CHAPTER 195 - NEMESIS
Wednesday, May 20 (9:30 PM)
The third period started and everyone regained their seats on the roomy living room couch.
I was secretly hoping for another one of Shawn's territorial displays, but to my never-ending dismay, the bare-chested brute appeared quite satisfied with leaving me to deal with Phil's reign of terror.
It pained me to admit this, but had my limbs not been bound and restrained together in a tight hogtie, I would've actually crawled over to my Master's hunky cousin and sought refuge between his feet.
Can you imagine that?
Me! Crawling over to that big, hairy, oafish lout!
The truth of the matter was that Shawn was the lesser of two evils here.
Not only were the younger Alphas rowdy and harsh in their treatment of me, but aside from Shawn, all of the older studs were unfamiliar and new to me.
Chris and Joey didn't seem particularly inclined to help, and even though I didn't quite understand the various relationships between these guys, I kinda got the impression that Big Mike's influence was symbolic at best.
Kind and gentle he may be, but those qualities were useless if he wasn't in a position to impose his will over others.
No. Shawn was
definitely the one calling the shots here.
And to a lesser extent, so were Chris, Joey and Kyle.
They were the hunks. Big Mike was basically just the "gentle giant" in all this.
Luckily for me, Joshua seemed intent on giving me some breathing space ever since Chris had warned him about my not-so-secret affiliation with Nick. If I was damaged in any way, shape or form, these guys would have to answer to my real Master; something that apparently gave Josh pause and reason to cut me some slack.
Phil, however, was a completely different animal.
The arriving pizzas proved to be a temporary respite, but even though I hadn't eaten much since getting out of bed some twelve hours ago, my close proximity to so many dirty sneakers really did much to impede my appetite. I was not hungry in the slightest!
My stomach only tightened when everyone but Phil got up to grab some plates and some steaming hot pizza slices.
Left alone and unattended under the young tyrant's care, I once again found myself being spat on and not-so-gently nudged in the face with one of his saliva-covered Air Force 1 sneakers.
The humiliation and abuse was more than I could handle, and I quickly ended up yelling at the jerk and struggling against my bonds.
The angry "fuck you" that escaped my lips must've been louder than I thought, 'cause Shawn caught wind of our little exchange and was apparently VERY unhappy with the lack of respect I was showing his skaterboy friend.
"Hey!" he snapped, immediately walking into to the living room and crouching down above my trussed up form.
My head was roughly yanked up off the floor, and before I got a chance to explain myself, the brute's palm connected with my cheek.
*SMACK!*
"You DON'T fuckin' speak that way to Phil!" Shawn growled, sounding positively PISSED at the fact that he'd just caught me mouthing off and being disrespectful.
I tried explaining my position and tried telling him that I wasn't okay with being spat on and kicked in the face, but the enormous 235-pound brute just wouldn't have it.
With the steadfast inflexibility of a law enforcement officer, Master Shawn immediately enforced my right to remain silent by clamping one of his huge paws over my face.
"Yo, Chris!" he called out, signalling for his buddy to come over and provide some much needed assistance. "Dude, go in my room and get me my gym bag." Shawn demanded, 'causing the hunky brown haired stud to put his plate down and comply.
I wasn't all that surprised about Shawn getting Chris involved in this.
The two of them were virtually inseparable as far as I could tell.
One of the pizza boxes was brought into the living room, and much like the slob he was, Phil snatched it up and ate right from the box, not even bothering to use a plate or anything.
You should've seen the smug look on his face as he sat there and eyed me down.
I wanted to give the kid a serious piece of my mind, but lucky for him, I was in no condition to do so.
"Uggghrrmmph...ugghrrmmpphh." I tried to protest, struggling to make myself heard from beneath my captor's hand.
I gave the sadistic runt the angriest glare I could muster, but he just sat there and chowed down on his pizza while keeping his cocky gaze locked on mine. He must've been so very pleased at the fact that I was being punished for something as menial as standing up for myself.
