Chapter 5: Stuck and Suckled
The world was a dark, pulsing prison of heat and pressure. Leo existed as a thin membrane of consciousness stretched across the sweat-slicked valley of Fergus’s ass. Each shift of the giant’s weight, each grunt as he adjusted his position on the cracked vinyl, sent tidal waves of compression through Leo’s form. He was paste.He was a stain. The rancid, beer-soured gas that had exploded from Fergus moments before still seemed to cling to him, a foul atmospheric pressure all its own.Time blurred. Leo felt the gradual, agonizing pull of his cells, his unique biology fighting to re-coalesce from the smear. Sensation returned in pinpricks—the scratch of thick, curly hair against what was becoming his cheek, the salty dampness of skin, the overwhelming, musky odor of unwashed man. His mouth, reformed first, was pressed directly against the puckered star of Fergus’s hole. He tasted salt and something profoundly intimate, a bitter, organic tang that made his tiny, reconstituting stomach turn.
“Fuck me, I’m steamin’,” Fergus’s voice boomed from above, a distant, rumbling thunder. The seat groaned as he leaned forward, the pressure on Leo lessening slightly. A massive, hairy hand descended, scratching absently at the very spot Leo occupied. A blunt fingertip, calloused and immense, dragged across Leo’s half-formed body, scooping him up like a crumb. The world spun violently.He was lifted into the stagnant, peanut-scented air of the bus. He clung, a sticky, struggling speck, to the whorl of Fergus’s fingerprint.
“Whit in the name o’ Christ…” Fergus murmured, bringing his hand close to his face. His breath, hot and reeking of cheap whiskey, washed over Leo. One bleary, bloodshot eye, the size of a dinner plate to Leo, focused with difficulty. “Is that a… person?”
Leo tried to speak, but his vocal cords were still a gelatinous mess. He managed a faint, high-pitched squeak.
“A wee man?” Fergus’s voice softened with a drunk’s wonder.He squinted. “Crawlin’ right out my arse, so ye were.Jesus, Mary, and Joseph.” He gave a low, wheezing chuckle. “Must be seein’ things.”
But he didn’t brush him away. Instead, he held his hand steady against the back of the bus seat, peering down. Leo, finally gaining enough cohesion to move his limbs, pushed himself upright in the deep canyon of the fingerprint. He waved his arms frantically.“I’ll be a son of a bitch,” Fergus breathed, suddenly sounding more sober. “Yer real.”
He leaned back, his other hand going to the fly of his trousers. He fumbled, the button popping open with a snap that sounded like a gunshot to Leo.Fergus wasn’t wearing anything underneath. His soft, heavy cock, nestled in a thicket of grey-streaked pubic hair, spilled out. It was flaccid, the head hooded by foreskin, resting on a prodigious set of low-hanging balls.
“C’mere, wee fella,” Fergus said, his tone gentle but insistent. “Let’s have a proper look.”
Before Leo could react, the giant’s fingertip tilted. Leo slid, tumbling down the slope of skin, landing with a soft plop onto the warm, doughy flesh of Fergus’s inner thigh. The forest of hair around him rose like dark, wiry trees. The smell here was even stronger: musky, male, layered over the sour tang of dried sweat.“There ye are,” Fergus cooed. His other hand came down, not to crush, but to explore. The tip of a massive index finger, warm and slightly damp, stroked along the length of Leo’s body.It was a monstrous, intimate caress. It pushed him over, onto his back. Leo lay pinned by the sheer presence of the fingertip, staring up at the ruddy, bearded face looming miles above. He saw curiosity there, and a dawning, drunkard’s lust.“So tiny,” Fergus mused. The fingertip lifted, then descended again, this time pressing Leo gently into the soft flesh of his thigh. It was a testing pressure.“Like a livin’ doll.” His breath hitched. “Can ye… feel this?”
The finger dragged Leo upward, along the crease of his groin. The world became a topography of rolling flesh and coarse hair. Then he was deposited onto the soft, warm mound of Fergus’s scrotum.The heat was intense, the skin loose and textured. Beneath him, he felt a deep, slow shifting as Fergus’s balls tightened slightly.
“Ah, fuck,” Fergus grunted.His cock, which had been soft against his thigh, began to stir. Leo watched, hypnotized and terrified, as the flesh thickened and began to rise, pulling away from his new perch. The foreskin slowly retracted, revealing a broad, purplish-red head that beaded with a drop of clear moisture. It grew to a towering, veined monolith, curving upwards over Leo.
