The plan had been perfect, but had gone astray from the beginning. He and Jonni had gathered some crawlies up while they were out playing. The idea had been to torment his sister; she had a morbid fear of the little bugs. But he'd made the mistake of trying to carry the things home in his pockets, and they didn't survive the trip. His pocket had been too tight around them and crushed them all when he walked. That in itself didn't matter. There were plenty more where they came from, so he had just thrown his shorts into the hamper and gone back for more. This time he'd brought along a shoebox, and filled it with as many crawlies as he could fit into it. Hundreds of them! It would have been so perfect.

The shorts, though, gave him away. Mushed crawlies in the pockets. Then the questions. Oh, he'd denied everything, of course, but they figured him out. That was the infuriating part: they'd immediately assumed he was guilty, without any real proof. Off to your room. Grounded for a week. Not even a chance to try to come up with a story. It just wasn't fair.

Ken rolled onto his back and let his ears flop sulkily over the side of the bed. He lay there a long while in his underwear -- why bother getting dressed, if you couldn't go outside anyway? -- and just stewed in his anger. It was bad enough to be grounded, but far, far worse to get punished like this without having had the chance to put his plan into action. It bordered on child abuse.

Time ticked by, giving him time to reflect on the fun he'd had the previous day with Jonni. He wondered again if Jonni had seen him getting hard while they were stepping on the crawlies. It was difficult to be casual about that sort of thing. If Jonni had noticed, though, he didn't show it. And did Jonni have the same reaction he did? THAT was something you couldn't even ask your best friend.

Ken's hand strayed down to the front of his underwear, which had started to bulge while he replayed in his mind the image of his friend's big paws stamping the scurrying little pests into the ground. That always made him hard, and since his recent clash with puberty he had discovered that he could get off while thinking about it. Probably the only rabbit in the entire universe who jerked off to thoughts of squishing things.

His musings reminded him that he still had his catch. His eyes wandered over to the spot on the floor where the shoebox lay. At least they hadn't found that. If they had, then he wouldn't have had much of a chance to deny his plan. Huh! Like he had a chance in the first place.

His anger crept back again. The crawlies. It was all their fault, in a way. If the little fuckers weren't so soft and fragile, they wouldn't have gotten all mushed in his pocket, and this whole mess would never have happened. The longer he stared at the box, the more his aimless rage became focused on it. He was mad. He was tense. He wanted to break something.

Ken jumped off the bed and strode purposefully toward the box. With one toe-claw he hooked the edge of the lid and flipped it off, and stood staring down at his captives. Countless little faces turned up toward him, their mouths winking as they gibbered in their mindless confusion. "You little shits," he growled. "Can't even use you for what I wanted to." He lifted one long foot and moved it over the box, sneering when he spread his toes to look past them and saw the dozens of little arms reaching up. "Yeah, right! Like you can stop me." As gradually as he could, he lowered his foot down into the box, wanting to crush them *slowly*. He felt the first tickles of tiny hands on his pads, and then a quivering pressure along the length of his foot's underside. It was an interesting sensation. Actually, it felt kind of good. He put a hand on the wall for balance and just let his foot hover there for a moment.

Smiling, Ken noticed he was getting hard again. The feeling of being so powerful, so utterly in control was a thrill to him. He was like a giant, and he could easily imagine those bugs in there as actually being little shrunken rabbits. Their little clicks and squeaks became screams for mercy in his mind, and grinning now, he started to rest just a little bit of weight on that foot. The frantic squirming grew even more desperate, giving him a mental view of panicked rabbits -- parents, teachers, principals, bullies, humorless neighbors -- packed shoulder-to-shoulder in a cardboard canyon, all reaching over their heads, their hands pressed flat against the bottom of his foot, trying vainly to push it back as it slowly descended upon them. The ones near his heel dying first as it ground down on them, and then the rest of his foot settling, toes gradually compressing the rest into...

Ken swayed a little bit, panting, his heart racing. Whoa! That was intense! The bulge in the front of his briefs was now a full-grown erection, its tip pushing a tent up in front of the waistband and making a small moist spot. Other images were racing through his mind: awful, dark things, things he never dared to ponder before. That, somehow, made them all the more enticing at this very moment. Withdrawing his foot from the box and giving it a little shake to dislodge the few crawlies who had stupidly climbed onto it, he rushed to the door and peeked around. No one was home; he knew that for a fact, and yet for what was going through his head, he was going to be *very* sure. Only after a thorough search of the burrow did he return to his room, bolting the door securely. He trembled all over, partly in anticipation, partly at the taboo nature of what he had in mind.

