Bullet James let out a lazy groan, shifting his weight to get even more comfortable. “This couch is the best,” he mumbled through a mouthful of chips, his voice a deep rumble that reverberated through the cushion. He leaned back fully, spreading his legs wider and sinking deeper into the couch, his bare, hairy ass pressing down with crushing force. The added pressure was excruciating, forcing Dylan’s tiny body flatter against the cushion, his face now mashed directly against the pulsating, sweaty rim of James’s hole. The coarse hairs scraped his skin raw, and the musky, suffocating heat enveloped him, the scent of sweat and the lingering stench of farts choking his every breath.
“Fuck, no! Too much!” Dylan gasped, his voice a desperate, muffled whimper lost beneath the giant’s bulk. His tiny limbs flailed uselessly, pinned by the overwhelming weight, each subtle shift of James’s body grinding him deeper into the intimate crevice. The pulsating warmth of James’s hole throbbed against his cheek, slick with sweat, the explicit closeness sending a confusing jolt through Dylan’s panic-stricken mind. “Get… off!” he choked, his words swallowed by the damp, hairy prison, his lungs burning from the rancid air. Another low gurgle from James’s gut sent a fresh wave of dread through him. “Oh, God, not again,” he whimpered, bracing for the inevitable.
Sure enough, James grunted softly, “Ugh, those tacos are fightin’ back,” and released another explosive fart, the hot, sulfurous blast roaring over Dylan’s tiny form. The force pressed his face even closer to the twitching hole, the moist heat coating his skin, the stench so thick it felt like a physical weight. “Stop! Fuck, you’re killing me!” Dylan cried, his voice cracking, eyes stinging as he clawed at the coarse hairs, his fingers slipping in the sweat-slicked crevice. The explicit intimacy was unbearable—every pulse, every hair, every rancid gust a reminder of his helpless predicament.
James, blissfully unaware, reached for another handful of chips, the crinkle of the bag deafening to Dylan’s ears. “Might need to chill on the spicy stuff,” he chuckled, shifting again to scratch lazily at his thigh, his movement adding yet more pressure, spreading his cheeks slightly and wedging Dylan even tighter against the pulsating rim. “This is my spot, though,” James muttered, settling in deeper, his bare ass an immovable mountain. The couch groaned under the added weight, and Dylan’s ribs ached, his tiny body trembling under the explicit, suffocating dominance of the giant’s oblivious body.
“I can’t… take much more,” Dylan panted, his voice barely a whisper, drowned out by the blaring TV and James’s headphones. His mind spun, teetering between panic and a grim determination to survive. “You don’t even know I’m here, you giant bastard,” he growled, his words defiant despite his predicament. Another ominous rumble from James’s gut made him tense, his body trapped in the sweltering, hairy nightmare, braced for the next assault from the unaware titan above.
View Portfolio
Visit Notebook
Send Gift Points
Awards
Badges
Send Email
Community Newsfeed
General Discussion
Sponsored Items
Book of Trinkets
Static Items
Books
Groups
Interactive Stories
Audio
Campfire Creatives
Community Notes
Crossword Puzzles
Documents
Folders
Images
In & Outs
Madlibs
Photo Albums
Polls
Product Reviews
Quizzes
Survey Forms
Web Pages
Word Searches
More by this author