Dylan’s grin widened, reckless and unrepentant. “Screw it,” he muttered, his eyes locked on the puckered, pulsating hole below. The smart move was climbing out, but smart wasn’t his style. The heat, the musk, the sheer insanity of it all—it was a rush he couldn’t resist. “Let’s see how wild this gets.”
Sliding back down the damp fabric of Tim’s underwear, he moved with purpose, his tiny body navigating the sweaty, hairy terrain like a seasoned explorer. The air grew thicker, the musky stench wrapping around him like a second skin, but he pressed on, drawn to the looming presence of Tim’s hole. He settled into a fold of skin just above it, close enough to feel the faint warmth radiating from the muscle, its rhythmic contractions almost mesmerizing. “Front-row seat,” he whispered, his voice tinged with a mix of dread and excitement.
The world around him was quiet for a moment, save for Tim’s slow, steady breathing. Then, Dylan heard it—the faint sound of footsteps retreating, followed by the click of a door. James was gone. Tim was alone now, and the shift in the giant’s demeanor was immediate. A low chuckle rumbled through Tim’s body, and Dylan felt the massive frame relax, the tension melting away. “Oh, you’re free now, big guy,” Dylan said, bracing himself. “What’s next?”
He didn’t have to wait long. A deep gurgle echoed from somewhere within Tim, like distant thunder rolling closer. Dylan’s eyes widened, his heart pounding as the air around him seemed to tighten. “Oh, shit—” he started, but before he could move, Tim’s hole quivered and unleashed a monstrous fart.
The blast hit like a hurricane, a minute-long torrent of hot, acrid gas that roared over Dylan’s tiny body. The force pinned him against the underwear, his face buried in the suffocating cloud. The stench was overwhelming, a noxious mix of sulfur and musk that burned his eyes and coated his throat. He gagged, his hands clawing at the fabric for purchase, but there was no escaping the onslaught. The sound was deafening, a guttural rumble that vibrated through his bones, and the heat was like standing in front of an open oven.
When the fart finally tapered off, Dylan collapsed, gasping for air that was only marginally less foul. His face was slick with sweat and something he didn’t want to think about, but his reckless grin was still there, shaky but defiant. “Holy… hell,” he rasped, coughing as he wiped his eyes. “That was… next-level.”
Tim shifted slightly, oblivious to the chaos he’d just unleashed, and Dylan sprawled there, catching his breath. The hole still pulsed faintly, a reminder of the raw power he’d just endured. Part of him wanted to crawl away, to escape while he still could. But another part—the part that had gotten him here in the first place—was already wondering what else Tim had in store. “You’re insane, Dylan,” he muttered, shaking his head. “But damn, what a ride.”
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