Giantess World
Now much better acquainted with exactly how Tommy’s heightened body could be used this way, ready and willing to push him to both of their new limits, the curvy hedonistic perspiration-shimmering giantess had begun to experiment with variations on her favorite headfirst son-fucking theme. For a spell, she dramatically slowed down the velocity she was popping him back and forth along her vaginal tract, taking at least ten full seconds to drag Tommy’s stimulating midsection one-way either in or out, but ensured the boy was allowed no partial respite by this lazier rate when she instead focused upon digging down his face especially heartily into the reasonably-stretchy yet often unflinchingly cramped pathway of her vigorous pussy. She could feel the little guy holding his breath and scrunching his expression in nauseous last-ditch defensiveness as she slaked him so harshly in either direction through the slippery cunt-fragrant darkness of her most sacred sanctum, which only improved the electrifying extremity-lighting waves of euphoria that Joanne received from what, with a child of only three inches tall, might’ve instead merely tickled her.
“Oh, you really are the biggest… stiffest… fattest… juiciest COCK for MOMMY, aren’t you, baby?” Joanne heaved, absolutely beside herself and practically brought to tears by the sheer effectiveness of her son’s enlarged body. Who knew the difference a five-inch upsurge could make? She wasn’t just trying to hype up the boy’s ego in the heat of the moment, either; no prior dick in all her years of bedpost notches, be it a synthetic rod or attached to a human-sized partner, had ever come close to pleasing her the way Tommy was now. Maybe it was on account of his new stature adapted so immaculately to fit her pussy dimensions, or their long period of mama-swapping separation that had made her loins grow so fond in his absence, or the exponential turn-on of making him just strong enough now to palpably squirm in revolt while still unable to truly fight back. Most likely, the secret to Joanne’s all-time euphoric buildup now was a combination of all those lovely factors united. Every plumb and shove and crank she committed upon Tommy’s body, still partially entrenched in her hole at all times, felt like turning a key specially crafted to unlock new pleasure-channels in her after each new speed, angle, or pressure-level she added to their extensive repertoire.
After toying around for a while with that slow motion cunt-plugging style, wherein Joanne was actually able to feel her shrunken offspring’s every facial detail plastered against her spongy inner-chute flesh as plainly as though she was deftly gliding her fingertips across his eyes, nose, and lips, she next became even more daring. Reducing her grip from his legs to only his feet, she was found she was able to insert even more of Tommy on each pump, albeit with less control. But the deeper into this reunion rendezvous they ventured, the less concerned Joanne was becoming with precision. Sure enough, that additional couple of inches of his length that she was now free to gleefully pop indoors on each repetition made yet another world of difference, even if the giantess had to start digging her unmanicured talons into her boy’s feet to prevent her grip from coming loose. Especially with so much natural lubrication actively pouring out of her like a sexual fountain and dribbling down whatever meager portion of Tommy could still touch the realm beyond his keeper’s son-starved vaginal maw.
And while Joanne now lacked the proper leverage when inserting her child up to his bony ankles to impress his head quite so pointedly as before into her buoyantly soggy pussy walls, once she was comfortably in the groove of this newly elongated in-and-out differential, she began to change up the pattern again. First securely pinning the boy’s feet between two fingerpads and a sternly-driven thumbnail, ensuring that no shrunken part of him from scalp-to-sole was spared at least some discomfort, the woman began to twirl him in sensuous revolutions while still plucking him up and down the nearly-full range of her interior tract. Rather fittingly, considering the way Tommy was more or less reduced to nothing but an eroticized piece of meat in his mother’s eyes – her constant adoring declarations notwithstanding – she was spinning him like a slow-roasted pig on a spit. Frankly, the eight-inch lad might’ve actually preferred to be a literal swine for this act, skewered through from end-to-end and with an apple chomped in his mouth, because at least the damn pig would be dead and cooked enough not to feel anything that was happening to it. There was no roaring fire beneath Tommy in here, but his mother’s riled-up nethers were radiating more than enough sweaty exertion-dense body heat to fool anyone into thinking she was actually slotting her miniature sex toy boy into an industrial-grade oven, rather than her own fiendishly stuffy snatch.
“That’s RIGHT! Y-Y-Yesssss! YES! It’s not just Mommy that feels how goddamn GOOD this is, huh?” Joanne lustfully wheezed, barely having the leftover air to speak coherently while bouncing on the mattress and driving her pear-ample hips into the headboard. This statement wasn’t entirely drawn from the woman’s overly-optimistic fantasies, either, as she could feel Tommy’s resilient abrasion-suffering erection dragging discernibly along her inner moisture-sapped fleshiness throughout all these explorations. Every time she’d jam him deeper in or yank him partly toward liberty, she’d feel that spirited boyhood flick the opposite direction and pulse with need. As there was hardly room for the lad’s pecker even while flaccid, let alone its current length, she took this as a particular compliment that he’d managed to stay hard so long. Despite conditions in the tunnel of such inhuman snugness and musclebound rigor that his member, even completely rigid, bent all the way back and forth against his stomach or scrotum, respectively, as it had no chance to remain standing upright against the plum ultra-firm terrain of Joanne’s slit void. Her mouth watered and her head swam with pride, not to mention cuteness-overdose, at that puny yet significant sensation, until she slurred in a voice loud enough to penetrate her own liquid-swamped labial gates and the eight-incher’s honey-clogged ears: “Go ahead. It’s all right. Cum for me, baby. CUM for MOMMY!”
