Joel retreats his finger from his ass, feeling it close tightly back, folding over his tiny captive now immobilised in the sticky skin tight tube. He stands up, feeling strange having something lodged inside him, where nothing has penetrated before now. Trying to accoustomise himself to the curious sensation he shifts and strains, working the slick flesh around you with his powerful muscles. You're squeezed and compressed as Joel tries to get comfortable, yet you do not move an inch. Your body is held still as his flexes, wrapping you up in the gooey grip of the anal walls and preventing you from even pulling your arms to your sides. Eventually he gives up; the warm fullness inside of him proving somewhat to his enjoyment. His cock is rigid, the dull purple tip starting to eek free of its now tighten foreskin, glistening in the artificial light. He pulls up his shorts and tucks his endowment inside, stretching the fabric tightly around the tented peak and his now twitching butt-cheeks. He opens the cubical and clicks back into the locker room in his studded boots.
He enjoys the looks he gets from the guys, in both admiration and perversion as he walks past with his massive erection clearly on show. He finds his clothes next to Chris', who is sitting topless and untying his boots. As Joel starts to flip on a t-shirt he catches Chris' bewildered gaze at his shorts, a faint darkened spot mottling the surface like an oil spill at sea. He turns slightly, now pointing it directly into Chris' face, giving him a taster of the giddying smells that linger between Joel's smooth legs.
"You like that Chris?" He asks with a voice of mockery.
"Ehr.." Chris stumbles "Nah! Get that thing away from me man!" Even after that he doesn't retract even a little, remaining in the closest proximity he's been to Joel's throbbing cock since he was last pinned under Joel's musky ballsack in wrestling. Joel, feeling on a sexual high with you squirming for fresh air inside the oven like heat of his ass, slowly presses his hips forward, running the damped tip of his covered cock against Chris' cheek and passed the side of his lips. Chris immediately raises his hand once Joel has turned back, not to brush the faint trail off, but to see if what had just happened was actually real.
"Well, if ya' change ya' mind, just let me know. I'm always lookin' for a mouth to keep my balls warm." He sits down and starts to untie his studs, preparing to don his ratty sneakers while Chris sits next to him speechless, trying to balance carefully if Joel is just trying to make a fool of him, or if he is actually offering a scant act of carnality. You know that Joel has sat down; the walls around you push in from the sides and you slip down a little, you face trailing through the mucous lined walled, pushing the viscous residue of crap up into your nose. You grimace briefly before spluttering on the overpowering stench of Joel's digestive system, taking a deep lungful of stale, heated air through the sides of your mouth, unable to push the molded film of clammy, stinking flesh that adheres to your whole body like a papier-mache model. Your feet are pressed against the tight oval kept rigidly shut by the mammoth mounds of jock muscle that curve proudly in your giant's shorts. Your prison is being folded by the two buttocks, compressed between Joel's wieght and the firm resistance of the bench. There is the occasional squeltch as some part of the anal cavity is rubbed against you, or when the intestines above you push another little piece of Joel's past meals through the maze of winding tubing, just resting mere inches above your hands. You are preparing to meet one of the jock's turds in here; considering this being their natural place and you being the invader. However, you are both relieved and surprised that is yet to happen; the interior of this guy's ass is suprising free of it's usual inhabitants, leaving you bathing in the mere traces of what must have only recently passed through the giant. You feel humbled placed at the mercy of him; that you are just another part of his working body. All of his being is beating around you, all that flesh, fat, muscle, bone and blood, and you are part of it. Ok, sure your right at the ugliest end of it all; but you're inside living, breathing sports star.
You slip back up into the dampness above you as he stands back up, slinging his backpack over his shoulder. As he starts his walk home your body is twisted in line with his gait. The glutes have formed around you as a snake would surround it's ingested prey, the tight embrace tugging your body into rotating slightly with the advance of one leg, and then back round with the advance of the other. Your feet near the cute pucker hardly move at all, whilst your hand and arms which rest on the boundary of his rectum are gyrated and rotated violently. The thick, vile goo that bathes the passage way starts to heat in the friction and starts flowing more freely around you. Joel hasn't even left the college grounds and your already dripping with ass juice, the thick tendrils arcing between your tightly shut legs, between your eyes and cheeks, twisting you in the ropes like candyfloss or a spider's web. You feel a slow pressure building around your arms, a cloud of vile gas that has been dislodged from above is trying to pass the skintight press of the walls and your body. It seeps around you, filling your mouth and lungs with the purest smell of ass you've ever had. It bubbles and gurgles around your torso, forcing its way to the freedom at the boundary of the roasting jock's innards and the musky openess of his shorts. The gas seeps out almost silently, covered by the faint rustling of the fabric outside and the whooshing of blood around you, delivering energy and oxygen the gigantic muscles that power the legs.
You can't remember how far Joel lives from college, never being invited to such an alpha's habitat, but you're sure you've been walking for far too long now. Perhaps it's just the confinement or the lack of air toying with your mind. You are begging to adjust to the clinging slickness of the innards, and the smell is starting to become tolerable, even something you are starting to revel in. A loud gurgle and another fart starts to slip by you, but this time you make sure to fully inhale its truly earthen scent. Your eyes water and your cough almost hysterically. The pure stench of this jock is bewildering, it almost knocks you out. Despite that, you feel empowered, boldened by the experience, ready to take another hit from Joel's body.
Only moments after, there is an ominous gurgle. You prepare yourself once more, but nothing comes. It must be the heavy fumes but you're dissapointed. However, you feel a soft, squishy dampness roll over your fingers and down your hands. Fuck. Joel's body is ready to release it's latest conquest, whether you're in the way or not. Panic starts to build as the eerie sensation climbs down your arms to your elbows, pushed relentlessly onto you by years of natural instinct. What if it reaches your head? Will you be able to breath? You imagine Joel's response to the knowledge of you being consumed alive by one of his fresh, slimy logs: he would laugh with his bright blue eyes and flex his toned backside. You notice in your blind worry that Joel has stopped walking, he must be home; yet the firm wall continues to creep along your arms. The pure, vile stench you inhaled with his passing gas returns as the mass approaches your face. Joel is decided whether to let you out now still in your human, albeit mucky form, or perhaps wait a little longer untill you are truly a product of his fine ass before marvelling in his handiwork.
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