Giantess World
“P-P-Please! MOM! M-Mommy! Don’t… I c-can’t… can’t take… anymore…” Tommy mewled once his lips were no longer flooded with the upchucked loads of his parent’s own crotch oozings. He rocked and flapped like a colicky infant in Joanne’s hands until she lashed her fingers back around his limbs, holding his legs rigid and his arms straight-up above his head until his battered anatomy was stretched to its most ramrod cock-resembling possible permutation, or at least as close as possible while every fiber of the eight-inch boy’s being longed to curl into a shriveled pain-wracked ball like a dying millipede. “Please… j-just stop… for a w-while… t-that’s all I want. Please. It… h-hurts… so m-”
“Always SO dramatic, aren’t you? I never heard so much fussin’ come from any baby boy or any real man. It’s lucky you’re so big and firm and you get so hard when Mommy feels the need comin’ on, or else that habit to start in like a little ol’ hen-pecker would get old reeeeeal quick, sweet-cheeks, let me tell you that much. Just focus on the pecker part for me, if you can, and we’ll get along just fine,” the giantess interrupted, both scolding and flirting at once as she balked over his whimpers. Despite her annoyance at his begging, though, she was pleased at least to hear him merely requesting to delay the next round, rather than canceling it entirely. Not that she was actually going to entertain said request, since she was already feeling fired up again even so soon after that last cataclysmic sploosh of a rollicking pleasure-flowing boy-breaking orgasm, but it was rewarding to see these continued signs of improvement in Tommy nonetheless. He really had come back to her as a new man, and not just because his size made it so much easier to imagine him as usefully masculine and grown-up. Salivating as she scrutinized her nude eight-inch offspring’s shivery canvas of a body, particularly that easily-perked member of his, Joanne couldn’t keep herself from licking her lips and then gulping his full little length into her maw again like a pacifier.
With thankful vigor, she slurped upon that coincidentally limp hardware as sloppily as possible, fiercely pampering Tommy Jr. from every angle with her tongue and enjoying the jolts that resulted throughout his body. His lips might say one thing, but she would always trust the rest of her son’s physiology first and foremost. Case in point, Joanne felt him hardening almost immediately, which gave her slightly more surface area to work with, and so inspired the woman to suckle and pump and spit-shine his awakened erection with even more offensive tenacity. She shut her eyes in theatrical passion, adding unnecessarily cartoonish puckering noises to the mix as she articulately puffed the rim of her mouth into a wet suction-happy spout, and even dexterously invited Tommy’s dick into the burrito tube of her wrapped-in tongue, loving every sensation from the stimulated pulses so palpably thrumming his genitals like another heartbeat, to the teasing fun of his precious manhood stickily grinding across the uneven squish-garden of her taste buds. Once Joanne had lapped and imbibed her boy’s hapless stick back to life in record time, she expelled his springy hardness from her pouted mouth again with the most unnecessarily elongated tongue-compressing gesture, extending a last lick that turned into pinning his junk down against his stomach by that slobbery musculature alone.
All that while, it was Tommy’s humiliation-riddled turn to become a dopey eye-rolling pile of sexed-up putty. Despite the roughness of his mother’s technique, not to mention the overwhelming suckled-in pressure exerted on his most sensitive region, and the soreness left in the wake of her work, it of course wasn’t a biological coincidence that he’d stiffened to attention again, right when he needed his own body’s moral support in the form of a sleeping prick to help make his sobbing appeals sound real enough to convince Joanne. Because it had become plain to him, after so many months of relationship-devolving depravity, that the pear-bummed giantess was absolutely not moved to empathy, no matter how many tears he shed and how many times he croaked her name in hopes of staving off his next viciously wounding stab up her giant hairy monstrously-horny snatch. Not so long as his other organs kept betraying him like this. And, God, did she ever know how to switch him right back on at the worst of times.
“See? What’d I tell you? Always straight for the drama, when the REAL you is tellin’ me everything I need to know! And what I need to know is that Mommy’s big man and that big man dick on him are loving this just as much as Mommy is. You were just bein’ a sour puss all along,” Joanne taunted. Holding full eye contact with her boy, she flexed her tongue several times around her lips again like the plump hand of a clock, enjoying the leftover spice of her own gummed-on juices borrowed from Tommy’s body after sucking it all clean off his shaft, and found herself even further titillated by that sultry little circle-of-life transference. “Well, sugar-pie, take it from me. You catch a lot more bees with honey than vinegar, and you’re MUCH better off bein’ a sweet puss than a sour one. After the fun we just had, you should know that even better than I do! Because it doesn’t get any sweeter than this.”
Galvanized into another head-spinning erotic fervor by this reminder of what she could only interpret as her desperately-fuckable eight-inch-tall man’s purest desire for her, Joanne took a deep breath, mopped the sweat from her brow, then scooted her dump truck derriere to the edge of the bed, while still keeping the re-hardened Tommy firmly in her grasp. From her dresser drawer, she triumphantly retrieved that handy-dandy upright latex-looped contraption provided to her boy by Roberta. After popping the suction cup base down atop the furniture to keep it steady while loading up its passenger, the giantess slid her son’s weakened arms through those rubberized shackles adorning the spine-flattening rod structure, and his feet into the base. Tommy was still too spent from that last round to even wriggle in resistance while he was imprisoned back in the sex toy’s restraints like old-timey stocks for a public shaming, and understood too well already that he’d only earn himself fouler consequences for at all impeding his mother’s one-track mind. Naturally, though, Joanne took his fragile compliance now as even further proof that she’d already sucked all the fight out of him, and so couldn’t have been more thrilled or lustfully motivated to get this show on the road.
