Wordlessly a crimson-and-white leather gloved hand reached into the crowd and started grabbing up each of the now-tiny jocks. Each one was carefully inspected – inspected for what, Brandon couldn’t tell – he was just trying to hide in the crowd. And each, one at a time, was dropped into the empty helmet. He could hear a few yelps and a few shouts as those powerful fingers seized one man after another, pulling them free, turning it about and staring at the tiny man’s face before dropping him unceremoniously onto the growing pile inside.
As the crowd thinned, Brandon’s heart started to pound. It’s now or never he decided, and quickly he bolted for it. Chester’s eyes tracked Brandon but the towering teen didn’t make a move, still intent on gathering his quarry as Brandon hustled past those heels and into the open. His lungs stung from the effort and, after a couple hundred yards at full sprint, his energy quickly depleted. Like everyone else, his stamina had been almost entirely spent on the football field and he just couldn’t keep up this kind of effort for long. Fortunately for him, he seemed to drift out of Chester’s interest. As he made it about a third of the way to the tall swinging doors, Brandon had to stop and lean against a football cleat to catch his breath, the grass and mud still fresh as it clung to the spikes at the bottom.
As Brandon turned to watch his comrades, he noticed that Trey had been seized up next. Chester’s expression changed suddenly. He had a murderous look to him that bordered on wicked. That gloved fist had the linebacker in his clutches, arms poking out over gloved knuckles while the rest of his body was engulfed. Trey’s expression started to change too as that leather fist started to squeeze. Muscles bunched up under Chester’s leather riding jacket and the little man in his hand was starting to howl. A gloved thumb lifted and pressed squarely to Trey’s mouth, silencing him and pushing his head backwards, straining his neck painfully. Muscles tensed again and what sounded like rice krispies meeting milk emanated from that grip. Chester’s grip unfurled and what was left of the crumpled defensive captain’s body fell to the ground with a wet-sounding splat.
Brandon thought ht was going to be sick. Giving his helmet a little shake, as if testing the weight inside, Chester apparently came to the decision that he had enough. Standing back up to his full height, he then made quick work with the leftovers. One booted foot raised and quickly stepped down on each of the rest huddled in the corner, taking great care to make sure each one was pulverized. Lifting his head, Chester then walked casually into the shower room to finish the job. Brandon could hear the screams that were silenced by each rumbling booted step. While the giant was occupied and out of the room, Brandon made another run for it, this time jogging towards his own locker, looking for anything to hide in.
Brandon passed by that silver case that had started this whole debacle and saw a concave discarded foam knee pad that had somehow popped out of a pair of football pants. There was just enough room for him to wedge his way underneath, and just in time. From under the opening he had wiggled through, he could see Chester was done exacting vengeance in the shower room and was making his way back into the locker room. Those white boots walked right towards Brandon, leaving little red splotches that slowly faded with each new step. Surely he can’t see me, Brandon thought in mid-panic, listening to his heart race through his ears. Each terrible footstep was louder than the last and was the only thing the frightened jock could sense. It was then he realized it wasn’t him the behemoth was after – those armored feet stopped in front of the silver case and a hand grabbed it up.
Risking a glance out from underneath, Brandon snuck just enough of his face out to see that Chester was removing the device from the case and was now actively filling it with the contents of his helmet. Dozens of football players were dropped inside. Fortunately for them, the foam padding inside lessened their fall. It was only when one of their jock-friends fell on top of them did they feel discomfort. And then the lid closed.
What could he possibly want with all of them? Why didn’t he just finish us all off? Brandon thought along these lines for several long heartbeats and didn’t realize until it was too late that Chester had discovered him. As much good as it would have done him, Brandon thought as he quickly yanked himself back inside the makeshift cave. With careful and almost mocking slowness, one of those vast white boots scooted forwards along the ground and wedged underneath the opening of that knee pad. Slowly the toe lifted, brushing against the little jock and revealing Brandon as the kneepad was rolled off. The impressive and looming footwear then eased itself next to the terrified linebacker, settling down without making a sound.
Brandon froze, heart still pounding, adrenaline flowing and urging him to run. But he knew it was useless – if Chester wanted him to be squashed like the others, he would just do it. Instead, the towering teen just examined him from above, a thousand different thoughts and expressions flickering in his eyes. A grin touched those lips, but it wasn’t as cruel or wicked as it had been before. But Chester definitely looked . . . pleased. Crouching down on those heels again, Chester gingerly reached towards a frozen-in-his-own-fear micro-stud, those gloved fingers slowly surrounding him. He was surprised at the gentle nature of the way he was held, as Brandon thought for sure he would share the same fate as the others. Instead, with an almost reassuring squeeze, the now almost comfortable leather grip carefully lifted Brandon to that clean-shaven face.
And for the first time, the titan spoke with a booming voice that rattled Brandon’s ribs.
- I couldn’t make our ‘date’. Prior obligations, you see. But let’s skip the drink and I’ll just take you over to my place instead.
Brandon couldn’t speak. His mouth worked and his tongue dried up as he tried to protest or appease or do something. Chester took great amusement in the tongue-tied football player’s expression. An unseen hand was busily working at something Brandon couldn’t immediately see, but just as quickly became apparent. That fist craned lower. The zipper on those tight pants was already pulled all the way down, and Brandon got a good face-to-cock look at the sucker stuffed in a pair of black, glittering boxers. He wasn’t sure if it was just his size, or if the short stud was actually packing a monster this whole time. Probably both, Brandon thought as he hung there in the giant’s grip.
Without time to get the coordination to get the words out of his throat, Brandon soon found himself drifting forward. The scent from the young buck was pervasive and flooded the jock’s head, overwhelming all of his senses. As the waistband was pulled forward, it only got more potent. That would be the least of his worries, however, as Brandon was summarily squeezed up against the long rod that was crammed into those too-tight pants, torso pinned against the flaccid tip before everything was quickly closed around him. Darkness set in and Chester rumbled something – he heard the words ‘hold’ and ‘tight’ – and the little jock decided he’d better concentrate and keep his hands around the steadily beating organ.
And just like that, they were off. Each heavy step shook Brandon and squeezed him just that much tighter against the rider’s cock, the flesh going from warm to hot as all the heat was kept well-insulated. Everything suddenly grew impossibly strained and Brandon got the impression that the giant had just thrown a leg over a seat to straddle. A loud rumbling quaked all around him with just a kick of one of those boots. The monster was on a motorbike, that much was certain. Possibly a crotch-rocket, but whatever it was it was loud.
Minutes passed like days, but at least he had the comfort of knowing he wouldn’t die. At least not yet. He’d be in the giant’s lair, next, and if the swelling flesh against his chest was any indication, it was going to be a long night . . . .
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