Betsy "I've decided to lend you to Sue for the weekend," was what I thought I heard Betsy say. "I'm sorry, sweetie, I'm not sure I got that," I gasped. I gasped, not because I was surprised or angered, but rather because when you are flat on your back with a woman perched on your chest, it is not always possible to inhale enough air to properly enunciate all of your words. It's not that Betsy is even that heavy ... because she had always maintained an athletic figure, when her muscle density increased, post-Changeover, her muscle volume remained pretty much the same. As such, unlike many women whose weight fluctuated dramatically as a result of substantial changes in body composition, Betsy's only appreciable weight gain came as a result of the nearly five pounds of breast tissue she added when her breasts went from small C's to full and firm double D's. At five foot two and a rock- hard (except for her gigantic tits) one hundred twenty-five pounds, she was just heavy enough, particularly when using her immensely powerful legs to pin my arms at my sides, to hold me in place and restrict, though not entirely cut-off, my breathing. My question, however, went unanswered as it was posed right at the exact moment that Betsy shifted her focus from preparing me to be drained to depriving me of oxygen. Without acknowledging my question (she was concentrating and probably didn't even hear it), she shifted her buttocks back from my chest and gently lowered herself directly over my mouth and nose. As I have trained myself to do, I tried my best to relax. Thrashing around doesn't get you anywhere (I don't know about other couples, but my wife is so much stronger than me that I doubt she would even be aware of any attempted bucking on my part) ... and, anyway, oxygen deprivation between a man and a woman is a trust thing. Besides, Betsy knows my tolerances and is always very careful during the Draining Process never to put me all the way out. Putting a man into an oblivious state via partial suffocation is just a necessary step in the Draining Process. Since the Changeover, men (and it is really our only "enhancement") are pretty much incapable (even when "expertly coaxed") of passing semen when fully conscious. (Although, it turns out, in our "brave new world," that a man's orgasm and his passing semen can be mutually exclusive ... so a man can still gain release, either on his own or with a partner, outside of Oblivion.) Since rendering a man comatose, as a part of the Draining Process, or otherwise, triggers a systemic release of "blocking hormone," (in addition to creating any number of irresolvable moral and ethical issues), Oblivion (the common term) is really the only civilized way for a woman to gain access to proper nourishment. Truth be told, I like Oblivion. It's just like the way you feel the moment before you fall asleep when you are really, really tired: all your strength is drained ... if you're life depended on it, you couldn't draw the focus to have a care ... pretty much all you can do is feel ... your ability to react to any stimulus in a conscious, physical manner is completely removed ... I often think Oblivion is what it must feel like to be a leaf blowing on an Indian Summer breeze. And when you're in Oblivion under the control of a woman that you love and trust ... well, there's just nothing better. As a couple who courted for eight years, from the time when we were both high-school juniors until we married in our mid-twenties, and was married for eight years before the Changeover (and for the eight years since), Betsy and I are so "in sync" that her ability to render me completely helpless goes far beyond what most women can do with their men. Her skill in taking me "up to the edge" and leaving me there for exactly as long as I can stand is uncanny. As a result, my dissent into Oblivion is approximately twice as long, and, therefore, probably twice as deep as the national average ... and you know what they say ... "The deeper the haze, the stronger her days." I don't really understand the science, but it has something to do with temporarily turning off the "blocking hormone" that tempers the potency of the semen ... and, apparently, the deeper the loss of facility, the more thoroughly turned off the hormone. I have never been measured, but I'll bet, simply as a result of Betsy's skill in sapping my coherency to its absolute minimum, my semen is at least twice as potent as the average, otherwise healthy male. Now, sensing my complete immersion, Betsy rose from my face and shifted to kneeling - hands on her knees, her impossibly large tits pressed tightly together - by my left shoulder. Stroking my cheek, she stared into my unfocused eyes, and cooed, "I sure do love you, honey." " ... uhve yeu teu ... " I mumbled mostly