She abruptly felt very self-conscious. She had no idea the audience would be this large on her first shoot. It looked like about a 60-40 ratio of men to women. She wanted to cover herself, but forced herself to keep cool and remember what led her to the decision. Just go with it, she kept repeating to her timid self. Just go with it. Behind them, Lou silently shut the door. Having earlier readied the camera, he began rolling.
“How to Break a Bad Rabbit” written and sent by
➡ a one hour and 35 minutes read
SMOKEY SAGAS #11: “How To Break A Bad Rabbit”
Well, I did one for Christmas in December (’13), so though at the time of writing and publishing this it’s still a bit early for it, here’s my little BDSM homage to Easter. Again, thank you, , thank you, . You having provided me with virtually all of its inspiration, this story (also) is dedicated with love especially to you two Kink divisions. Not least but last, there are several similarities between this and “Hell And Back” (part one)—however, this one DOES actually have a happy ending. Still, these dark ones just keep getting more and more wicked and perverse…I guess I have a pretty effed-up imagination. Therefore, once more, as with the other “sinistories,” proceed at your own risk, Beloved Reader(s).
March 24th, 4:25 p.m.
In the heart of downtown it was hustle and bustle. A typical weekday afternoon. Streets were jammed, filling their air with exhaust and impatient horn-honking. Off the pavement, the concrete was just as occupied with folks on foot. The city was populated with individuals of all kinds, from all walks of life, belonging to all sorts of different occupations.
This totality was exemplified for one by the activity of two people who dwelled in the left ventricle of downtown’s aforementioned heart, comprising a husband-and-wife swinger couple: Lou and Sandra Burton. Both in their late 30s, they’d been together for about fifteen years. Their shared life was something of a mystery to casual acquaintances—a mystery which also served as the reason they were so choosy with whom they allowed into their small circle of friends.
Lou and Sandy made a very nice living and kept home in a very nice residential dwelling, the affordability of which was supplied by this same mystery of theirs. It was the reason they kept something of a low profile regarding their rather lavish arrangements of home and living. By late morning and afternoon, Lou worked on wait staff at a restaurant, and Sandy was an on-commission department store salesperson. Given these professions, lined up with the state of said living arrangements—even as a two-income couple—it could be seen how one was baffled by their situation.
This was of course where their previously referred-to mystery—and swinger lifestyle—came spiraling into play. Their later hours of sleep and operation were a result of their supplemental mutual career, and their major source of income on the sly. They managed an organization of pornography and BDSM together. Its name, The Fetish Buffet, was Sandra’s idea—a gimmicky identity designed to encapsulate the wide span of sexual interests and kinks in which they engaged and specialized (she was originally going to call it “Buffetish,” an amalgamated name she liked the thought of until she said it out loud and realized how clumsy it sounded). They produced video presentations based on their session content and scenarios, and ran a web site to give online users a preview of these videos, the option to purchase them, and also web pages giving an overview of their enterprise and introducing visitors to themselves and their models. While they both participated and featured in their projects as performers themselves, on the whole Lou was more of the cinematographer, leaving the better part of actual performance to his wife, as while Sandy herself would be a bit too modest to agree, Lou insisted she provided a much, much more appealing camera presence, given their medium and chosen line of material.
They started out renting a warehouse space to use as their private studio for session shoots and videotaping, then once they started doing well enough, they scaled up and obtained themselves a two-story house, in which they turned the generously spacious basement into their studio. A number of years under the belt in their ever-growing BDSMpire, they had since recruited quite an accumulation of attractive male and female models and erotic actors, of several different age groups, ethnicities and backgrounds. As for their own histories, Lou had taken a few film school courses, Sandy’s academic experience more in the area of psychology—a helpful combination in fields involving the erotic cinematic arts, as with Lou’s camera and composition skills and Sandra’s acumen of visual(/audial) appeal to the human senses, they managed to co-direct and edit decently successful films.
Ads were placed for actors and models to add to their payroll, but actually quite a good little portion of their applicants and participants were candidly met and selected right on the street. Lou or Sandy would be out and about, see someone who looked like a cute potential new colleague/plaything, simply approach and introduce themselves. Sometimes the potential candidate accepted their invite, sometimes not. It was truly hit-and-miss, they quickly learned. They approached more folks on the street than responses they got to their ads overall, but the percentages were also better to make a connection via an ad, so the two methods came out to about 50-50 in terms of successful encounters.
