Ducky Hell
He snuggled up to the duck, smiling a little. He pushed the black vinyl bill up to the corner of his mouth, not for any real reason other than it felt appealing.
The duck was a gift from Judy. He had never gotten a present from her before, and it had elated him despite its simplicity. A fuzzy yellow duck, with black vinyl feet and a black vinyl bill.
There was an odd sensation at the corner of his mouth though. He tried to ignore it, but it was pulling his lips. With a light tug to pull it away, thinking it had merely caught his skin between seams or something, he tried to take the duck away.
It stuck, and he felt part of his lip go *thwup*. The sensation was not unlike that of putting one's lips in a coke bottle and then sucking in air until one lip was suddenly forced into the bottle. Wildly, he struggled to pull the duck off, but more of his lips disappeared.
He began to pant in anxiety and twisted the duck, attempting to ease it from his face. To no avail the duck only sucked in part of his chin, and then the lower portion of his nose.
In panic he realized he should have screamed while he still could, and had someone pull the blasted thing from his face. Now, his mouth was covered and his pathetic attempts at noise were muffled by the cotton inside the duck's head.
He struggled, but his body started getting sucked in faster. Sobbing, he writhed to escape the fowl vacuum, bucking and thrashing.
Quicker and quicker he could feel the insane pressure oozing down over more of his body. He gasped when it hit his groin, the sucking sensation causing a numbness that was especially uncomfortable there.
It wasn't sucking ON his penis or testes rather it was pulling all the sensation out of them, along with the rest of his body. It was the worst blowjob he'd ever had.
He continued kicking until even his feet were inside, and he relaxed in exhaustion, bewildered and afraid as well as fatigued. The pressure didn't let up, and he could no longer feel much of his body.
After a time, the pressure began to decrease, then went away completely. It was hot and hard to breathe his mouth only filled with shredded cotton when he tried to open it, so he learned to breathe through his nose.
Clawing his way ahead of himself, he made his way through a few feet of the duck's made-in-Taiwan guts, fighting and tearing to get through. It was like hacking through thick brush without a machete. But he knew, somewhere ahead, was the wall of polyester-cotton blend beyond which was freedom.
He'd throw the damn duck in the fireplace if he got out. When, WHEN he got out. Because, he told himself, no one was holding him captive inside of a stuffed animal. That was ludicrous.
Part of the difficulty was the sideways motion he was experiencing, that moved him away from the duck's mouth parallel to the walls. It made it harder to move forward, to the wall, when he was getting pushed to his right. He clung to cotton but it made little difference--the cotton was moving as well. Not too fast, but fast enough to cause him some hardship.
He felt his fingernails scratch that familiar fabric and ecstasy shot through him like electricity. For years when he was still over a foot shorter than he was now, his grandmother would send him these stupid pajamas with built in feet covers and a butt flap, for Christmas presents. The outside was soft and fuzzy (ironically like a baby duck) but the insides were scratchy and hot.
It was this nasty fabric he felt: the inside of the evil bird's hide.
He raked at it with wanton passion, scratching and kicking and ripping at it with his teeth. he soon realized, however, that he wasn't making any progress. Every time he tore some threads, they would float away to his left as he was pushed by that ever-increasing motion. Also, the pressure was coming back, as if he were being compressed.
Ashock of fear stunned him, but realiztion also kicked in some adrenaline and he thrashed and howled as he never had before. He was being DIGESTED. He was about to go through the duck's colon and out its--
He stopped, mostly from shock, but partly from the now almost unbearable compression that burned at his whole body. It was getting worse the farther he moved and showed no signs of slowing its strength. His thoughts were slow and disbelieving...he knew, as most of us do, that toy companies don't put assholes on stuffed animals. He wasn't getting out of that stifling colon any time soon.
"NOOOOOOOOOO!" he screamed, but it was muffled by miles and miles of soft, pliable Russ(R) innards.
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