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 29 - NIGHTMARE IN THE MAKING
Poor Sammy was still choking on our team captain’s raunchy fart by the time Brody emerged from the bedroom carrying the freakish-looking, Cold War-era Soviet breathing apparatus. Of course, the gurneyed twink predictably cried out into his thick gag and frantically shook his head ‘no’ as soon as the forehead strap keeping his hairy dome in place was unbuckled.
His vehement opposition and wild attempts at articulating some sort of decipherable plea past the generous wadding, however, proved of little use. My balled socks weren't just a minor hindrance to him. They were insurmountably muffling.
I can't even begin to accurately describe the look of sheer terror and dread that overtook my stepbrother’s face as the squeaking rubber mask was noisily stretched and forcibly wrestled onto his head. Even after the rubber thing had fully encapsulated his dome and completely swallowed his face, the little guy kept frantically shaking his head ‘no’ and moaning unendingly into his gag. Brody ended up making rather short work of those efforts.
Discordant squeaking immediately flooded the living room as Sammy’s black rubber-clad head was forcibly pushed down into the vinyl-covered foam immobiliser. The trio of sturdy straps that came down to bear were quickly tightened off; circling not only atop the captive’s dome and forehead, but also under his chin and even around the gas mask’s breathing nozzle. The final result was nothing short of complete and total immobility.
Sammy could not move, could not turn his head, could not lift a limb, scratch himself or do anything to conceal his monumental erection. Everything from his ankles up was tightly strapped down every couple inches or so, leaving him virtually unable to do a thing but curl his toes up and uselessly flail his fingers around.
Andrew’s padded gurney was just utterly escape proof. Frighteningly so! Its integrated restraint system was designed to withhold and constrain not only the delirious and the sickly, but also the strongest and most hardened of dangerous criminals. This was the kind of thing used to transport apprehended mafia bosses, drug barons and other high-profile international crime lords who happened to be on Interpol's most-wanted list. No wonder the goliath gamer had been so hesitant to pull that thing outta his closet. His gurney was the stuff of nightmares!
Satisfied with the immobility of his captive, Brody once again ended up leaving the living room, albeit without so much as saying a word or sharing with us any clue as to what devilish idea he was in the process of hatching. My quizzical eyes would've normally followed his wordless departure, but even as the beefy tyrant withdrew back to the privacy of his own bedroom, my gaze remained entirely mesmerised by the spectacle of Sammy's harrowing plight.
Scooting forward in my seat and peering down into the gas mask’s rapidly-fogging circular goggles gave me a partial glimpse of the fear in my stepbrother's eyes. The poor dweeb could do nothing but lay there and breathe; drawing in laboured sniffs through the dedicated front inhaler nozzle and breathing out just as noisily via the more discrete exhaler port.
In and out. In and out.
*KKKFFFF. HHFFF*
*KKKFFFF. HHFFF*
*KKKFFFF. HHFFF*
*KKKFFFF. HHFFF*
The room already reeked of cheese and vinegar like you wouldn’t believe, but things undoubtedly got even worse for the little guy when our behemothic underwear-clad captain regained his seated position on the living room couch and lazily plopped his great, big, crusty tube sock-covered soles down, straight onto the gurneyed dweeb’s convenient upper chest.
I couldn’t even imagine the unfathomably putrid stench rushing toward Sammy’s face when the tattooed superhunk crossed his ankles on top of each other and uncaringly allowed the underside of his left foot to sit a mere inch away from the gas mask’s short, unprotected nozzle. Chad's socks were positively vile!
Although Sam’s body remained perfectly immobile, the telltale groaning of leather and the angry squeaking of rubber instantly alerted us to the fruitless struggle being strenuously waged. Chad either didn’t notice, or didn’t care. At least not initially.
The ragged breathing, muffled coughing and leathery groaning eventually did cause the barrel-chested leviathan to finally clue in to the scrawny captive’s gruelling plight. But much as you’ve probably come to expect by now, the gurneyed runt was awarded little sympathy.
