His hands grip onto the waistline of his jeans and boxers, starting to pull them up together unaware of your occupancy. Your stomach lurches as you ascend, as if passing over the apex of a bridge, the fabric that supports you becomming slack then taut like a hammock. His shins fly downwards, the girth of his colossal legs starting to fill the circular apertures beside you. Light starts to fade as you pass the knees in a blink of an eye. Your mouth hangs open in awe as the oncomming package swells, its monstrous proportions dawning on you suddenly. You realise in the fragments of seconds you're heading right for his pendulous scrotum. You instinctively go to raise your arms in front of you but there is no time. You collide with his body with a great force, the impact damped by the faintly elastic cotton beneath you and the compressibilty of the giant's ball sack. In the same instant the waistband snaps shut with a twang and a slap against the jock's skin, sealing you in darkness.
Immediately you begin to wheeze and choke on the abhorrent stench that envelopes you - so hot it stings your throat and humid enough to brings condensation to your lips. Such potent musk you could never imagine, brimming with rich, dark scents which excite and disgust. You feel him jostle his junk around from outside, arranging himself so he is comfortable, still oblivious to you. While you cannot see (save for a vague outline of faintly discernable shapes in shimmering silhouette), you know that the sprawled, heavy weight that pins yours arms and torso like a water logged blanket is his sweat slickened scrotum, whilst your legs are held immobile along the line of his perinium between his beefy thighs. Whilst every surface clings to you with clammy dampness, there is a considerable friction with his ripe skin that forbids you any motion in the fleshy vice. You hear him zip up his fly, causing your head to push up a little as the space inside compresses. Hairs of all manners of length scratch and tease your body, most flattened to the jock's unwashed groin but the errant few free to harass you. Above, you hear his belt whip arouns his waist, clasping it shut, effectively locking you inside to do battle with his dormant genitals.
Whilst your entire body is encased in the living cocoon of flesh, your head remains poking outside of the folds of hot skin, thankfully allowing you to breath (with great labour due to the weight upon your chest, however). Yet that does not mean it is free from the intimate treatment your torso is subjected to. Just a breath away from you is the flaccid cockhead. You can see it's tremendous outline easily three times as wide as your face, pointing directly at you resting slung on the mound of Jim's balls. You can smell its distinctive odors of piss and stale cum, evolving from the slightly open sleeve of gooey foreskin that is wrinkled over the head, almost touching your nose. Like everything else here, at first it makes you queasy, the numbing concoction of the young man's bodily fluid striking you as vile and offensive, but after a few slow breaths you try to accept it, letting the bitter, rancid flavours take your inhibitions, allowing you to submit yourself to Jim's superior manliness.
Jim is now fully dressed, and after only a minute inside the stifling prison of his boxers you are lost in a hazy sea of lust, disorientation and asphyxiation. His balls are crushing the life out of you slowly, while each step he takes threatens to twist your legs off you like a bottlecap between his powerhouse thighs. Slick, hairy flesh rolls over you in every direction; squeezing, rubbing, choking. He walks out of the locker room without a thought for you submerged in his filthy, malodorous groin. You can feel nothing but dreamlike bliss, shadowed by a nightmarish menace that only makes the sensations more primal. You try to bring your head into contact with his crumpled foreskin to take a taste of his masculine essence, but your body is locked firmly in place, subjected to his movements only like a puppet. You moan as boiling sweat trickles along your cheeks and into your mouth, the rising temperature and salty air making you desperately thirsty - the tangy droplets are a treat. You wonder how long you will be trapped in here, faintly aware too long an exposure in such a hostile environment could cause you to pass out. You shrug off such fears and relax, basking in the terrible comfort that Jim's package is affording you, idling wondering about your tiny form hidden away beneath his clothes as he goes about his day.
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