Whether it was because he was aching for any kind of comfort to dilute the symphony of body-clenched pangs plaguing him now, or more frighteningly, because Joanne truly had reprogrammed him thoroughly enough to make him orgasm on command under even the vilest of circumstances, Tommy weakly succumbed to his mother’s brashly seductive orders with a feeble wince more than a rapturous convulsion. No matter how pleased with herself the giantess was to feel her prisoner’s full-mast reaction, though, such endowment hadn’t been earned honestly: adrenaline, jackhammering contact, and general sensory overload were much more to blame for his micro-cock keeping upright under such enormous pussy-pounding duress. His climax was no different. Any orgasmic feeling Tommy experienced was lost in a split-second and then traded back to the same regularly scheduled end-to-end torture that crimped so harshly on his every extremity and choked his airways with gallons of cunt froth. Nevertheless, a cum was a cum in Joanne’s eyes, and once she felt her boy miserably seize to completion – a very rare and generous “gentlemen first” privilege, as far as she was concerned – there was no more reason to hold back the barely-withheld riptide of her long-pent ecstasy just waiting to burst out of her in squirty bed-rocking droves.
Throwing caution to the wind, if indeed she hadn’t used up the last of it already, Joanne began plunging her son forward and backward up her swollen steaming nectar-drooling box slide with a yet-unmatched animal verve. Her fingers curled tighter around his legs, her bicep engaged, and her plus-size cellulite-rich thighs spread into the absolute closest approximation of a gymnastic split that she could pull off, in order to facilitate the maximum-possible pussy lip expansion. Whatever mother’s love or desperately basic human kindness might’ve previously made her halfheartedly monitor the intensity of her handling with Tommy was also gone; there was no difference now in the woman’s use of him than if he was just another colorful inanimate penis-shaped accessory that felt no agony or existential dread. Which, of course, the boy himself had both of in spades. Unleashed, Joanne fucked him into herself with a ferocity that made his months of treatment in Roberta’s hands seem like the most coquettish lover’s shy caress. Her head slammed against the headboard, with sweat pouring over her cheeks and strands of matted-down dark hair streaked across her countenance, as she let loose a shrill vibrato moan that gradually descended into something like a walrus mating call. Suffused with storms of endorphins through every region of her bulbously supple physique, the giantess’s feet kicked at the bedframe end posts with the force of a woodsman’s axe chopping down a tree. Her bare beanbag-plump tush cheeks each squeezed and flared in time with her nethers’ throbbing masturbatory rhythm, as if threatening all the while to tip and fold the entire bed backward into itself like a lawn chair.
Though she was spiraling in this haze of pre-climactic elation, breathless and cross-eyed as she funneled all her energy into the most passionate and homicidal cunt-impaling locomotion she could muster, Joanne still had enough focus leftover to sense exactly how close she was to the finish line. And she was damned close. Another three Tommy-length pumps to go, and she’d explode into that bliss she’d been so long deprived. Sure, she’d had her jollies with Kyle every which way during their trade-off period, but as she so often liked to remind her offspring – and the truth of this belief was clearer now more than ever – there really was nothing more special in the world, or more stimulating, than that one and only mother-son bond. The first, and then penultimate, of these final inward strokes were carried out, delivering a fantastic head-rush and a warning bloom of erotic delight that very nearly crossed the ultimate threshold. At last, obeying pure in-the-moment instinct – and that bottomless hunger of her rip-roaring womanhood for Tommy’s being – Joanne crowded the entirety of her eight-inch son’s frame into that slobbering twat hole at its hyper-sensitively lascivious apex of need, and then let go of him for the finale.
Or at least she released him from her fingers, but the thrall of the giantess’s domineering pussy was far more possessive in its grasp, anyway. She flexed around him with everything she had left, coiling those squashy fluid-slathered vaginal walls so unrelentingly that Tommy could actually feel his ribcage beginning to bend in on itself, teasing a multi-bone fracture with each overpowering ounce of additional tension his towering mother piled into her freakishly contracted cunt. When he opened his mouth to either scream in anatomy-compressing anguish or attempt to beg mercy from Joanne before she snapped something inside him – knowing, deep down, that both choices for said scream were equally pointless – the boy couldn’t even project a single yelped note before the gooey flood of her catastrophic orgasm pushed the noise right back down his throat and wetly congested him into silence. Though even if the eight-inch pussy slave’s own body weight in maternal cum hadn’t come sloshing down the barrel like that, Joanne’s riotous belly-quaking victory groan would’ve made it impossible for her to hear him anyhow.
“Awww, there’s a good mama’s boy! Showin’ me what you can really do. What I always knew you could do, even if you took a long time to let it out. Just look at you. Really givin’ Mommy the BUSINESS! And best of all, takin’ it like a man! A REAL one, with a REAL goddamn DICK! Yes, oh, yes. That’s what you are, sweet-cake. My real man, and my precious little baby boy. Just whenever I need you to be,” Joanne sappily crooned a minute later with a mocking infantilized babble, once she’d extracted her slime-coated bruise-spotted victim from that hellishly humid orifice and cradled him across both upturned palms as though for triage.
The woman was fairly worn-out in her own right after the superb workout of that homecoming fuck, flushed and perspiration-drenched and still gasping happily in recuperation, though naturally her own comfortable post-coital exuberance couldn’t possibly compare to the bone-rocked affliction Tommy was suffering now, just as presently as though he was still crammed wholly up that brawny drowning pube-forested feminine pipeline of his mother’s. Turning over onto his side and retching like a mangy cat, the little guy yucked up the first of many servings of her fragrant arousal he’d been forced to ingest throughout that suffocating nectar-gargling marathon. Helpfully as always, Joanne massaged her son’s belly while shushing him from puckered lips, even jabbing her thumbpad down on his mildly cum-bloated abdomen as though performing some kind of shrunken cunnilingus-specific variation of CPR, and so aided him in vomiting up another couple gunky rounds of her love fluids.