On this typical Thursday afternoon, it was Sandra who was out scouting for any new possible talent to add to their roster. She was combing the northern face of downtown, currently on 18th Avenue and Juniper Street (Juniper was a major highway that covered virtually the entire city, north to south. Its intersection with 18th was in a much more secure and upper-class region of town than other intersections with Juniper such as, say, Double-T Street, or Kent Street, or Lumbard Street, intersections closer to where Lou and Sandy used to live). For their latest video venture, they were looking for a timely concept and an equally tasty piece of female eye candy. Easter was right around the corner, on April 3rd, and so, natch, they wanted a new “bunny.”
Actually, when it came to finding new talent, upon decision-making time, it was indeed Sandy who did most of the approaching. They determined jointly that persuasion to appear in an adult-themed film production would be accomplished much more effectively (and easily) by a woman, be the possible candidate either male or female. Besides, she had the better understanding of the human mind. However, both halves of the marriage were by chance bisexual, both with eyes equipped to catch sight of attractive specimens of either sex. And Lou also scouted occasionally, if Sandy was already out and they were more hard-pressed to find performers—and he’d managed to bring one or two amateur stars onboard in their several years—but overall, it still remained Sandy’s territory.
Understandably, some days they did better than others. It was important to keep note of where they’d scouted already, but just to a certain extent, as the chances of finding performers at a location they’d looked for the second time were only slightly reduced. Luckily, as expansively large as the city was—especially the downtown district thereof—years would pass before they’d hit every nook and cranny twice. Rounding 18th and Juniper, Sandra had entered a corner of the main business borough, where she and the other citizens shrank into the labyrinth of seemingly limitless office buildings and skyscrapers piercing the blue spring sky at hundreds of feet tall.
A cool breeze tousled her hair and kissed her face. The vernal equinox had just descended a few days ago, and spring was literally in the air. Statistically speaking, summer was their best season for finding new talent, as the population on the average bared more skin, thereby displaying more of their physical…assets, for prying eyes to be laid upon. But spring was a close second. She wasn’t too far right now from the mall where she worked. She’d driven dozens of times by this enormous building around which she was now wandering, the Klondike Complex, but had never traversed its lovely landscape to thoroughly take in all the niceties of its grounds. Looking around, she gazed upon a pedicured, checkerboard-patterned lawn stretching around the whole environment, decorated with outdoor umbrella’d dining tables and chairs, bicycle paths, rock gardens, running streams, fountains, tennis courts, even a…she squinted off into the distance. Was that…a swimming pool?
Wow, people who get to work here are really lucky, she thought to herself. She could only imagine the amenities on the interior of the Klondike office suites. They probably have a four-star café in there somewhere, and I have to choose between Arby’s and Panda Express at the food court, she thought, shaking her head with a smirk.
Well, time to get down to business. Sandy slipped on her sunglasses to conceal her predatory eyes, and began people-watching as they went about their business. It didn’t take her long to see they were mostly wearing business suits, the men also with neckties. Hardly surprising; an upscale building and work atmosphere commanded upscale dress attire. She smiled as she imagined the thought of getting her mitts on one of these savvy, no-nonsense professionals in their expensive suits—or, should she say, out of their expensive suits—bending them over, “branding” them, in her own special way, and “marking her territory” on them.
There was indeed a healthy amount of both male and female eye candy to be found here. Reminding herself they were specifically looking for a young lady at the moment, she checked out one to the next, confident in what she was seeing. Nice…nice…ooh, QUITE nice…cute…also nice and cute…HOT… she thought, giving each one she saw a quick once-over and a brief evaluation before settling on any one individual like the vulture she was at this moment, surreptitiously treading the property. She didn’t worry in the least about anybody asking her what she was doing here. She was good at thinking on her feet and manipulating people, and could satisfy anyone’s curiosity by readily supplying a fake name, with a fake story and a fake occupation explaining her presence. If she was in a particularly playful mood, she’d even add a fake accent. The occasions in which someone did ask were few and far between anyway.