As upset as I was though, my glare carried very little weight with the twink.
And my threats were rendered even MORE meaningless now that I had my entire face safely tucked away under Master Shawn's giant palm.
The blond man's hands were huge!
They weren't as hardened or as worked as Nick's or Zack's, but what they lacked in muscle, they made up for in sheer mass and size.
His palms were exceptionally large and thick, and his fingers, although being quite long and nimble, were also very plump and meaty.
The fullness and fleshiness of Master Shawn's handgag acted like an air-tight seal around my face; completely cutting off my air supply and rendering any and all form of articulation impossible.
The beefy enforcer was not the least bit concerned about the fact that his hand was covering everything from my chin right up to the bottom of my eyes. Much like the other big guys who plays a significant role in my life, this one failed to acknowledge or take into account the significant size difference between us.
My diminutive face and feeble protests were no match for the hunk's huge, meaty palms and fingers.
It's a shame I knew what was coming, cause with a bit of fresh air entering my nostrils, and a set of totally different circumstances, I might've actually enjoyed the sensation of being personally muzzled and silenced by Shawn.
I was definitely attracted to guys with big hands. And his was astonishingly large!
Fortunately for me, I only had to lie there and wait for a few seconds before Chris walked out of his buddy's bedroom, with the large, gear-filled gym bag in tow.
The bag was unzipped, the rubber hand pump was connected to the inflatable plug gag, and devilish contraption was pumped up to the size of a large plum, all within the span of a mere thirty seconds or so.
Shawn removed his hand from over my face, but gave me no opportunity to protest my fate or explain the reasons behind my earlier outburst.
Strong fingers dug into my cheeks, and before I even had the chance to catch my breath or get a peep out, the giant bulb of inflated rubber was forced into my unwilling orifice and lodged deep inside my oral cavity.
"Uugghmpphh!" I coughed, gagging on the bulb and choking on the intruding mass that now pinned my tongue down.
"Enough." Shawn scolded, buckling the gag extra tight behind my head and grabbing the rubber hand pump before squeezing it with his big fingers.
One pump. Two pumps. Three pumps!
*Shhht. Shhht. Shhht.*
The pump hissed three times, causing the already-inflated rubber bulb in my mouth to swell up and expand even further.
My coughs and moans were reduced to mere whimpers as I tried to cope with the overly-inflated, heavy duty plug-muzzle.
Had it not been for the fact that the guys were congregating around my newly plug-gagged form and admiring Shawn's work, I would've broken down into a fit of rage and shed some tears of frustration right at that point.
But with so many big Alphas around, and me not wanting to disappoint Shawn even further, I simply resigned to sucking on the big, muffling bulb-gag, and wisely lowered my head down until my chin was back to resting on the floor.
The hockey game resumed and the room's collective attention was once again drawn over to the 60-inch TV screen.
For the next half hour or so, I got virtually no attention from the jocks. Only from Phil, that is.
My already reduced appetite shrunk to an all time low when the kid discreetly kicked one of his basketball shoes off and slid his foot out.
I tried getting Shawn's attention and tried calling out for help, but the hunk was sitting too far away from me, and the hockey game volume did a good job at my muffling my protests out.
It was only Phil and I, and with my improvised leash being held in his hand real tight, I couldn't squirm away or move my face out of reach.
The instant I caught a whiff of the 18-year-old skater dude's socked foot, my stomach churned and my face contorted into a painful grimace.
His sock was GROSS!
"Mmmrrrppphh!"
Phil said nothing.
He just looked on and tugged on my leash while discreetly extending his foot forward and flexing his sock-clad toes in front of my face.
As it turns out, the teen college-kid had some of the worst-looking socks I'd ever laid eyes on!
His stinkers were ROTTEN!
Not only where the soles all dull and mushy, but the cotton that lined the bottom of his size 9 foot was quite literally INFESTED with crumbs, dust balls, stains and various bits and bobs of questionable origin.
