Puck's muscles are aching, but also bulging. His guns look so inflated and his hot Puckzilla body is covered in a sheath of sweat. He'd just been humiliated by Sam Evans, trying to see who would give up first during a workout. Puck was humiliated to be beaten by the big mouthed blonde, and so he decided it was time to make him pay.
After everyone left the locker room, Sam and Puck were the only ones left. Both were still sweaty and shirtless, wearing only gym shorts.
"Hey, Evans," calls Puck.
Sam turns around, only to feel Puck's fist hit his jaw with a loud crunch. Sam falls to the floor and is stunned long enough for Puck to plant his big, beefy, sweaty ass on Sam's face.
"Wh -- What the FUCK are you doing?!" Complains Sam.
"Getting even," replies Puck, grinding his round ass back and forth across Sam's face. He then collects a lot of gas in his stomach, letting a fart rip out of his pretty muscle butt. "Ah!" He sighs. "That felt good."
Sam groans and fights under Puck's weight.
"What's the matter Evans?" He then let's out another wet fart, which smells ungodly rotten. "Can't handle the stench? Big strong guy like you can't handle a little Puck stink?"
FAAAAAAARRRRRRRT!!!!
Puck feels Sam's enormous lips brushing against his ass as Sam groans in disgust. He feels powerful, making Sam suffer by torturing him with nothing but his giant, round bubble and a few stinky farts.
"That's a big mouth ya got there, Sammy. How many farts do ya think you can fit in it?"
He then unleashes a long line of the wettest farts known to man, and Sam desperately searches for fresh air. His face is still in pain from the punch, and now both the pain and the stench are being imprisoned by Puck's fleshy ass.
Puck then slaps Sam's uncovered abs twice, hard and stingy. He unleashes more farts then.
"Thank you Mexican Monday," he says, unleashing one more spicy, warm and wet fart. "That should keep ya for a while."
Puck then stands up from Sam's face, but Sam is not yet prepared to stand up. He was tortured too badly.
Puck then places his salty, sweaty foot on Sam's sore cheek.
"Have a nice night, Evans," says Puck. "I'll see you tomorrow for round two."
Puck then walks out, laughing and leaving a humiliated Sam Evans in the locker room which now smells of not only sweaty feet, but also the farts of the great Puckzilla.
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