More and more of the day’s hours had elapsed, until it was close to 4:30 in the afternoon. Inconspicuously slipping around one suite to the next, she had made her way around more than half of them by the time she finally found her girl. She didn’t even have to look twice. Her eyes locked and zeroed in on her. Sitting in a chair at one of the umbrella tables, she was an auburn-haired young thing in a black lady’s pantsuit, doing what looked like texting on her phone. Her shoes were overturned on the grass, her bare feet up on the seat of another of the chairs, legs crossed one over the other, idly wiggling her toes. She may not have been classically model-gorgeous, but something sweet and pleasing about her attracted Sandra. The candid footplay was just a delightful bonus.
Sandra smiled, heading in her direction. As she neared her, she noticed something else. The girl looked kind of…upset. Her face seemed to be reflecting a mixture of anguish and disappointment. Naturally, Sandy briefly wondered what was wrong. Whatever it was, Well, perhaps I could cheer her up a little, she thought, sauntering the rest of the way on up.
At about the same time the girl noticed her shadow and looked up, Sandra merrily smiled and said, “Hi there!” This smile was genuinely kind and friendly, though it was difficult to discern a pleasant smile from a ruthless one with her Aviator sunglasses on.
The girl paused, looking at her blankly for a moment. “Uh…hello,” she replied uncertainly.
“How do you do?” asked Sandy cordially. “My name is Sandra Burton.”
Still with a vacant gaze in her eyes, the girl again remained silent for a moment. “…Well hi…Sandra,” she said. “I’m Heather…” She let the tone of her voice hang, as if she was going to continue speaking, but let it trail off. She held onto her phone. She didn’t exactly offer her hand, and so Sandra didn’t extend hers just yet either.
When she realized that’s all the girl was having for the moment, Sandy continued, “Okay, well, it’s lovely to meet you, Heather.” She gestured to one of the empty chairs at her table. “I, um…I know this may sound a little strange, or forward, but, do you mind if I join you?” she asked. “Unless of course you have to be running off somewhere; I don’t want to keep you.” Okay, that’s kind of a lie, but she doesn’t need to know that, she said to herself.
Heather seemed to be upset by some part of what Sandra had just said. She dropped her eyes and emitted a small sigh.
“Wh-…” Sandra hoped she didn’t hurt her feelings somehow. “Oh, I’m…I’m sorry, did I…did I say something wrong?” She’d thought up to this point that the extent of their exchange was polite, friendly pleasantries.
Heather shook herself out of it. “Oh, no, no,” she perked back up, looking at Sandra. “No, uh…it’s fine. Go ahead.” She indicated the unoccupied chair where Sandy had just gesticulated. “Sit down if you want. I don’t care.”
Hmm, thought Sandy. She was getting the impression something was bothering the lass, but she didn’t want to pry. She decided to simply employ her tactics of easing into her mind. “Well, thank you, Heather,” she graciously rejoined, pulling out the chair to accompany her. “So then…do you, uh…have a few moments free?” she gently asked.
“Sure, why the hell not,” answered Heather gloomily.
My goodness, something really IS bothering you, isn’t it, Sandy thought. “Well…I…I really do hope I’m not pestering you, or being a nuisance in any way,” she reiterated.
Heather put her phone down on the table, slightly forcefully for a not-so-frivolous electronic device. “I’m sorry,” she said. “I’m being rude. I-I’m just…” She covered her face with her hand. “This has just been kind of…well, a…crap day.”
So she was right, Sandra regretfully realized. “Oh, dear,” she said, “I’m so sad to hear that. Well, we just met; you probably don’t want to talk to a virtually total stranger about it,” she went on, hoping her reverse psychology would work.
It did. “Ah, who knows, might help to get it off my chest,” Heather said. “My boyfriend dumped me.”
Her face dropped. “Aw,” Sandy said. “I’m sorry, Heather. That’s really tough.”
“No shit,” muttered Heather. “Oh—’scuse my dirty mouth. He cheated on me.”
Sandra turned surprised. “You’re kidding me! He cheated on you, and he dumped YOU? That’s horrible!”
“Yeah, well, much as I’d like to throw all the blame on him, I can’t,” admitted Heather. “I cheated on him too.”
Sandra’s eyebrows arched. “Oh,” she replied in a quieter voice. “Well, forgive me for sticking my big proboscis where it doesn’t belong, but perhaps it wasn’t exactly a Heaven-made match.”