Picking crawlies up was easy. All you had to do was reach for one and they put their little arms up, and you just had to grab one of them. This time, though, his fingers fumbled, and it took him three tries to finally get a good hold of one. He lifted it from the box and dangled it thoughtfully in front of his face, studying it. Then, a little hesitantly, he slid his briefs down to his ankles and stepped out of them, and then lowered the crawly down and draped it across his stiff penis.

The nervousness faded as soon as the deed was done, replaced by an undreamed-of rush as he watched the little body squirm and try to right itself on his shaft. It clung for a moment to his skin, and then started to scurry toward his pubic fur. He caught it by the leg and dragged it back to the head, releasing it and letting its legs dangle over the tip. Jolts of lustful energy shot through him as those tiny legs kicked and tickled over his tender slit, while the little arms scrabbled to hold on.

Inevitably, the crawly fell, its grip lost as Ken's precum slickened its body. He made a grab for it but missed. "Shit," he whispered as it smacked against the hard floor and stopped moving. He scooped it up and chucked it into the trash, then plucked another one from the box and set it down where the first had been. This second one was not as lively, and no matter how much he poked at it, it just clung to his glans. He pondered just pitching it and choosing another, but then an evil smile broke across his lips. Carefully, so as not to dislodge his "passenger", he sat down on the bed, and then placed a finger on the back of the crawly's head and pushed it experimentally inside the slit.

The reaction was instantaneous, for both rabbit and bug. The crawly's limbs immediately came to life, flailing and beating against his glans, and Ken's penis jumped wildly from the sudden stimulation. He hastily brought it under control, and once again pushed the little head inside his slit. Again the bug gyrated, and Ken moaned softly, his shaft squirting drops of precum around the odd plug. When the tiny struggles began to subside, Ken let up on his finger, giving his toy a chance to jerk its head up and gasp for breath; but when it tried to scramble away, his finger stuffed its head back into the trickling slit, and this time he held it there until the bug stopped moving altogether. Then it joined the first one in the trash.

Ken's body tingled all over, and he couldn't stop shaking. There was no longer any nervousness, though; it was all the thrill of this terrible new deed, and eagerness for more. Hastily he grabbed up two more and dropped them into the palm of his left hand; with his right hand he seized his erection and began to pump vigorously at it, already close to release. The hand bearing the captives cupped, rolling them into the center of the palm, and rose up directly in front of the tip, tilted slightly toward it. The two crawlies squeaked and clawed at one another and tried to climb out of his hand until he grunted and blasted them, his orgasm crashing through his body as he shot spurt upon spurt of cream into his waiting palm. It was more powerful than any he had ever experienced, and when it was done he dropped his chin to his chest, gasping, and then brought his hand up to examine the outcome.

The crawlies could barely be seen as they twitched and jerked in the pool of semen. "Awesome!" Ken watched in fascination as they tried desperately to climb out of it, only to sink back in and be buried by it, like quicksand. The more they struggled, they faster they were sucked under, until finally their struggles died down. Ken giggled, and closed that hand into a tight fist, watching as semen squirted out between his fingers, at first white, and then swirled with red as the little bodies popped. With a tissue he cleaned up the mess, and then flopped lazily back on the bed to reflect on his deeds while his body recharged.

This is really, really twisted, he thought. But somehow, that made it all the more exciting. Besides, it wasn't like anyone was being hurt by it. Just a bunch of crawlies, and what did they matter? They got killed all the time. Nothing wrong with enjoying doing it. Law of nature, and all that stuff. Besides, he had a lot of time to kill, so to speak. And it *was* kind of their fault that he was in this mess, so they had it coming to them.

Nothing wrong with enjoying it. After saying it enough times, he even started to believe it. Just as long as nobody found out, of course -- not that it was bad or anything. It couldn't be bad, because he couldn't deny that he got one incredible rush from doing it. And that rush, he found, was very addictive.

Ken rolled his head to the side and stared at the box on the floor for a while, until he felt ready to play some more. Sitting up suddenly, he nudged the box closer with his toe and rested a foot on either side of it, and decided to amuse himself for a while with some simple experiments. He chose one of his captives at random; after gleefully watching it dangle and kick for a second, he caught one of its legs between his fingers and stretched it out straight, holding it by an arm and a leg. Carefully now he kept pulling, watching in fascination as the other two limbs spun in the air. The tiny body held together longer than he anticipated. He pulled harder. There was a small wet sound; the arm came loose, and the body flopped freely from its leg, dripping blood. Ken giggled, and dropped the crawly into his palm to watch it stagger around, off-balance. After a moment, he picked it up around the body and pulled off one of its legs, then replaced it in his palm. It wriggled around in a growing pool of blood, trying vainly to rise up to its remaining leg. Ken pulled that off, too, to see what his captive would do, but it suddenly died on him. Sighing, he dumped the dismembered corpse into the trash can with the others.