as a function of instinct (as opposed to consciously employing my ability to speak). I sensed more than saw her moving away. By the time, seconds later, when she took me, I had already lost focus, and was truly surprised by the sensation of being surrounded by the warmth and wetness of her mouth. Because she had expertly placed me so deeply into Oblivion, I came copiously, my semen as pure as is imaginable, in less than one minute. Betsy, in accordance with the purpose of the Draining Process, swallowed the entire load, and when I was finished spurting, licked me clean so as not to waste even one drop. Her nutritional needs satisfied, Betsy turned and stretched out beside me, propping her head on her right elbow so her face was right next to mine as I started to come out of it. Her left hand played with my chest hair as I refound my voice. "Only one draught, tonight?" (Even though studies have shown that one draught of semen per week is enough for a normal, healthy woman to maintain all of her post-Changeover physicality, Betsy usually took two draughts from me, per night. After all, the same studies have shown that ingesting larger quantities leads to strength gains far in excess of the baseline "role reversal" levels; as well as the possibility of a residual effect that might allow a woman who was extremely well nourished to benefit from a sort of reservoir effect which would allow her to maintain her strength and figure for months or even years despite the lack of regular access to a donor. Since none of the labs has yet to discover any limits relative to toxicity, Betsy and I had decided that two per night felt just about right. For what it is worth, the scientists seem to know what they are talking about because, despite having an absolutely normal post-Changeover figure (in other words, you would never know it to look at her), Betsy's strength is off the chart ... if the average one draught per week woman of her size bench presses in the 1200 lb. range (a woman, who, for whatever reason - no access, religious prohibition, etc. - does not ingest semen, can characteristically handle something in the area of 400 lbs.), and the well- trained one draught per week woman goes about 1600 lbs., Betsy, being both well-trained and extremely well-nourished, with, due solely to her own stellar skills, the purest of semen, puts up about 3,500 lbs ... which is, of course, though, almost 1,000 lbs. off the world record for her weight class, still, quite a bit more than my best of 295.) "No, I'll go back in a minute. I just wanted to make sure you heard when I said I decided to lend you to Sue for the weekend." "Yeah, I heard." Her left hand was already toying with my balls, prepping me for more drainage. Leaning in, she kissed me on the cheek and whispered, "I haven't finalized it with her and, of course, you have to say it's ok, but you're as much of her friend as I am, and I know you love her body, so I figured you'd go for it." It was all true ... especially the part about Sue's body ... I was a tit-man before the Changeover ... and since its occurrence, when the average American bra size went from 36C to 36DD, I have been in heaven. Sue's pre-changeover, natural-as-the-day-is-long 34DD's (on a 5'4", 125 lb., muscleless body) were now full-firm F-cups attached to a solid, post-changeover woman. Needless to say, I found her body very sexy. But, in the post-Changeover world, not every woman is as well provided for (nutritionally-speaking) as Betsy. Not every man revels, as I do, in the Oblivious state. In fact, many men fear Oblivion. (Oblivion can be a dangerous undertaking, if the woman is not skilled or, even, if she is careless.) Even many married couples (particularly amongst people who came of age in a pre-Changeover world) have a difficult time achieving the true state ... and recently the Courts have started to recognize issues surrounding Oblivion as grounds for a divorce. (i.e. - Tobin v. Tobin: wherein husband argued (successfully) that wife's "chronic forgetfulness" resulted in repeated and prolonged loss of consciousness while immobilized under her breasts.) While dating has, actually, become quite ritualized as men guard their one true "relationship-equalizer" while waiting for "Ms. Right," recent studies have absolutely proven dramatic increases in "blocking hormone" levels when a man is taken (to Oblivion) against his will. (Entire new areas of both criminal and civil law are developing as a result of this, and there is tremendous debate, albeit with an interesting twist for anyone old enough to have been "a-courting" pre-Changeover, as to when "no" actually means "no.") Notwithstanding the biological safeguards arising from "blocking hormone," there are some desperate women out there and the male chastity belt industry is