? Lied? She rolled on top of me and tried to crush me like that. Angelique had incredibly long feet, and she rubbed them over my chest and covered my face with them. Maria had a big, big, round ass, you wouldn’t believe it, and she’d sit on my chest and kinda to this”—lacking the words, he shimmied his shoulders in his seat—“crawl up my body until she covered my face, and then she just covered me. Totally. Darkness, no air, just absolutely covered in her huge butt. And she’d sit there for a long time, too, like, I had no say in the matter. I slapped her hip and kicked the bed, but she didn’t care. She just held me down with…”

He relived the lurid scenes in his mind’s eye as he spoke. He could see Angelique’s eerily long toes, spreading with disarming distance, probing and groping his face like fingers. He could see the twin spheres of Maria’s caramel bottom swelling over his collarbones, over his jaws, rolling up over his face until her asshole nestled onto his nose and her buttocks blotted out his eyes and the scruff of her shaved pussy abraded his lips, and there she perched until she was good and ready to move. And when Morgan rolled on top of him, it was thrilling to feel all of a woman’s naked body on top of him, knees fitting around knees, belly squishing against belly, the precious gift of boobs mashed against his chest, but also… the peace. She weighed heavily on him, and he had to force himself to suck down enough air to breathe properly, but… it was like he could feel the life-force in her muscle, all the energy in the red blood cells that nourished her fat and skin… or something. It wasn’t just a heavy weight upon him, there was something magical in the feminine life that pressed him into the mattress. It was… what was it like? It was like eating dessert with his whole body. It was like coming up with something clever to say that made the room laugh. It was like a kiss from the universe, healing all past wounds, elevating his cosmic status while calming his vibration down slower and slower until he could have slept underneath her. Not died, just slept really, really well.

Herbert sat there, drinking in the moment, how it was better than almost anything and how close it came to what his body craved, down to the marrow. Slowly he realized he was no longer looking at the titaness in her diaphanous gown, stretched like a hundred billion dollars of gold bullion on an ancient Persian rug. When he looked at her, he saw the way she was looking at him, and then he realized that he had not been thinking in his head. He had spoken every word, and who knows? Maybe more than that. There was no telling what he’d expressed in his momentary trance, but now he was at a loss for words as he tried to form an apology.

She stopped him with a glance. That’s all. As clearly as though she’d wrapped her fleshy fist around his chest, the titaness simply let her eyelids droop and flutter, and he was rapt to know her next words.

“May I apologize to you, Herbert?” For a larynx that capacious, her tone was surprisingly high and soft.

Herbert’s head wobbled helplessly upon his neck.

She gave her chin an insouciant lift. “When I told you that you were a special little man, that wasn’t what I meant in the moment. I meant you were okay, you had passed the first test. You would do. Tu sais ?

Did he? He had no idea. He was too preoccupied with this soulful sensation of teetering on the edge of a cliff.

“But now, listening to you like this… mmm.” She closed her heavy eyelids, and one huge hand slid down to strain against the Herculean task of grasping one massive boob. “I could almost love you, but we have only just begun. This must not be over just yet. You have yet to enjoy everything you will pay for—and you will pay dearly—and I…” Her head, lolling on the hillside of her shoulders, now rose erect and trained steadily upon him. “I intend to enjoy you for a long time. Herbert?”

“Yes, my goddess,” he drawled, melting upon the priceless Victorian throne.

“Two things, Herbert.”

“Anything, my goddess.”

“One: You must always speak to me as you have done, with your open heart. Yes? No clever words, no turns of phrase. I want to know the pure Herbert and his feelings, just as you have done now. Do this and I am yours, you wretched, beautiful little man.”

“It is my greatest pleasure, my godd—”

“Two: Never, ever call me ‘goddess’ again, or I will snap your scrawny neck in the door, and not in the sexy way.” The ring of colored lights congealed in a hellish fire in her eyes. “I will rub my own shit into your eye sockets. Do you understand? Never. Never! I do not want to hear that filthy, stupid, lazy word from your mouth again! Ooh!”

As she lapsed into swearing in another language, Herbert drifted between heaven and hell.

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