The next crawly he plucked from the box was a lot more lively, to Ken's delight, even managing to push against his fingers with enough force that it almost slid free. He switched to holding it around the middle, where it couldn't get much leverage, but still it pushed with a noticeable pressure as it tried to force his fingers apart. "Strong little booger, aren't you?" he sneered. Holding it up very close to his eyes, he began to pinch his fingers more tightly around its torso, the thrill of the power he held over it starting to make him hard again. He brought it nearer, almost right up to his eye, so he could watch closely as it was slowly squeezed between his fingerpads. The little body twitched, then crackled a few times, and suddenly with a snap its insides shot out of its mouth.

Ken gasped in surprised and dropped it, and then burst out laughing, "Oh, COOL!" he shouted! He just had to try that again! Snatching up another, he rolled it tightly from feet to chest between his fingers, watching gleefully as its guts, like the other one's, forced their way up and out of its mouth. Four more crawlies suffered the same fate before he stopped to catch his breath, realizing for the first time just how hot he had become. His mind swam with the images of the little bodies bursting between his fingers, which carried his thoughts back to his day with Jonni, and the sight and sound of his friend's feet smashing the little bugs flat. He shivered, moaning a little, as an idea came to mind.

Ken opened the door and once again searched through the whole burrow, making absolutely certain that nobody was home. Then he crept into his sister's room and helped himself to her hand mirror, which he took quickly back to his room and locked the door. Laying the mirror on the floor, he carefully held one foot over it, peering over his toes at the reflection of their underside, giving himself some idea of what it was like for his little victims. He stood astride it, smiling wickedly, and practiced raising his foot and lowering it toward the mirror; and he grew hard again, placing himself in the position of the helpless victims of the titan whose reflection leered back at him. He had to see more.

Propping the mirror up on an angle against the wall, he chose another crawly from his collection. A drop of glue on the floor under its feet assured that it wouldn't run off. Straightening, he lowered one foot slowly toward his captive, watching eagerly as it came into view at the top of the mirror. The crawly tugged at its feet at first, then threw its arms up and braced them desperately on the bottom of his toe. That made him smile. "Nice try," he said scornfully, and shifted his foot forward so that his victim was now squarely under the meaty part. The mirror gave him an excellent view of the little body thrashing as he pressed down, until it could withstand the weight no more and exploded, leaving a red splattermark. Ken snickered, savoring every gory second as he slowly ground his victim into the floor.

Drunk with power and almost painfully aroused, he snatched another one from the box and sprang to his desk. A few strategically-placed books formed a perfect corral, into which he placed his squeaking prize and stood leering down at it as it tried vainly to climb over the walls. He knocked it back into the center of the makeshift ring and nudged the fronts of his thighs against the desk, causing the shadow of his erection to fall across his little opponent. The crawly scrambled wildly to its feet and somehow managed to dive out of the way as Ken placed two fingers atop his meaty organ and slammed it down to the desktop, leaving a wet spot "Strike one!" he crowed, then flicked the crawly back across the arena. This time the little one was not so lucky, and was knocked senseless as the huge organ slammed down atop it. Ken panted, grinning evilly, as he continued to hammer the crawly into paste.

It was too much. Ken's heart was racing wildly, his mind overloaded; he had to finish this now or he'd blow up! Spinning around, he scooped up a teeming handful from the box, and cupped his other hand tightly over them. Both hands shook as he lowered them down to his groin and he impatiently pushed the head of his penis into the gap between the heels of his hands. Instantly he felt lightheaded, as the dozens of tiny bodies began to squirm against his flesh. "Oh yes," he moaned, sinking his shaft deeper into the writhing mass and pressing his hands more tightly together. "This is it...you're all gonna die...I'm gonna fuck you..." He started to pant, and then grunt, clamping his hands tighter still as his hips began to buck, plunging his member viciously into his captives . Little bones started to break, and the flesh surrounding his penis was growing softer and slicker. "Oh, yeah...oh, my gaa-*" Ken's knees shook, and with a loud cry he clenched both hands as tightly as he could around himself, crunching every one of the little bodies against it. White cream began to gush out from between his fingers, mixing with the squashed remains of the crawlies as it splattered on the floor between his feet.

