Max’s laughter grated in my ears, sharp and mocking, as he snatched me up from the carpet, his fingers rougher this time, squeezing my tiny form with a careless cruelty. The room whirled around me—faded posters peeling from the walls, a water-stained ceiling, the grayish-blue carpet littered with Lego bricks and popcorn crumbs. The sour, cheesy stench of his feet still clung to me, mingling with the humid, sweaty heat of his palm. “Time for round two, Ben!” he declared, his voice thick with a reckless edge that sent a shiver through me—if I could shiver. He swung me over his cluttered desk, a teetering soda can glinting in the dim glow of the desk lamp, threatening to spill its sticky contents.
A low rumble interrupted his game—the crunch of tires on gravel outside. Max’s head snapped toward the window, his eyes lighting up with a manic gleam. “Uncle Jared is here to play!” he said, his grin stretching wide, almost feral. He gripped me tighter, his sweaty palm smothering me, and barreled toward the door, his sneakers thudding against the floor. The world jostled as he pounded downstairs, the air shifting from the stale warmth of his bedroom to the cooler, slightly smoky haze of the living room. Max curled his fingers around me, hiding me against his chest—he wasn’t ready to show me to Uncle Jared yet, and I could feel the secrecy in his tense grip.
The front door creaked open, and Uncle jared’s voice rumbled through the house, deep and commanding. “Yo, Max! Where’s the crew at?” Jared’s tone carried the easy confidence of someone used to taking up space. Max’s voice slid into a casual, sly drawl. “Nate’s upstairs being a weirdo. Ben’s asleep in his room, so don’t bug him.” I wanted to scream, to tell Jared I was right here, trapped in Max’s hand, but my shrunken body was mute, helpless. Jake grunted, “Fair enough, kid.”
Max shuffled to the living room, the air now tinged with the faint scent of motor oil and cigarette smoke clinging to Jared clothes. I caught a glimpse of him as Max passed by—Uncle Jared was a towering figure, easily over six feet, all muscle from his army days. His legs were like tree trunks, thick and defined, the kind of power built from years of drills and deployments. He wore baggy cargo shorts that sagged low, revealing the tops of his calves, roped with muscle and dusted with dark hair. His loose T-shirt, faded gray with some old band logo, stretched across his broad chest but hung slack over his midsection, barely concealing the massive, sculpted arms that flexed with every movement. His biceps were like boulders, veins snaking under tanned skin, a testament to years of lifting and field work. As he turned, I caught sight of his backside, plump and rounded, straining the fabric of his shorts, and the bulge near his groin was impossible to miss, heavy and prominent, shifting slightly as he moved. His presence filled the room, a mix of raw strength and casual menace.
Max flopped onto the couch, the cushions groaning under his weight, and set me down in the center, on the cracked, worn leather of the middle cushion. I stayed still, too small to move, too terrified to draw attention. The air was warm, heavy with the lingering musk of Max’s sweat and the faint tang of Jared’s presence. “Mind if I get comfortable?” Jared asked, his voice a low rumble. Max shrugged, his grin sharp and knowing. “Go for it.” I looked up as Jared tugged at his belt, his cargo shorts sliding down to reveal loose, faded boxers, the fabric thin and sagging, hinting at the contours beneath. His massive frame turned, his shadow swallowing the dim light, and I realized with a surge of panic what was coming. His plump backside loomed above me, a wall of muscle and cloth descending like a tidal wave. The couch creaked as he sat, his weight pinning me into the cushion’s depths, the leather warm and slightly sticky against my tiny form. The air was suffocating, thick with the musky, salty scent of his sweat and the faint, worn smell of his boxers.
Max’s laughter cut through the haze, sharp and cruel. “Catch ya later, Uncle Jared!” he said, his voice dripping with glee. I couldn’t see him, but I knew that grin—jagged, malicious, relishing the fact that I was trapped beneath Jared’s bulk. His footsteps faded as he left the room, the door clicking shut behind him. I was alone now, smothered under Uncle Jared’s weight, the heat of his body pressing down on me. The scent was overwhelming—sweat, skin, and a faint trace of something earthier, like old leather left in the sun. Then Jared shifted, his hips grinding slightly into the couch, and a low, ominous rumble vibrated through him. A blast of hot, foul air erupted—a fart so rank it was like rotting meat mixed with sulfur, the stench clawing at my senses, clogging my mind. I couldn’t gag, couldn’t faint, but my thoughts screamed for escape, trapped in the suffocating darkness.
I knew what happened when Uncle Jared stayed over. His visits were a storm of chaos—loud stories, heavy footsteps, and a carelessness that made him oblivious to anything small or fragile, like me. His farts were legendary, each one a weapon, and he’d laugh them off without a second thought, never noticing the devastation they left behind. Pinned beneath him, surrounded by the oppressive heat and stench, I braced myself for the long, humiliating hours ahead, knowing Max’s games were only the beginning.
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