Giantess World
Having now cornered the remaining little animals in a small enough sector of the warehouse that the Apex could reach all of them no matter where they scurried, she shifted sleepily from her haunches into a resting lean on her hip, blockading off the rest of the space with the mere imposition of her dark-tanned shine-glazed abdomen, which rose and fell to the beat of her libido. The giantess’s body was crackling with need now, and even ordinary contact with every exposed skin cell of her ultra-athletic frame contributed to the rush. Shutting her eyes, and easily tuning out the syndicate’s obvious head honcho barking his orders like a sore-loser general to his rapid-firing underlings, Astraea serenely maintained her focus on that erotic ghost of last night’s fun, remembering the way Mitch boldly clambered off her palm, down to her chin, and traveled the length of her neck toward her collarbone as she lay still on the bed.
With a grin that further stupefied her tough-cookie foes below, she recalled the way she’d ever-so-slowly swallowed heavy globes of her own saliva to savor the last dregs of their foreplay, each gulp probably sufficient to drown Mitch. The way she drank it down caused small moving hills to travel along her throat in chase of the little man making his way over her soft flesh, and each time he went still, allowing the lump to pass beneath him. In recapturing that moment, Astraea had already grabbed up another cluster of the warehouse’s bad boys, but rather than stuffing them juicily within at once, tilted her head all the way back and fed herself their bodies one at a time like an Egyptian queen popping grapes. Each of these fellows was pointedly swallowed as slowly as the Apex could manage, so she could feel every delicate squirm from within, every drop of their dread, and most importantly, revisit the sensation of Mitch’s nakedness clinging to her neck as her swallows passed underneath him.
While one hand flicked individual thrashers atop her tongue, the other had yet to abandon her revved-up nethers. Not in the least bit afraid now of exposure, the titaness’s fingers had crept fully into her shorts and begun roughly tempting the petals of her vulva, just as she had last night when her husband passed into the valley of her bare breasts. It was hard to resist swirling a thumbpad around the hardening summits of her nipples now, followed up by slurping another mobster sub-boss out of her own pinched fingers like a tug-of-war chew toy, as her masturbatory efforts intensified and her moans became more lyrical. Such a display might’ve fascinated many of these dark-hearted lads earlier, but now having come to grips with their inescapable demises, the sight of the giantess’s fingers pistoning into her shorts with such violence, which brought her obvious pleasure yet could’ve crushed them each in a single stroke, only further flavored their terror. This only sent Astraea into a hungrier high, creating a vicious cycle for the survivors, but the most delicious lust-fest for her.
Mitch, after an indulgently fondling passage through his wife’s cleavage, had reached her stomach by now. And as much wonderful time as he’d taken traversing the upper regions of her body, even from a distance and with his back turned, Astraea could sense his heightened excitement, which reflected in her own beefily svelte shape coating entirely in goose bumps and hairs standing on end. Shy though he could sometimes be about it, among his cuter traits, the Apex was well-familiar with Mitch’s affinity for her abdomen, and always made time in their play for this. She couldn’t help but adore his fondness for the area too, their occasional differences about her diet habits aside, but the giantess couldn’t think of a sexier site for him to fixate upon than the place which ultimately held so many of her little living fear-boosters and their scrumptious souls. Humbling himself on all fours, and low enough that his gargantuan spouse could again feel the pricked compliment of his attentive crotch, the little guy wormed lovingly over the broad hard-packed washboard terrain of his wife’s dusky-complexioned tummy.
Astraea was all but unconsciously feeding herself now from the gunmen, slowly but inevitably reaching for each buffoon in this last refuge of the warehouse on autopilot. She smushed them between her devilishly kiss-shaped lips, and steadily thinned their ranks toward single digits after a thorough swishing, allowing the last dregs of their panic to percolate like fancy gulps of wine. The swallows were now timed with her heavier penetrative finger-pulses, though the tenderer operation of her clit was made in only conjunction with the precise skin-to-skin memory of everywhere Mitch had gone last night in his decadent travels over her abs, as though she was directing his movements joystick-style on her own hyper-sensitive nub. She glowed at the feeling of his pico-tongue on her warm skin, her own gut gurgles which vibrated her husband’s body in answer, and his limbs stroking over the thick peaks and shallow valleys between partitions of that slicked six-pack muscle-sculpture earned by regular crunches and natural Apex superiority. All this of course he’d done in the shadow of her palm while the vigorous finger-thrusting into her pussy had become a force of nature, as it did again now with an audience of humiliated and distraught soul-vessels.
