CHAPTER INDEX
A "CLICK-TO-READ" LIST OF CHAPTERS DESIGNED TO MAKE FINDING SPECIFIC SCENES A LOT EASIER
A "CLICK-TO-READ" LIST OF CHAPTERS DESIGNED TO MAKE FINDING SPECIFIC SCENES A LOT EASIER
AN IMPROMPTU FIRST DATE
THE TWINK & THE JOCK
CHAPTER 26 - A FLEETING REPRIEVE
You would think, especially seeing as how distressed he was, that Sammy would’ve spat the stuffer out the instant Brody was done unbuckling the straps located at the back of his head. You would think, but you’d be wrong. To the general incredulity of both myself and my teammates, he didn’t, or rather, he couldn’t. Matt and Brody – both of whom were still crouched above the gurney – gave the twink some leeway by allowing him to rid himself of the gag, but much to their growing amusement, poor Sammy’s spirited attempts at doing so yielded no worthwhile results.
We watched as the gurney-bound lad shook his head from side to side, and unabashedly revelled at the sight of his repeated failures. Even with the straps unbuckled, he was powerless to free his own cavity of the downright massive oral plug.
Andrew's giant saliva-coated stuffer had to be forcibly pried out, resulting in the cruel stretching of Sammy’s lips followed by an inordinate bout of frantic coughing.
“One little peep from you and this fuckin’ thing goes back in!†the brawny behemoth-brute warned, grabbing the ungagged prisoner’s head by the hair and hovering the mesmerisingly fat stuffer down, directly above his wide-eyed face.
As previously mentioned, Sammy’s relief would end up being rather short-lived. The gag’s removal was a welcome reprieve, sure, but the general consensus remained unchanged. His facial orifice was to be temporarily unclogged, only for it to be promptly restuffed again, albeit with a somewhat more manageable gag.
I’m still not sure what had my stepbrother as aroused as he was during the short minute Brody had left the living room to fetch him a much-needed glass of water, but Sammy’s loose-fitting boxer shorts remained glaringly erect. And very markedly so.
Aside from the short bout of post-gag coughing, the watery-eyed gurneyed twink very wisely kept his mouth shut. Of course, that didn’t stop Matt from preventatively cupping a large hand atop the little guy's comparatively puny face before sparking a football-themed conversation with both Hunter and myself. "Quiet." was the only stern-voiced acknowledgement Sammy received prior to being smothered into silence and outright ignored by everyone.
Matt’s absentminded face-muffling eventually relinquished so as to allow Sammy’s parched throat to partake in some of the water Brody had deemed fit to return with and subsequently feed him.
The wordless exchange that took place between my scrawny little stepbrother and the behemothic tyrant-brute was priceless in that it was both cute and somewhat amusing. Brody was easily the roughest and most brutish of my teammates, even more so than captain Chad, which in itself was something. But he did occasionally have his moments. This was perhaps one of them.
Anyways, Matt didn’t even bother looking away from us or casting our prisoner an acknowledging glance before bringing his immensely muffling palm back down as soon as Brody had risen up to reexit the living room. The blond stud’s sizeable palms weren’t as beefy as Chad’s nor were they as disproportionately oversized as Hunter’s, but even so, his bear paw-sized hands were more than easily capable of smothering the poor lad and keeping the lower two-thirds of his face in check.
Brody returned less than a minute later; the remarkable heaviness of his footsteps only partially mitigated by the crummy-looking, debris-ridden crew socks stretched taut across his large soles. His face bore its usual look of unflinching determination as he marched himself over to the living room, this time carrying a fat roll of his own dauntingly sticky duct tape.
Our captain, meanwhile, was still in the kitchen when the focus of our discussion slowly veered away from the televised football game and onto the more pressing matter of Sammy’s facial orifice. We argued about it, Brody listening rather intently as Hunter, Matt and myself each took turns providing him with various inputs, arguments and opinions.
“Andrew was sorta right though. We should be careful.†I pointed out, reminding the brute – and everyone else – of the next-door medic’s rather valid intervention.
Sammy, of course, was not allowed to voice his opinion on the matter. Matt’s very large and very dutifully applied palm was still seeing to that. And even had it not been for the blond jock's smothering grip, I seriously doubt the little dweeb would’ve sought to protest our ongoing discussion. Not with Brody back in the living room, crouched down right next to his undefended face!
Moving on, I’m not entirely sure why Hunter’s impressive ropemanship skills or even his background as a boy scout made him particularly qualified to offer advice on the matter, but his words subconsciously ended up carrying a fair amount of weight. Perhaps more so than mine or Matt's.
“Well, I think the best way to stop him from choking during his sleep would probably be to overpack his mouth a bit.†the brawny star quarterback advised, the logic of his poised statement causing everyone in the room to subsequently agree.
The brawny-armed beefcake was right of course. Normally this wouldn’t have been an issue, but due to our prisoner’s long-term supine position, a small gag was out of the question. The smaller the gag, the higher the risk we ran of it being accidentally swallowed and lodged in the prisoner’s throat. Overpacking his mouth, as Hunter had put it, was without a doubt the safest option and a surefire way to mitigate unnecessary choking risks. It was either that or force our prisoner to cope with Andrew’s enormous stuffer again.
Brody looked around the room, his furrowed brow and determined eyes scanning left and right as though searching for something. The thought of him using his own nauseatingly raunchy, crotch-scented jockstrap pouch had been floated around, once by Matt and a second time by Chad - who was still standing all the way over in the kitchen and making himself a sandwich.
Thankfully for Sammy, the option of physically laundering the brutish linebacker's infamous pouch was quickly dismissed out of hand due to its rather obscene grossness. After all, we didn't actually wanna kill the poor guy.
Brody’s hand instinctively reached down to his grey sweatpants a few times. More precisely, to the pocket where he’d discreetly stashed the positively reeking socks he’d stolen from Andrew’s bedroom a mere short half-hour ago.
Much to my own disappointment, he apparently decided not to fish them out just yet.
His momentary hesitation betrayed just how tempting the idea was, but the internal conflict raging in his mind had obviously resulted in him temporarily shelving the option; most likely wanting to make even better use of Andrew's socks by imposing them on someone more worthy than the compliant twink that lay helplessly bound before him. In other words, Brody opted in favour of keeping Andrew's socks for future use, possibly on some other, poor, arguably even more unfortunate soul.
That being said, I still clearly recall the hot flash of nervous excitement that washed over me upon catching sight of the beefy linebacker's predatory gaze. His eyes kept darting back and forth between Hunter’s foul-smelling socked soles and my own.
Brody inadvertently graced me with his unspoken decision by licking his lips and settling his gaze on the sweat-soaked, vinegary-scented bundles that lay clad around my chronically moist feet. The same simmering stinkbombs my then-feisty stepbrother had spent all of last week – and part of the week before - verbally lamenting and constantly complaining about.
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Not sure he'd wanna stay over for the night if he saw that freakish stuffer though.
