Yes, another drink sounds good

You nod your head and comply, allowing the burning liquid to spill into your mouth and quickly swallowing. You lie back, the world growing dark as you feel a tug and hear the sound of your bodysuit's zipper being dragged down. You become acutely aware of your breathing. After a moment you seem to exhale from your lungs with your outgoing breath.

Before you realize what is happening you are hovering above the bed, watching as the foul peasant kneels beside your sleeping body. Damn it all, you curse silently, why did you accept another drink? You watch with fury as he drags the zipper over your body's chest and down to your waist. The creamy sides of your big breasts become visible and Ingo runs a filthy hand up the open seam, widening the space and expose even more of your pale belly and titflesh. He widens it further, completely exposing your breasts and soft, pink nipples.

"Look at these lovelies," Ingo says.

"Damn it all," you say, though he does not hear you as he leans forward and runs his grotesque tongue up the swell of your breast and over a puffy pink nipple. His tongue lingers and your nipple hardens. He begins to suck, bringing a hand to your other breast and squeezing it roughly. The thought of this horrid man spreading his germs all over your bristine body is infuriating.

Ingo spends several minutes playing with your body's breasts. He licks and sucks both, mashes them together, marveling at your huge breasts. He squeezes them until you have red hand prints in your pale flesh and he even lifts your breasts by pinching the nipples and pulling. Eventually he seems to decide he needs more. He gets up from the bed long enough to stip off his trousers, revealing skinny, pale legs and a flat bum with a nasty boil on one cheek. With one hand still toying with your breasts he wraps his fist around his long, thin cock covered in horrid warts. He kneels beside your body again and begins wanking his cock over your chest, looking down as he pulls your nipple.

"I'll kill him," you swear.

Ingo groans and slaps the head of his cock against your breast leaving glistening snail marks of precum wherever his cock makes contact.

"That's right you little whore," he says. "Big tits like those need to be free. You like it don't you?"

"No!" you cry, but Ingo does not hear you.

"Yes, you do," he disagrees and you feel like screaming as he throws a leg over your belly and straddles you. "Tits like those beg to be fucked. I knew that was what they needed the moment I saw them by the side of the road."

He wanks his cock and scoots forwards, using one hand and his legs to **** your huge breasts tightly together, forming a soft valley big enough to swallow his cock whole. He wanks more precum across the edges of this bountiful geography and settles the underside of his shaft against the cleft of the valley. Ingo laughs like a simpleton and saws his cock across the tops of your sleeping tits. You float towards your body, screaming for it to wake up.

It's no use. Your body remains snoring softly, red lips slightly parted, while you scream your spectral head off. Ingo presses down on the top of his slimey cock with thumn and its disappears into the soft valley of your cleavage. You can do nothing but watch in abject horror as this perverse peasant plows his putrid prick into your pulchritudinous pillows. He pulls your pink nipples like taffy and saws his cock in and out of your jiggling mounds. Each thrust spears his purple cockhead out from the top and paints a glistening trail of precum across your throat. His cockhead jabs against your chin.

"So soft," moans Ingo.

Floating close beside the bed you are able to see details you never would have noticed from any other perspective. You can see the flexing of muscles in Ingo's blemished buttocks as he thrusts betwixt your compressed cleavage. You can see the thin strand of idiot drool spilling from Ingo's jutting lower lip and drizzling your tortured tits. You can even smell the horrible, unwashed stink of the man, like manure and sweat and clothes worn ten times. Who knew an astral projection could smell?

"That's it, you insatiable whore-thing," groans Ingo, slamming his cock between your sleeping body's breasts. "Take my big beast. This is what teases like you deserve."

You can't help but watch as he arches his back, arse tensing, hands crushing your tits tightly around his sawing cock, purple cockhead like a plum against your throat. As if in slow motion his filthy fucktool burps out a stream of whiteish spunk that splatters against your body's chin. His gushing cock spews a sea of sperm into the divot at your throat, overflowing the spot and forming a dripping choker of spunk. Some of his seed empties between your tits. As he finishes and releases his grip on your tits you see the raw redness between your milky mams decorated with a clotted coating of cock cream.

Ingo slips off of you, face red, sweat dripping from his face and he plops down beside your sleeping body onto the bed. Your disgust is such that the world begins to fade around you and your projection disappears into darkness.

You awaken some time later. Ingo is puttering away at a small stove, nude from the waist down, frying eggs in an iron skillet. You are topless, your exposed breasts feeling a bit raw and a lot sticky. You are still under the influence of Ingo's liqueur. As you lift your head, trying to regain the clarity of mind you had during your astral projecting, Ingo sees you coming awake and hurries over.

"Ah, you're up," he says, flashing his rotten smile. "Well, the thing is, it's still a bit stormy and the night is young. You should have a bit more to drink."

He lifts the clay pot from a table beside the bed and holds it to your lips once more. You look into his ugly face, trying to remember what you should do, wanting nothing more than to have another sip and sink back into the warm embrace of sleep.