Suddenly, James leaned forward, muttering, “Need more snacks.” He stood, the motion lifting his weight and loosening the boxers. Dylan gasped, tumbling downward as the crevice parted, landing with a soft thud on the warm, yielding skin of James’s scrotum, just below the base of his thick cock. “Oh, crap!” Dylan yelped, the heat and weight overwhelming. The scent was richer here, a potent mix of clean fabric and James’s natural musk, and Dylan’s senses spun. “This… this is a lot,” he gasped, his voice raw with thrill and discomfort. The cock loomed above, a massive ridge, while the balls beneath him pulsed faintly, their delicate skin warm and heavy.
James grabbed a bag of chips from the coffee table, his movements quick and careless, then sat back down, the boxers tightening again. Dylan was pressed against the scrotum, the pressure less intense than the crack but still confining. “Okay, whoa,” he muttered, his hands tracing the skin’s texture, feeling its give. “Not happy about the squeeze, but… damn, this is intimate.” The thought of James’s colossal body—those hairy legs, fatter ass, and chubby frame—kept his excitement high, even as he struggled to breathe.
A faint brrrt rumbled, a small fart escaping from above, its warm, pungent gust wafting downward. Dylan coughed, wrinkling his nose, but grinned despite himself. “Ugh, man, your gas is lethal,” he said, his tone light, not angry. “But it’s… kinda part of the giant deal, right?” The best part of the moment, combined with the heat and closeness of James’s balls, made his heart race. “I’m in deep now,” he whispered, half-laughing. “Gotta make the most of it.”
As James resumed watching TV, crunching chips, Dylan felt every shift, the scrotum moving slightly beneath him. “Need a plan,” he muttered, his discomfort nagging but his fascination stronger.