“No foolin’ you,” Heather said with a dash of feistiness in her voice. “I mean, we got into this huge fight, it got ugly, and he said some stuff that really hurt me. And I wanted to get even with him, so I fucked one of his friends, right? So when he finds out, he freaks on me. He calls me a whore, says he never wants to see me again, next thing you know I find out he was making out with some other chick behind my back. You believe that?” She shook her head with a scoff.
Sandra was having a little trouble processing this. She was sure Heather’s feelings had indeed been quite hurt, but describing having had sex with another man—if she was in fact understanding the girl correctly—her tone sounded pretty matter-of-fact, as if it were no big deal. “But…” she said, “If y-…how d-…” After another second she shrugged it off. “Y’know what, never mind that. Why don’t I tell you why I wanted to come over and talk to you. I know this is gonna sound very random, but let me ask you if I may, Heather…” she took a strategic pause. “Have you by chance ever done any work in the field of modeling before?”
Heather raised her gaze to her with a skeptical expression. “You…think I’m a model?” she asked with a caustic chuckle.
“Well, I’m just asking right now,” explained Sandra. “You see, my husband and I run a small film company, we do a lot of…what you might call documentary work, and we’re always looking for fresh, new faces. And being young is also a plus. And while I was around the area today, something about you happened to catch my eye.”
Heather took a moment to just stare at her. Then she looked around to her left and right as if she thought Sandy was talking to someone else. Finally, she pointed to herself and dubiously said, “…Me?”
“Yes, indeed!” Sandy confirmed. “Certainly someone finding appeal in your facial features and the structure of your physicality can’t be the most wildly mind-blowing thought in the world?”
Actually, her bared feet on display helped very much. They were quite lovely, Sandra thought. Not too wide, not too flat, nice soft-looking soles, the curve of the instep from the fair skin tone of the tops to the tender-looking pink bottoms, the clear toenail polish…she kept coercing herself to maintain eye contact with Heather while sneaking glimpses at her petite tootsies, which she was guessing were about a size 7. She was absentmindedly flexing them, stretching them out and scrunching them, curling them up, back and forth, over and over again. And the fact that Heather was wearing dress pants as part of her business attire, baring no leg, just isolating the feet, made them even more enticing.
She wondered how ticklish they were. She wanted to find out, if only to try and get the girl to smile one time. Lou would love those babies, she thought, her husband very appreciative of a pretty couple of peds. Sandy had let him do everything to her feet: rub them, lick them, nibble them, tickle them, et cetera, and also worked her feet into some of their more hard-core activities. Though she’d never admit it, on both of her own soles Sandy had an extreme weak spot, just below the arches. Once that spot was activated—on either foot—she was melted putty in the hands of the activator.
Though she didn’t know if it was in her case officially a fetish, per se, Sandra’s shared fondness for the sensuality of the human feet was the reason she made Lou be certain to take good care of his own—washing them, lotioning them, keeping the nails clipped nice and short—and she took them out to get semi-regular pedicures together, so that later she could enjoy returning the kindness of the massaging, licking, nibbling, et cetera.
Heather, meanwhile, was answering her question. “Well, considering what an ugly fucking duckling I was growing up and how the boys always went after the pretty girls and the cheerleaders, and that it’s not that dramatically different at 25, you’ll forgive me if I DO find that a little hard to believe,” Heather groused while Sandra wondered if there were any weak spots on her feet.
“Well, that’s unfortunate to hear, but perhaps I can convince you otherwise by inviting you for an interview with us? Say, next Wednesday?” she proposed, pretty sure this was a day both she and Lou were off. “Early, mid- or late afternoon could all work.”
Heather gazed at her cynically. She flipped her feet up from the chair and dropped them on the fortunately soft grass so she could shift position, put her elbow on the table and prop up her chin with it. “All right, what’s the deal, lady?” she asked Sandra suspiciously. “What’s really going on here?”
Okay, this is a tough cookie, Sandy thought. But she didn’t allow herself to be rattled. She picked up her purse, opened it and took a business card from one of the mini-compartments. “Well, Heather,” she began as she did so, “If you’re having doubts about me or my husband being on the proverbial level, so to speak, I assure you that everything about our operation is legitimate…”
She handed it to her to have a look at. The business cards were innocuously printed up to read:
BURTON PRODUCTIONS & TALENT, INC.