booming. It is the rare man who ventures out in public unlocked. (Betsy lets me go unlocked as long as we are together. If I am, however, out alone - or even home alone - she insists on locking me up ... and, of course, she holds the only key.) I cannot imagine being a single guy who has to have his mother or his sister hold a key ... the potential for embarrassment is just off the chart. Of course, while no chastity belt will prevent some former cheerleader who is now capable of punching through steel doors from putting some poor guy into, say, a leg scissors, and crushing all of his ribs into dust, we are finding (post-Changeover) that for women, rape is more of a "nutritional" crime than a violent crime. (It is well documented that most women upon discovering a "locking device" will not hurt the victim, other than, perhaps in an attempt to forcibly remove it.) Sue, like so many mature (age 39) women, who were single at the Changeover, has had a hard time securing steady "nutrition" since. Nothing has changed about most unattached men her age, seeking company with younger (ages 25- 35) women. Furthermore, as in past times, younger men still lack the maturity to provide an older woman with a complete relationship. Besides, according to Sue, there is nothing worse than going through the "Key Request" ritual when the woman of whom you must convince your pure intentions is your same age. (Sue, who's strength has now ebbed to the point of barely being equal to that of a well-trained NFL lineman says, "If I were like twenty-four and thought "this is the guy" it would be one thing, but at my age I have spent way too much time helplessly racked across the shoulders of someone's overprotective Mommy, who has regular access to her husband's penis, wondering if this is the time that my spine is actually going to snap."). As for older men, most were already in their 50's at the time of the Changeover and, again, according to Sue, are extremely hard to "train to drain." Sue says that she's never met an older guy who is not so skittish about Oblivion that "all I have to do is unhook my bra and the "blocking hormone" practically flows out his ears." "Yeah ... I'd go for it," I said, "But, I mean, how long has it been since she's put anyone into Oblivion ... will you be there? "I can't be there. Remember, we're supposed to go to New York this weekend to see my sister. That's why I figured, if you stay here with Sue, she'll keep you in bed most of the weekend ... so you can run around her house unlocked. If you come to New York, you're in the belt from the moment we arrive until we're on the road home." She smiled at the memory. "I don't know," I said, "Maybe Ellie is on vacation or something." The last time we had gone to New York, Betsy's sister's neighbor, a lonely widow, had snatched me from the outdoor hot tub (I had gone out a few minutes ahead of my wife and sister-in-law) and nearly suffocated me under her massive left boob, right there on the pool deck. Luckily, Jen (my sister-in-law) pulled her off of me. The tussle that ensued was over quickly as Eleanor came quickly to her senses (Jen is easily as well- nourished as Betsy, and Ellie has been alone for years) ... long before the sleeper hold that Jennifer clamped down took its full effect on her. "Well, think about it ... .I'll call Sue in the morning ... . I haven't actually approached her yet. I just thought it would be a better situation for you ... I won't have to worry where you are every minute ... Sue gets some semen ... you know, it's just good for everyone ... good for everyone." Now it was my turn to smile ... Betsy was purposely imitating Sue's stream-of-conscious style of speech. And with that said, Betsy suddenly reached across me with her left hand, and gently, but with a grip that was absolutely undeniable took hold of my upper arms and swung me up over top of her. (She had been playing with my penis and balls all during our conversation and I was again ready for Draining.) Holding me at arms length she brought her legs up in a loose scissors of my hips. Suspended above her, I gazed down into her eyes ... "Your choice tonight, sweetie," she breathed as she shimmied her shoulders a bit so that her mammoth mounds jiggled invitingly. I smiled slyly. "Cleavage, please." (I always chose cleavage, as opposed to right/left breast, on the rare occasions when I was allowed a say.) As she lowered me, she tightened the scissors just enough to hold me in place. As my face descended into the deep valley between her tits, and we lost eye contact, she let go her hold of my biceps and wrapped her arms around my head. Firmly immobilized, I tried, once again to relax. As I began to slip away, she gently started to rock from side to side. My last coherent thought was trying to remember the