The morning sun barely filtered through the gym’s high windows as Jacob strode onto the football field, his cleats crunching against the turf. Matt, still reeling from the previous night’s intensity, was tucked away in a new, precarious hiding spot. Jacob had woken him at dawn with a wicked grin, his voice low and teasing. “Practice today, shrimp. You’re coming with me. Gotta keep you safe… and close.” Before Matt could protest, Jacob had pinched his tiny, naked body between thumb and forefinger, sliding him into the tight, humid space between his asshole and balls. The placement was deliberate, intimate, and overwhelming—a pocket of heat and musk where Matt was pressed against the puckered skin of Jacob’s hole on one side and the heavy, shifting weight of his balls on the other.
The stench hit Matt like a punch—a thick, pungent mix of morning musk, lingering sweat, and the raw, earthy smell of Jacob’s body, amplified by the tight confines of his football gear. The compression shorts Jacob wore hugged his massive frame, sealing Matt in a suffocating cocoon of flesh and fabric. The skin was slick, already damp with pre-practice sweat, and the coarse hair around Jacob’s crack and balls scratched against Matt’s tiny form. “Don’t squirm too much, tiny,” Jacob had muttered, his voice husky but laced with that familiar flicker of vulnerability. “You’re in deep now. Hope you can handle the ride.”
Practice began with a brutal warm-up, and Matt was along for every grueling second. Jacob’s sprints sent his balls bouncing, each jolt pressing Matt harder against the pulsing skin of his hole. The heat built rapidly, sweat pouring from Jacob’s body, soaking the tight space and turning it into a slick, musky sauna. The smell grew heavier—salty, masculine, with a sharp tang that clogged Matt’s lungs. During drills, Jacob’s lunges and tackles intensified the pressure, his cheeks clenching rhythmically, squeezing Matt against the sensitive skin. Every movement was a sensory assault, the musk and sweat inescapable, the texture of Jacob’s hole and balls overwhelming—soft yet firm, pulsing with his exertion.
Hours dragged on, the practice relentless. Jacob’s teammates shouted around him, unaware of the tiny passenger enduring the giant’s every move. During a water break, Jacob adjusted his shorts, his fingers brushing close to Matt, sending a jolt through his tiny body. “Still alive, shrimp?” he whispered under his breath, his tone teasing but tinged with concern. Matt, dizzy from the heat and stench, could only manage a faint wiggle, which drew a low chuckle from Jacob. “Fuckin’ tough little perv,” he muttered, but his voice trembled slightly, like he was grappling with the intimacy of it all.
The final scrimmage was the worst. Jacob’s full-body exertion—sprinting, tackling, shoving—turned the space into a furnace. Sweat dripped steadily, coating Matt in a salty film, the musk so thick it felt like a physical weight. Jacob’s balls shifted with every step, pressing Matt tighter against his hole, the puckered skin twitching faintly with his exertion. A sudden fart rumbled through, short but rancid, the foul blast burning Matt’s lungs. Jacob snorted, his voice carrying a smug, “Whoops, my bad,” but there was no time to dwell—practice roared on.
As the session neared its end, Jacob jogged to the sidelines, his breathing heavy, his body glistening with sweat.
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