You couldn’t believe what you just heard.  She thinks you are a bug.  Your heart starts to beat in a panic, “No Rachel I’m not a bug.  I’m Tim!!!”

“You’re a funny looking bug,” she said with a smile on her face.

You know what she does to bugs, and it scares you to death.  If there is one thing she hates more than you it’s a bug.  Unlike most people who kill them on sight, she likes to play with her victims in heartless ways.  One time she took a bug, put it in a cup and spit in it till it was full and covered it with plastic to watch the bug drown (it took about a week).  Another time she took a bug and tied it to a piece of string and held it over a flame.  Not close enough to burn it but to cook it from the inside out.  You’re not a bug person but you can’t help but feel sorry for her victims.

You start to panic.   You fail your arms around to break free from her foot, but your efforts are futile.  It’s like someone super glued your back to something; that something happens to be an eleven year old girls foot who loves to torture bugs.

“You must be a stink bug because it looks like you love the stink of my foot.”  She started to giggle at her own joke.  You lay helpless on your back staring at the giantess’ face.  “Well since you like my foot soooo much I think I’ll let you stay there a little longer before we have some fun little bug.” 

She slowly lowered her foot down on the ground making sure to not crush you but still put pressure on you.  She walked into the kitchen making sure her “new pet” felt every step; sometimes she would scrap her foot on the carpet.

You though Rachel walking to the couch was bad, this trip was horrible.  You swear she was hopping on one foot, and sometimes she would scrape her foot on the floor which was like dragging your body over the ground (which isn’t fun trust me).  By the time you got to the kitchen, because of the tiles you knew you were there, you had scrapes and rug burn marks all up and down your body.  You swear you have internal bleeding.  There are bruises up and down your body to match the rug burns and scrapes.  You look like hell.

Rachel opened the refrigerator door to get some food out to cook.  She loved to cook; you could call it her hobby other than picking on you or torturing bugs.  She started the stove and put a dish on it.  Oh my God, she is going to cook me.  Then eat me!!!  To your worst fear she sat down in a chair, lifted her foot and picked you off her; squishing you in between her index finger and thumb.

“Now what to do with you my little bug?  Hmmm,” her face was frowning as she thought of a devastating torture for her new victim.  On the counter you could make out some food: Hamburger meat, vegetables, a can of sauce (you can’t read the label), and some other mysterious ingredients you can’t make out.  Was she making soup? You aren’t that good at cooking, so you can’t be for sure. 

Please don’t eat me.  Please don’t eat me. You can’t stop squirming in her hands afraid of what she is about to do.

“Oh you like to squirm do you?”  Then a grin slowly spread on her face, “since you are a stink bug and just LOVE to smell my stink, I’m going to put you somewhere way worse than my smelly feet.”  What could be worst then her smell feet… She got up and turned around and removed her shorts.  NO WAY!! YOU HAVE TO BE KIDDING ME!!!  With her other hand she slowly slide her panties down a little and spread her butt cheeks with her hand.  She took the hand you were in and placed you near her ass hole.  She let go of her butt cheeks and let them smash you and her fingers.  She released you and pulls her fingers back sealing you in her butt.  She pulled her panties and shorts up and let out evil laugh.

You freak out and started to thrash about trying to find a way out, but quickly tire yourself out.   

“Ohh that feels good.  Keep it up bug and I may keep you as my little pet,” she giggled at her joke to you.  Rachel feels her bug stop moving and pouted a bit then squeezed her butt a little and felt it move again.  Smiling she walked back to the stove to start her dinner.

Feeling smashed after the ungodly squeeze from your surroundings you take a deep breath to relax.  The smell practically killed you.  It smelled like old meat wrapped in a sweaty old gym sock, with a hint of musk.   You couldn’t see a thing but judging by the smell you had to be damn close to the cause, her ass hole.   Unable to move and barely able to breath you lay there surrounded by warm sticky walls, with you face to face with Rachel’s giant smelly ass hole.

Rachel was nearly done with making her food when she felt a fart coming; not being one who is shy of her bodily actions she let it rip.

You felt movement in front of you.  How could you forget that Rachel never pulled back her gas, especially around you.  Everything around you started to vibrate as an ungodly loud noise could be heard in front of you.  A blast of hot air blows on you nearly pushing you back, if not for the cheeks holding you.  You hold your breath as long as you can but you have breath eventually.  When you do your eyes begin to tear and you cough like you just inhaled mustard gas, which you probably did.

Rachel got a waft of the fart and quickly holds her noise.  “Oh my God, that smells horrible,” she said with a laugh, “I wish Tim were here to smell this one.  I bet he would cry at this.  Whoa.”

Crying you heard every word, “I am here you dumb ass!!”  Not to your surprise Rachel didn’t hear a word you said.

Rachel just finished her cooking when the front door opens.  She went to check who that could be when she saw her sister Britney walk inside.  Putting on a good girl smile she ran to Britney and hugged her.  Britney pulled her into a big hug.

“What are you doing back so soon?”

“Well everyone had something to do so I came back.  Where’s Tim?”

Not wanting to get into trouble for being here alone and cooking, “He… he went home a couple of seconds ago to get… his phone.”

Buying it Britney smiled and went into the kitchen.  “Look at all this food.”

“Yeah Tim made it before he left,” she said with a grin.  “Do you want some?”

“Well I don’t like taco’s… but if Tim made them, then sure.”

Hearing the conversation you begin to shout to get someone’s attention.  You can’t believe that Rachel would lie like that to save her skin, and then you remember its Rachel.  Then you heard the word tacos and panicked.