The Smothering
Read the storyThey closed in so fast I didn’t have time to think. Just breasts. Warm, heavy, endless. Pressing into my face from all directions, soft but unrelenting, sealing off every gasp of air. I’ve been buried for… I don’t even know. Minutes? Hours? Their giggles echo faintly through the flesh crushing my ears. They take turns, but there’s no break between them. One pair squishes tight around my face, and then another shoves in harder — deeper — until there’s nothing left but the weight, the heat, and the dizzy pressure building behind my eyes. My lungs are screaming, my body’s twitching, but the only thing they feel is how hard I’m squirming. And they love it. I can hear it in their voices. “He’s still kicking,” one of them purrs. “Good boy.” I try to cry out, but another chest silences me instantly — soft skin flattening against my lips, my nose, my entire face. I’m not even sure where I end and they begin anymore. Somehow, I manage to surface — just for a second. Gasping. Drenched in sweat. My vision blurry from lack of air. I pull my head up from between a dozen tits, wheezing like a man reborn. And that’s when I see them. The next group. Lining up. Smiling. “You didn’t think it was over, did you?” one of them grins — as they pull me right back in.