Taking big gulps of fresh air, slightly tainted from the residual Grease that keeps you stuck to Jack's finger, he thanks whoever is out there listening for getting you out of that stench pit. But it seems the universe has a sense of humor, or it just doesn't like you, as you hear Jack grunt a complaint about persistent itches and your ride starts heading back down.
You give out a whimpering scream as some of the fingers help lift up the back of his shorts and Plunge you down into the now revealed crack. As soon as the waistband lifted, you were hit with intense heat wave of pure stench. You cough and gag as the finger crashes down onto the flesh just above the crack.
As Jack sends his finger down the length of his crack, you are ground into the grungy skin; though whether you hit actual skin or just layers of dirt is still up for debate. The deeper you go the hotter it gets, the stench is intensifying rapidly as your body hits more and more flecks of Filth and who knew what else was down here.
Soon gravity shifts a little as the finger curls underneath of your unaware torturer. You are met first by a swampy forest of grime covered hairs that Whip and beat you as you pass, and then finally, the wrinkled flesh of the hole. The finger doesn't stop until you are at the very center of the bullseye, your face ground into one of the deeper wrinkles.
Then the finger starts to scratch.
Thanks to all the oil and humidity, you have lost your hold on the finger pad. You slide a little over the bumpy flesh as the finger moves, but then cry out in pain when a long, unclipped nail digs solidly into your back. Oil and filth fill your mouth, choking you as the finger drags you all across the Wretched hole.
Up and down, back and forth, side to side, even diagonal, the finger scratches all over. Taking you into a particularly itchy wrinkle, dragging you over to the side and parsley burying you into the waste coated hairs, grinding you in layer after layer of raw filth. All the while making you feel as though your spine was about to snap under that slicing nail.
Finally, with one final deep scratch at the center of the butthole, the finger retreats, leaving you dazed and battered and completely coated in filth against the hole. You don't even try to escape with the finger, partially because of the concussion causing blows to the Head, but also because you're just too exhausted to try and hold on to the appendage that just sent you to Hell itself.
With your lower body partially buried in oily wrinkles, he just sit there practically defeated stink hole. The air is so toxic and foul, it smells like something crawled up in here, died, came back to life, puked, then died again. Who knows, maybe something did, it was certainly dirty enough to hide a corpse in here. Maybe yours would soon join it...
Booming laughter from above threw you out of your depressing thoughts. Jack seems to have no idea you are here, no one did, not even your wife next door. When Jack shifted in his seat, more oil and sweat drizzle down over you. You would cry over your situation, but the sweltering, salty Heat seems to have dried up your tear ducts.
After a time of more shifting and laughing, you start to become more Angry than sad. What were you doing just sitting here and taking this?! You weren't dead yet, though you wondered how that was possible, you should be fight, all the way to The Bitter End.
It was difficult to move, your legs were completely trapped in the folds of grimy skin, but you managed to pull your arms away from the clinging flesh, then your upper torso and face. You began pounding on the closed orphus, screaming even as your lungs burned from the toxic air that should be suffocating you. You do everything short of biting to try and get the unaware Giants attention.
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