Take the Duct

Realizing your aching muscles will never make it to the top of the ladder, you reach for the loose grate over the duct. You wrench it from the wall easily, dropping it down into the frenzy of hands, smiling vengefully when it smacks hard into several of the hands that seem to recoil in pain.

You carefully lift yourself into the duct. There's enough room to crawl slowly on your elbows, but you fear you could easily get stuck, if you don't keep calm. The warm wet air in the duct looks like fog. A thin layer flows around your body, blanketing the bottom inch or two of the passage.

After a crampingly long time, you arrive at a T junction. The fog seems to be coming from the left while the right passage seems to glow dimly with a swampy green light. There's also a grate at the junction. As you approach the grate, wails of tortured laughter erupt from the room below, echoing loudly in the claustrophobic duct. You peer through the grate:

A tall, athletic, dark-skinned man is stretched naked along the circumference of a giant wooden wheel. A woman in a cartoonish devil bodysuit slowly cranks the wheel, beaming a sadistic smile at the helpless man. A long pit into which the wheel dips and from which the beleaguered man has just emerged, seems to be filled with some creepy kind of animated feather boas: they roil and strain hungrily at the exhausted captive.

Stunned, you watch the wheel revolve, as the man, stretched to his limit, with this wrists pinned over his head, rises up to the top of the wheel. His head lolls and his chest heaves breathlessly. You blush momentarily when you see his hard cock sticking straight up, throbbing helplessly.

At the wheel's zenith, the devil woman begins cranking the other way, bringing him back down, feet first toward the pit.

"NoooOhOhOh! Please!" The man shrieks "No more! I'll do anything! NoooAggghAhHaHaHa!"

His **** pleading is cut short as his anxiously clenching feet are swarmed by the boas. Screams of choked laughter continue as more of his taut body is exposed to the feathery fiends. The colorful cilia flit and stroke at his aching member and the man pumps his hips instinctively through fits of laughter.

The devil woman stops cranking when the man reaches the nadir of revolution, trapping him above the coiling boas that flap and tickle all over his helpless body. She cackles evilly, though it's all but swallowed up by the ****, hollering laughter of the helpless man.

There's no obvious way to spare the humiliated ****, but you ache to help if only to free yourself from hearing the haunting, tormented screams of laughter. Maybe following one of the paths in the duct will take you out of range of hearing, eventually ...