“God, Mitch…” she whispered with such ragged lasciviousness that it was only heard as a godlike growl by the final nine man-meals below. “…I could just eat you up.”
Then the silver-crowned Apex drew a deep gasp, filled her lungs to capacity, and entered a near-fugue state, simply obeying the necessity of her powerful body. Just as she’d collected Mitch again from the armored flesh-plain of her stomach last night, albeit using sweetly-fragrant cum-gluey fingers to make him easier to capture, so too did she snatch up all nine of the stragglers in one clenched paw, including the leader of the whole operation, who most fervently radiated soul-crushing dismay out of anyone in the room today. Meanwhile her opposite hand never had to leave its post, stormily massaging herself toward climax and now bobbing her hips in time with the presses, so her bouncing glutes cracked the warehouse floor and her curling toes strained the metal walls as she extended both legs fully out to fill the arena. In stark contrast to the wishes of the nine human insects currently in her fist, she’d sensed Mitch’s desire to pass back into his wife’s mouth, even if he hadn’t been begging for it aloud, and she was only too happy to oblige both him and herself then, as she was now.
“Come in here now,” she throatily repeated to the men in her clutches, exactly as she had to Mitch before depositing him inside. The only exception was a slightly different intonation which had aroused her husband to a near touchless finish, but which instead verged on driving the mobsters to wailing madness. “I… am going… to finish you. And there’s nothing you can do to stop me.”
Then in they went on a spiraling river rapids of impatient saliva, suckled and squeezed and mock-gnawed while their eardrums were perforated by Astraea’s crescendo of an orgasmic cry. Mitch, as was only right, had been gently ladled into the scoop of her tongue again, safely immersed in hot fluid, and affectionately pumped into an even bigger finish that was perfectly timed with his wife’s own delightfully fingered end. Although her tiny spouse had been gratified even further to hear the Apex’s familiar and thunderous groan quaking all around his achingly-stimulated self, the nine leftover crooks, and their hot-headed chief especially, found it to be a deeply upsetting last noise to hear just before the gargling flush under that uvula and into the giantess’s gullet which spelled out their soul-rending finales from life.
At once, all was quiet again. The warehouse was left a messy wreck of weapons and crates, with Astraea’s fulfilled and flexed-out physique lazily spread out now to fill in the all-too-small space to enjoy the aftermath. A widening pool of nectar had formed on the dented ground, poured out of her shorts and even right through the fabric’s skin-hugging blackness. Similar though smaller puddles were taking shape on either side of where the Apex’s cheeks had come to lay, since she couldn’t help but salivate throughout that game, beyond the capacity of her lips to contain it. For half an hour, the woman didn’t so much as move except to let her gleaming abdomen relax and her fingertip to pass back and forth over the tip of her tongue, where she could’ve bet her life she actually tangibly tasted some microbial remnant of Mitch from last night, unlikely though that was.
“Oh, honey…” she crooned, as if she had him crouched right over her lips again with a smile on his tiny face. “…you are really going to get some when you come back.”
Chapter End Notes:
And so another hearty meal comes to an end. Thanks for reading!
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If you liked this custom story and are interested in getting your own, read the details here: https://thejacksmith.deviantart.com/journal/Story-Commissions-698491757
I also have a side-shop for miscellaneous pre-written & discounted goodies, such as flash fiction, unfinished tales, and deleted scenes from my own stories. Check it out here: https://www.deviantart.com/thejacksmith/journal/New-Special-Stories-Shop-802615692
My Patreon for early-access stories and exclusive tales is now live! Hope you'll give it a look: https://www.patreon.com/JacksmithShrinkStories