Unsticking the suction cup from her dresser with a satisfying pop that shook Tommy’s body – though the boy was already pre-emptively flinching and retching on his own as a well-learned reflex for what awaited him – she proudly marched over to that wooden bench at the foot of her bed. This humble wooden platform had served as the site of so many tragic memory-scarring episodes for the shrunken toyified rape-monkey in her fist, and it seemed she was about to add another to her boy’s fractured mind and living museum of sexual injuries. Joanne slapped the cup down hard on the bench’s surface, smirking as the rod pressed to Tommy’s back wobbled for a moment before coming to rest, with its tip and her child’s head aimed for the ceiling. In a twist from their normal routine, however, especially since this was still a special homecoming occasion, she wasn’t content to leave the bench where it was, but grabbed the edge and dragged it across the room to spot directly in front of her recently-polished full-length standing mirror, where there would be no chance of her missing a second of this reunion. Why should only he get to witness the action, she wondered? Without delay, Joanne straddled the bench in a sumo-like squat posture, using the mirror and her own eyeballed estimation to perfectly align herself above the temptingly erect target of Tommy’s strapped-in shape. She lacked the patience now for any additional coy come-hither commentary, only winking at her terrified pallidly-distressed son in the mirror before dropping her hindquarters toward the bench and plunging her ungracefully spread labial void straight down upon her favorite little-big man.
Because Joanne had to hunker and maneuver her pussy into place overhead of her bench-suctioned son this time, rather than having the freedom to manipulate him inside at her precise chosen angle by hand like a magic wand, there was some fashionable hip-shimmying and tautly-clenched kegel exercise required to force him completely back into the slavering vaginal slot from whence he’d come. Still, it was no more than a split-second’s concern. Once again, Tommy was made to leave the charging expedition head-first past the curly cum-matted underbrush of his mother’s dark whiskered vulva, with loose pubes tingling and itching against his exposed skin all the way down. The distended labial-smacking shlooooop which punctuated the boy’s recurrent swallowing into the giantess’s beastly loins was, per usual, marked by another of Joanne’s famously telltale deep-belly grunts that then clumsily transformed into a sickeningly grateful moan, the deeper she squatted her verticalized boy into that fabulously-drippy overly-constricted nether palace of hers.
“Such a BIG boy, aren’t you? Oh, YES! That’s the ticket. So… big. So thick. So perfect. Mommy’s big MAN, right back where he belongs…” she engrossingly wheezed throughout. Joanne felt out the path of that first descent slowly by her usually-emergent erotic standards, drooping her bountiful undercarriage until the wooden bench griped from this upsurge in burden, and only the outer rim of Tommy’s suction-cupped prop was still visible beneath the burly cellulite swell of his titanic mother’s thighs. It only required one satisfying more-conscientious plop-down for her to adjust, however, and the maternal giantess had hardly ascended back to the apex of her broad-hipped squat again before she was staking her boy back inside, then sliding up and down, over and over, first at a controlled rate to make sure she savored every sensory blessing of each launch up her carpet-swamped cooch.
But she soon graduated her approach to a truly brutish glute-clapping nectar-spritzing pace. Joanne flung herself so wholeheartedly into fucking the stuck-down pole of the eight-incher’s rod-assisted body that it might’ve bizarrely appeared like she was attempting to treat the bench like a pogo stick, all but bunny-hopping in her haste to keep feeding then re-extracting most of Tommy’s frame from that engorged slot, and moan-warbling with every sensuously ragged exhale. Though per usual, she never quite let all of him exit that hot oily-lubricated hole, ensuring she at least had his crown rather-accurately simulating a bulbed cockhead and wedged against the soggy-pithed tunnel walls at all times. Once Joanne really had the hang of riding her enlarged mini-son atop their favorite bench, she began introducing her usual exploratory creativity, sometimes rocking herself along mid-piston at sharper angles that either pitched her toward the mirror so far forward that her bulgy airbag bosom dangled inches from the furniture’s edge, or as deeply back as she could tilt without risking a roly-poly spill that would’ve quaked the whole room. This variety only encouraged her to hunch faster and harder in the rapid escalation toward another finish. Joanne gazed yearningly back at her own glorious mirror reflection the whole way through, with her frizzy locks whipping like a wild-woman’s, glamorous sweat striping her chest as it trickled down, and motherly surplus flesh jiggling all across the brawny yet plush monument of her six-foot-five enormity. And what a sight she made.
With two minutes’ worth of maximum restraint left in her before all heaven broke loose again, Joanne turned herself around over the bench, complete with a hokey-pokey twerk to keep her rhythm flowing, and put her back to the mirror. Next planting both hands over her knees to aid in her savagely heave-ho squatting momentum, she proceeded to give Tommy everything she had, continuously soaring and sliding up that living looped-in full-body cock she loved so dearly at top speed and in such a gluttonous pussy-plugging frenzy that the boy’s suctioned mount was soon only clinging to the bench surface by the absolute lip of the rubbery cup. Yet the bond held miraculously firm, as did Joanne’s sloshing clamping hellfire-warm cunt around all eight wonderful inches of her remade man. Tommy himself was squashed inside her chute to such a singularity of nauseous fluid-asphyxiating bone-bending tension that he lacked the moment-to-moment consciousness now to even distinguish whether the giantess was either driving back down upon him or hoisting herself back up, or really where he was at all. Though the dehumanized boy-toy understandably took sharper notice of the present again, when – at the victorious summit of yet another disastrous pleasure-spraying orgasm for Joanne – her most special place squeezed him so hard that a rib snapped with the ease of a dry leaf stem.