words of the tuneless lullaby she had started to hum. Two days later, late Friday morning, Betsy and I stepped into Sue's large, two-story foyer. She and Betsy hugged deeply ... Sue was gushing (even for Sue) ... and frenetic. "I cannot thank you guys enough for this," she beamed, as she ran from one to the other of us hugging and kissing, "You are just the best friends ... I love you guys." Her eyes were actually misty as she took my overnight bag from my hand and hugged me. She held me at arms' length as if I had just returned from a trip and then pulled me into another hug and kissed me hard on the cheek. Maintaining her embrace of me, she turned to Betsy and said, "Ah, Betz, I will never forget this. You are just so nice to do this ... and don't worry, I will be so careful with him ... you are just so, so nice to do this ... Do you have any specific instructions?" At this last question, Betsy burst out laughing. "Sue, he's not an infant that I'm leaving with a babysitter ... he's a grown man ... and you two are old friends ... this doesn't have to be weird ... just hang together like friends, see a movie, go out to eat, drink his semen a couple of times, whatever. He's not belted right now (at this Sue who still held me in a loose embrace unconsciously reached down and patted my crotch; after which she looked at me, grinned and again kissed me on the cheek), here's his key. The belt is in the bag. If you guys go out or you leave him here alone, I would feel better if you locked him up ... other than that, have fun. I disengaged myself from Sue and made to walk Betsy to the car. We held hands down the flagstone path to the driveway. She got into the driver's seat and rolled down the window. I leaned in for a kiss. "Do you think she'll kill me with kindness or with her thighs?" "I think if you asked her to she'd lay down in traffic." I smiled. "I'll see you Sunday night." "Yeah, say hello to Ellie for me." And with a roll of her eyes, my beautiful wife headed off, and I headed back up to the house. When I got back to the front door, Sue was still waving to Betsy. She stepped aside and I reentered the house. As I stooped to pick up my bag, I noticed that after shutting the door, Sue had remained with her hand on the doorknob. Her forehead rested against the doorjamb. I sidled up behind her and put my hands on her shoulders. Turning her to face me (something I could not have done if she'd elected even token resistance); I smiled at her downcast eyes and kissed her cheek. Then I grabbed her gigantic tits and gave them each a gentle, yet tight, squeeze. Groping her like that really took her by surprise. She sharply inhaled and put her hands on my wrists (though she did not remove me from her massive mammaries). Realization hit almost instantly and when her eyes came up there was a big smile on her face. She hugged me tightly (again). "I have been wanting to do that since you were only a D-cup." "I was never just a D-cup, sweetheart." Burying her face in my chest, she murmured, "Thank you. Thank you. Thank you." I lifted her chin with my thumb and forefinger until she was looking up into my eyes. "Why don't you throw me over your shoulder, carry me to wherever you want, strip me down and have a drink." She grinned again ... and the next thing I knew I was racked across her shoulders. Though I was facing the ceiling, she didn't apply any pressure so I wasn't being tortured. It's just the way she was carrying me. "How about my bedroom," she half-asked, half thought out loud. Five minutes later, I was sitting on the edge of one side of her king-sized bed. She was sitting on the other edge. I was naked, having had removed my clothes from the moment she set me gently down. She was wearing a silk robe, the metallic-green color of which was a perfect foil for her shiny auburn hair. Her hands were at work bunching and unbunching the robe's hem. "How ... you know ... how do you want me to do it?" "Very carefully," I joked lamely. Seeing that she was more nervous than I was, I shifted around so that I was flat on my back in the center of the bed. "Stand up and take off your robe." Standing on her side of the bed, she dropped the robe revealing a metallic green bikini. "Take off your top and stick out your tits." "You like big boobs, don't you?" she smiled. "Susan ... I surely do ... I surely do." By way of instruction, I continued, "I'm starting to get hard just watching you breathe. Why don't you come on to the bed and lay down beside me (I indicated my left side) ... " Sue mounted the bed. As I started to issue my next instruction, she placed her left fore-finger on my lips. "I can take it from here, Romeo ... shhhh." I gave her my best bedroom smile and settled back as she cupped my balls and settled her massive left breast gently onto my face.