The crevice on the chair’s back was a precarious hideout, but lingering here felt like tempting fate. Nate’s massive form, clad only in his underwear, loomed too close, his every shift a potential death sentence. I scanned the chair’s contours, desperate for a safer spot. The front—his lap, his thighs—might give me room to maneuver, a place to hide without the crushing threat of his weight. It was a risky move, but staying put wasn’t any better. I’d circle around his back, skirt his side, and climb to his groin area. The thought churned my gut, but survival didn’t care about comfort.
I edged along the crevice, inching toward Nate’s left side where the chair’s back curved slightly. His bare back towered above me, a wall of skin radiating heat. The chair’s coarse fabric scratched under my hands as I moved, careful to avoid stray lint or crumbs that could trip me up. The air grew thicker, laced with the musky tang of Nate’s sweat, as I neared the gap between his side and the chair’s cushion. His underwear, a dark band of elastic, hugged his hips, the fabric taut against his skin.
Circling around was slow work. I pressed myself against the chair’s back, using its weave for grip as I navigated the slope toward his hip. The chair creaked faintly as Nate shifted, and I froze, my heart pounding. His breathing stayed steady, oblivious. I pushed on, reaching the edge of his thigh. The skin was warm, slightly slick with sweat, and I gripped the coarse hairs for leverage, pulling myself onto the broad expanse of his leg. Each step was a balancing act, the muscle beneath me firm but unsteady with his subtle movements.
Climbing higher, I followed the crease where his thigh met his groin. The air here was stifling, heavy with a potent, musky scent that was unmistakably Nate—sweat-soaked and raw. It clung to my lungs, overwhelming, but I forced myself to focus. I grabbed the edge of his underwear’s fabric, using it to haul myself up to the groin area. The terrain shifted as I arrived, and I froze, my breath catching.
Nate’s package was enormous—a towering, fabric-clad mound that dwarfed me. The underwear stretched tight over it, outlining a scale I hadn’t anticipated. I’d known he was big, but this close, it was staggering, like standing at the base of a monument. The heat radiating from it was intense, the musky odor even stronger here, a mix of sweat and Nate’s raw essence. I crouched beside it, my hands gripping the damp fabric for stability, my mind reeling. This was safer than the cushion, maybe, but it felt like I’d traded one danger for another. I stayed low, ready to bolt if he moved, my eyes locked on the massive landscape before me.
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