I wanted to be sick!
"Mmrrrrppphh!"
His sock wasn't as strong smelling as say...Nick's or Shawn's, but it still had a really powerful, fetid funk to it.
It's appearance, however, was beyond disgusting. And the smell of it alone told me the kid hadn't washed this pair in weeks!
That smell of warm food and pizza, combined with the potent musk coming out of Phil's horribly smelly sock nearly drove me to the point of insanity.
I coughed and choked on my gag, but the rowdy arena crowd and cheerful living room spectators drowned out my complaints.
Phil tugged on my leash again and adeptly hooked his sneakered foot behind my head before slowly pressing his sock-clad sole against my face. I screamed and fought at every turn, but the kid still managed to bury my face inside his foot and curl his toes up around my nose.
"Mmmpphh!" I cried out, desperately attempting to back away from the super smelly crevice my nostrils now found themselves trapped in.
Something in the back of my mind told me that Phil must've already done this.
'Cause even
before I thought about backing away, he'd already blocked my escape route by anchoring his other foot around the back of my head.
The twink wanted my nose in his toes, and he had me EXACTLY where he wanted me.
Of course, he didn't say anything.
But he didn't need to. His eyes spoke plenty.
Horrified and disgusted by the amount of filth contained in the fabric rubbing against my face and nostrils, I held my breath for as long as I could and desperately tried calling for help.
When I finally did flare my nostrils open to relieve the flames eating my lungs, a crazy strong, musty old stench spilled in, causing me to yelp out in shock and struggle furiously against my bonds.
Phil's smirk had the word "cocky" written all over it, and I could hardly contain my frustration at the sight of him looking down at me like that.
A veritable flurry of insults flowed forth, but not one of them made it out past the big, muffling bulb in my mouth.
"Mmgggpphh!"
The 18-year-old skaterboy got the message though, and he was more than happy to dish out some added punishment by rubbing his socked foot into my face once more.
The moist, crummy old, dingy cotton fabric that lined the bottom of his sole smothered my face up and spread it's strong stench across my cheeks, forehead, hair and nose.
I cried out in horror as random bits and bobs peeled away from his sock and fell down to the floor.
His cotton stinker was just LOADED with crap!
Still having a bit of fight left in me, I shook my head left and right with the singular purpose of escaping my fate.
But the Skater-twink's dextrous toes had no trouble latching onto my nostrils and curling up around my airways.
His cheesy stinker smelled worse than death!
I spent the next ten minutes taking whiff, after whiff, after whiff of Skaterboy Phil's incredibly ripe, sock-clad toes.
And it's only once the hockey game came to an end that I got my well-deserved break from the hellish ordeal.
I was used to stinky.
In fact, to a certain degree, I actually
liked stinky!
But Phil's socks were too much.
The rotten, festering stench was one thing, but the amount of crap and random stuff stuck to the bottom of his soles was another.
His socks just terrified me! And the more I thought about having one of them shoved inside my mouth, there more I felt sick to my stomach.
I would sooner eat Shawn's armpits or have my face buried inside his bums than be left gagging on one of Phil's disgusting crew socks!
Now if THAT doesn't relay just how much I loathed the 18-year-old's nasty socks, then I don't know what will.
With the end of the hockey game dawning upon the overcrowded living room, things calmed down and the roar of activity quickly died out.
Phil slid his foot back inside his shoe and Shawn pulled me closer to his position before assuming control of my leash once again.
Some of the guys talked about hockey, while Big Mike and Kyle seemed more interested in turning the video game console on and having a go at each other in a multiplayer shooter-game match.
Most of the pizzas were eaten, and by 10:30 some of the guys started filtering out to their respective rooms, either here or in the apartment next door.
Much to Big Mike's continued annoyance, Josh was the last of the younger jocks to remain in the vicinity, and the young man continued being his colourful self even after both his roomies had retired to the privacy of their own apartment.