Ken had never come so hard -- not that he'd been at it very long -- and nearly passed out from the intensity of the climax. He staggered back ,and one foot came down accidentally on the edge of the box that held the remainder of his captives. With a yelp he stumbled, landing hard on his rear, the impact knocking the wind from him. He gasped, finally managing after a few seconds to suck down a breath. "Whew...awesome!" he panted. He grinned fiendishly down at his softening erection, smeared with his semen and crawly-goo...

And then he noticed the box.

It lay on its side where he had tipped it over, and the little bugs were fanning out from it in all directions, heading for cover where ever they could find it. Some of them had made it as far as the bedroom door and were squirming under it.

"Oh...oh, SHIT!" Ken scrambled to his feet, panicking. This was a catastrophe! What was he going to do? They'd infest the whole house! He was in REAL trouble now. He'd be grounded forever if he didn't contain the spill. Whimpering, he jumped forward and landed with both feet in the middle of the swarm; only a few of them were squashed, the rest racing away from him. He shifted his weight to his left foot and stamped wildly with his right, smashing as many of the fugitives as he could see. Before long he stopped and surveyed the circle of splattered little corpses that littered the floor around him. He started to walk forward slowly, sweeping his gaze side to side, stepping on anything that moved and grinding it firmly underfoot.

He knew he hadn't gotten all of them. He'd seen several go under the door, but most of them hadn't made it that far. The majority were still trapped in his room, and a few books piled on the floor in front of the door made sure they'd stay trapped, too. That calmed him down a little, but he was still worried that the rest of his family would get home before he had a chance to hide what he'd done.

Standing very still, Ken turned his huge ears side to side. The crawlies might be out of sight, but there was no way they could hide from his hearing. Following the minute rustlings, he dropped to his hands and knees and peered under the bed, where he found a number of them huddled up close to the wall. "Gotcha," he growled, and dropped to his belly. They broke and ran along the wall, but his hand swept after them, easing overtaking them and scooping them into his palm. He clamped his fingers around them and squeezed them hard in his fist until they popped, then he slid out from under the bed and scraped them into the garbage, and stopped once more to listen. He located a few more behind the desk, and simply pushed it firmly against the wall until the rustlings stopped. Inside the closet he found one that had blundered into a spiderweb. The spider was stalking closer and closer; Ken squatted down and watched in fascination as the arachnid patiently wound a web around its struggling victim, and then hunched over it and sank its jaws into the twitching flesh. "Way to go, little dude," he whispered. "I owe you."

Fewer and fewer escapees turned up, until finally Ken was satisfied that he'd killed them all. He wasn't going to bother with the ones that had gotten out; it was more important now to get rid of the evidence, and he set to the task of scraping up flattened corpses and wiping up pools of semen from the floor. He wiped his feet and hands on a piece of tissue paper and tossed that last of all into the garbage. Now, though, he was faced with the dilemma of how to dispose of them. After some thought, he decided the best thing to do would be to flush them. No evidence; completely untraceable.

Ken picked up the garbage basket and tiptoed out his door, fearful that somehow someone had come home without his having heard. He slipped into the bathroom and scooped some of the trash into the toilet, watching in relief as the evidence vanished down the drain. After four flushings, he was safe, and elated. He'd had a ball, and gotten away with it, to boot! Who said that being grounded had to be a drag?

As he turned to go, a movement caught his eye: three crawlies were skittering along the base of the wall, heading for the bathroom door. Ken stared at them in surprise, and then sprang forward and slammed the door shut. What luck! He'd only see three or so make it under the door -- these must be the ones! With a hearty laugh he slapped his foot down between them and the door. "No, you don't! You're not getting away again!" He leered down at them as they started to flee in the other direction, and then bent down and snatched them up in his fingers. "I got something special for you guys, since you made it this far," he said with an evil sneer, as he turned and dropped them, one by one, into the toilet. They splashed around feebly, and tried in vain to climb up the walls as Ken stood over them, shaking his head. He gave them some time to struggle, and then took his penis in hand and aimed a torrent down onto their heads. He giggled in amusement as the stream drove them under the surface, and followed them with it each time they popped back up. Eventually the stream trickled off, and he flushed them, watching them swirl around with the vortex, and finally get sucked down.

The sound of the front door opening roared through Ken's ears louder than a thunderclap, and he almost screamed! Darting from the bathroom, he raced back into his room and shut the door, then hurriedly yanked his shorts on and jumped onto the bed. His parents' voices, and then his sisters, sounded muffledly down the hall; he heard his sister go into her room. Ken listened a moment to the sounds, and then sighed happily and relaxed. The deed was done, and there was no way now that he could be caught, no proof at all that he'd ever left his room. He'd committed the perfect crime.

That's when he noticed his sister's hand mirror, still sitting on the floor by the desk where he'd left it.