“What’s a matter, little guy. You tryna escape? Eh? You tryna run away?” Chad mockingly asked, scratching the underside of his own immensely heavy-looking sack before letting a deep, ear-shattering burp resonate from out of his widely gaping mouth.
*BUUUUUUURP*
A heavily-muffled yelp managed to make its way past my wadded bundle and ever so briefly make itself heard above the ambient cackling when our team captain’s enormous left foot suddenly departed from its original location and planted itself squarely atop the glaring protrusion that was Sam’s massive boner-tent.
“Yeaaah. Go ahead, boi. Struggle real hard for me. Yeah, that’s it.” the jumbo-limbed, tattooed team behemoth taunted, mocking the panicked teen’s valiant but ultimately futile efforts to break free, while at the same time grinding his giant foot down directly on top of my stepbrother’s throbbing erection.
Another audible yet heavily muffled lament graced our ears when Matt joined in, this time by eagerly reaching down and planting one of my very own infamously odorous jet black Tns atop the gurneyed twink’s defenceless breathing nozzle.
The distressed coughing that immediately followed that first initial whiff did not disappoint. Chad laughed, just as we all did, but like a jealous monarch, he barely allowed Sam three whiffs of my shamefully stinking trainer before dismissively nudging it off the mask and curling his own infernally reeking socked toes around the nozzle.
“Yeaaah, there we go, boi. Sniff daddy Chad's giant toes.” he condescendingly let out, victoriously flaring his enormous socked digits around while at the same time rubbing his own freakishly distended bulge to the apparently arousing sensation of getting his big raunchy stinkbombs sniffed.
Sammy's breathing immediately grew ragged, hinting at a near-inability to draw breath past the gargantuan tyrant's incredibly smothering toes. But still, captain Chad just didn't care. He continued beating his own meat to the sensation of getting his toes sniffed and continued using his other foot to teasingly grind his victim's hard woody down.
"Mmgphh!"
*HFF. KKKFFFF. KFFF. HHFF*
*KKKFFFF. KFFF. HHFF. KFF*
"Mmggpphh!" the poor dweeb once again frantically cried out; something which the tattooed superhunk authoritatively dismissed by ordering his suffocating captive to — and I quote — "Shut the fuck up."
Fortunately for Sammy, Chad’s puke-inducing toe-smothering was cut unexpectedly short when Brody returned carrying what appeared to be yet another piece of the puzzle. Under normal circumstances, the sight of him returning with a pair of lengthy breathing hoses would’ve been serious cause for alarm. But for Sammy, these were hardly normal circumstances. Whatever foul plan Brody had secretly concocted, no matter how cruel or devious, it just had to be better than facing off against Chad’s suffocatingly raunchy stinkbombs. Virtually anything would’ve been preferable to that.
In any case, the anticipated groan of relief instantly met our ears when our captain pulled his hellishly fuming toes away, allowing Brody to get to work and allowing smelly, yet comparatively fresh air to very noisily rush into the mask and up poor Sammy’s nostrils. *KKKFFFFFFF*
The brawny linebacker wasted no time in screwing one of the long breathing tubes he’d returned with to the gas mask’s front inhaler nozzle. The clamping of his hefty palm atop the tube's opening and the angry creaking of leather that rapidly ensued pretty much confirmed what we already knew. The gas mask’s seal was perfectly airtight.
Brody’s meaty palm left the breathing hose after a few seconds, mercifully allowing the panicked patient to hurriedly fill his lungs up. But the exercise was promptly repeated a second time, if only to make doubly certain that the bound prisoner’s lifeline depended solely on that breathing tube. It did. Sammy wasn’t getting even the tiniest slivers of air in.
The next few minutes were marked by rather bountiful cackling as Brody brutishly plopped his immensely broad frame down onto the already crowded living room couch. A second hose had been connected to the end of the first one, resulting in Sammy being forced to draw air from a rather lengthy breathing tube. One that could be held, wielded and controlled even from our seated position on the couch. For Sammy, this undoubtedly spelled trouble.
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Insane!
. Great chapters! I love that Sammy maintains an erection despite all he has to endure. That must be heaven for him.
play
with himself ever again 
. 