Fergus’s hand wrapped around the base of his shaft, his fingers forming a canyon wall next to Leo. “Aye, ye like that, do ye?” he muttered, not to Leo, but to his own stirring flesh. “A wee spectator.”
He began to stroke, a slow, lazy motion.The motion jostled the world. Leo clung to the wrinkled skin of the scrotum as it swayed beneath him with each pump of Fergus’s fist. The smell of pre-cum, salty and sharp, cut through the musky air.
“Get up there,” Fergus said, his voice taking on a gravelly command. His free hand—the one not working his cock—came down.Two gigantic fingers plucked Leo from his hairy refuge. He was lifted, dizzyingly, and placed directly onto the wet, slick crown of Fergus’s cockhead.The heat was blistering. The slit, a gaping canyon from which more clear fluid seeped, was directly before him.The taste from before was overwhelming here, concentrated and primal. The smooth, hot dome of the glans curved away in all directions, a planet of aroused flesh.“Go on,” Fergus urged, his stroking hand pausing. He used the thumb of that hand to press Leo down onto his cockhead. The pressure was immense, flattening Leo against the sensitive skin.“Move about. Gie it a lick.”
Leo, disoriented and powerless, acted on instinct.He pushed his face forward, his tiny mouth opening against the seeping slit. He tasted the salty-bitter pre-cum directly. He licked, a miniscule flicker of his tongue against the monumental flesh.Fergus jerked violently, a full-body shudder. “Christ Almighty!” he roared, his voice echoing in the bus.“That’s it! Ye wee fucking devil!”
Encouraged, or perhaps simply surrendering to the absurd horror of it, Leo pressed his entire body against the hot skin. He rubbed himself against it, his own minuscule form stimulating the hypersensitive nerve endings. He clung to the corona, his legs splayed, as Fergus’s hand resumed its work.The strokes became faster, rougher. Fergus’s fist pistoned up and down his shaft, and with each upstroke, the skin dragged over Leo, threatening to peel him off. With each downstroke, the meaty hand threatened to crush him against the bulging vein on the underside.He was a passenger on a violent, slick ride. The sounds filled his world: the wet, rhythmic shluck of flesh on flesh, Fergus’s ragged, boozy breathing, the creak of the bus seat.
“Gonnae… gonnae come, ye wee thing,” Fergus panted.His rhythm became frantic, brutal. His balls drew up tight beneath his shaft, a tense, seismic event Leo could feel through the flesh. The smell of him was animal now, pure unleashed sex.
With a final, guttural roar that drowned out the bagpipes from the front, Fergus climaxed. The first jet was a cannon blast of hot, thick fluid. It caught Leo full force, a white tsunami that tore him from his perch on the cockhead.He was flung, tumbling through the air, soaked and sticky.
He landed in the warm, wet puddle of cum that now painted Fergus’s hairy stomach. Ropes of it continued to arc down, splattering around him, some droplets as big as boulders to his scale. He gasped, sputtering, drowning in the hot, albuminous smell of it.
Fergus groaned, a long, satisfied sound. He looked down at his glistening stomach, his eyes searching through the mess.“There ye are,” he slurred, spotting Leo struggling in the center of the pool. “Good wee man.” He patted his stomach gently, the impact making the cum lake tremble. “Fucking magic.”
Exhaustion claimed Fergus almost instantly.His eyes closed. His head lolled back against the seat. Within moments, he was snoring, his softening cock lying spent across his thigh, his cum-coated stomach rising and falling steadily.
Leo lay in the cooling stickiness, utterly spent.He waited, listening to the snores and the distant chants of his oblivious giants. Slowly, painstakingly, he began to crawl. He dragged his cum-soaked body through the forest of chest hair, over the rise of Fergus’s ribcage, and down the slope of his side. He reached the edge of the bus seat and dropped onto the gritty floor below.
He found a discarded crisp packet, its silvery interior a dry, cavernous refuge. He crawled inside, scraping the worst of the mess from his skin. He was naked, coated in a thin, flaking film of another man’s pleasure and his own exhaustion. From the mouth of his metallic cave, he looked out at the colossal, sleeping form of Fergus, and then beyond, to the other men in the bus. He was alive.He was free.And he was, for the first time, truly seen. The thought filled him with a terrifying, electric thrill.