With only, Shawn, Chris, Josh, Big Mike and myself left in the living room, my Master seemed confident enough that I'd no longer cause any trouble and promptly reached down to remove the gag from my mouth.
"There we go." he spoke, pulling the saliva-soaked rubber bulb out of my orifice and tossing it back into his gym bag.
"You thirsty?" he asked, gently picking my chin up off the floor.
I nodded my head yes and slowly lifted my eyes up, only to notice the smiles and smirks displayed on everyone's faces.
Chris and Josh both seemed to think that this whole thing was funny.
And although Big Mike didn't hide his amusement either, he was definitely the one who felt the most sympathy for what I was going through.
My bonds were undone, and my rope-burnt wrists and ankles had to be massaged by none other than myself!
I'd gotten so used to being pampered and taken care of by Nick that sometimes I actually took his fatherly habits for granted.
Had he been here at the time, I knew he would've taken it upon himself to rub those rope marks off my skin.
He was like that. Strict, but loving.
I spent the next few minutes sitting on the couch, wedged between hunky Chris and hunky Shawn, quickly sipping on the cold can of soda drink I'd been handed.
Shawn tried to get me to eat, but after having sniffed Skaterboy Phil's sock, I wasn't at all interested in those leftover pizza slices.
It was around 11 o'clock when Master Shawn finally signaled that it was time for us to retire for the night.
I was given a few minutes to brush my teeth, use the toilet and shower, but almost as soon as I stepped out of the washroom, my hunky babysitter got up, slung his gym bag over his shoulders and motioned for me to march over to his bedroom.
I had no idea on what I'd be sleeping on, and as it turns out, Shawn didn't either!
"Aww fuck" I heard him mumble, as he slowly strode over towards his own bedroom.
"What's wrong, bro?" Chris asked, causing the bare-chested stallion to turn around and look at his buddy.
"I forgot to grab a sleeping bag from my cousin's place." he admitted, raising his hand up to scratch the back of his head, and exposing one of his big, hairy armpits in the process.
"Dude, you got a sleeping bag?" Chris asked Mike, causing the 7-foot-giant to shake his head no.
The same question was asked to Josh, but was instantly met with the same response.
"Oh but wait!" the younger, blue eyed lad suddenly interjected. "Nathan's got a sleeping bag! And it's a really nice and thick one too."
I didn't know who this Nathan guy was, but from what I was able to gather, he was one of Joshua's roommates.
The only one I hadn't met and the only one I'd never meet.
"Good. D'you mind getting it for me? Little faggot-boy over here needs a place to sleep." Shawn spoke, causing the smaller jock to chuckle at the demeaning title I'd just been given.
"Alright, I'll try to find it. Nate won't be home 'till next week, so I don't think he'll mind if we borrow his bag." Joshua explained.
"I just gotta work up the courage to step inside that room of his. Haha! His nest stinks almost as much as yours does!" he added, cracking a joke at Shawn's expense before darting out of the apartment in search for that sleeping bag.
Shawn huffed and rolled his eyes up as the other guys laughed.
Then he turned around and frowned at me when he noticed I still hadn't entered his bedroom yet.
Oups!
One snap of his fingers and the sight of his approach instantly moved me back into "compliance mode".
But the second I pushed his bedroom door open, I was hit with an impenetrable barrier of nauseating smells and powerful aromas.
Master Shawn's old running shoes had been stinking up the place something fierce!
And the combined stench of his discarded socks, boxers and jockstraps was almost strong enough to make my eyeballs melt.
I instantly tried turning around and taking a step back.
But the huge, towering, 6'3 giant was right behind me and was not at all interested in negotiating alternative sleeping arrangements.
"Move." he barked, bumping up to me with his big, fury chest and pushing me into the cramped, cluttered space he called his room.
I was, against my better judgement, about to spend an entire clock rotation inside my hunky captor's infernal abode.
A filthy, stench-ridden dungeon if ever there was one.
My Wednesday-night-ordeal was apparently far from over!