LOUIS OLIVER BURTON
SANDRA ARIANA BURTON
6307 WEST RICHGATE STREET
FOR LOUIS: 555-4789
FOR SANDRA: 555-0182
CONTACT US TO SCHEDULE AN INTERVIEW OR SESSION
MODELING, ACTING, FILM WORK
CONVENTIONAL AND EXOTIC
Lou and Sandy had phrased the last line as “Conventional and erotic” originally, then cleverly altered the second letter in ‘erotic’ to lure unsuspecting prospective new up-and-comers.
Heather glossed over the card for about three spectacularly blasé seconds. She let it drop on the table, picking up her shoes from the ground and slipping them on one at a time. She grabbed her phone and purse and got up to leave. “Sorry, lady,” she mumbled apathetically. “Not interested.”
She started away, leaving Sandra at the table on her own.
“Suit yourself,” said Sandy, just loud enough for her to hear. “Starting female salary’s $1000 a day.”
Something in that sentence made Heather immediately spin back around. She returned to the table.
Sandra noticed. “Oh,” she said innocently. “Change your mind?”
“Did you say…a THOUsand dollars…a day?”
“Why, yes I did,” she confirmed. She dug briefly through her own purse and pulled out her checkbook and a pen. She scribbled out a check to just that amount, signed it, tore it out and handed it out in her direction. “You may consider this your advance…”
Heather came promptly back and sat down with her again. She snatched the check and took a look at it, but Sandy continued, “…But only if you’re willing to come to the interview. If you don’t attend the interview, or decide you don’t want the job, the check won’t be any good.”
Heather just studied the check for a moment. Yeah, that was a one and three zeroes all right, no hidden decimal in there. And opposed to any other form of currency, that was definitely a dollar sign in front of the numbers.
“So, Wednesday afternoon, around this time or so?” she asked.
March 30th, 4:51 p.m.
The Burtons had prettied themselves up for Heather’s arrival, Lou in a three-piece and Sandy in a conservative blue cocktail dress. They were conducting the interview in the top-floor living room of their home-slash-studio. They brought out a veggie-dip plate and set it out on the coffee table, as they found that to be a pleasing welcome to any and all guests and future staff. There was also an additional reason they’d particularly gone with veggies.
A short while later came the fateful knock on the door. Three slow, sharp raps. To one who didn’t know Heather, a fraction of her personality could be discerned by the knock alone. Actually a fair percentage of Lou and Sandra’s visitors considered themselves to be whimsical, quirky individuals, demonstrating so by banging out their inaugural knock to the beat of “Shave And A Haircut.”
Lou opened the door. There stood Heather, again dressed in one of her pantsuits. Lou diagnosed mainly apathy and indifference in her face at first glance, though to Sandy, who had met Heather previously, just a tiny trace of sadness could also be read around the edges of her eyes. She held her purse in front of her with both hands at thigh-level, as if she were a child who had just gotten the first purse she’d ever had.
“Welcome!” grinned Lou. He held out his hand. “You of course must be Heather.”
Heather said nothing for the moment. She hesitated, then just gave a slight nod and weakly returned the handshake.
“Come in!” said Lou. “Make yourself at home.”
“Hi, Heather!” greeted Sandra in the same cheerful tone of voice as when they met at the Klondike building. “It’s so nice to see you again!” The hand-shaking appeared to make her less than comfy, so she gave her a nice smile and a wave instead.
Heather gave Sandy a nod as well, trying to make eye contact. She was really sincerely trying to be polite and make a good first impression on them, but…it was exceedingly difficult for her. At 25, Heather Annie Hoffen had had a pretty rough childhood and adolescence. She did okay scholastically, but she’d never had many more than one or two close friends, and always felt cast out of place in school. There was truth in what she’d told Sandra outside her corner of the Klondike too; she was considered unattractive by the boys in school. She wasn’t asked to any dances, but she wasn’t exactly dying to go to them anyway. Her home life wasn’t much better, brought up by two verbally abusive parents whose love for her seemed questionable, and who couldn’t afford to give her the things her classmates’ could give them. Her life was a virtually perfect mirror image of Janis Ian’s song “At Seventeen.”
As a result of this lousy hand of cards, she couldn’t catch a lot of breaks. The truth was, Heather had always had a secret desire for attention—preferably of the positive nature, of course, but at this point, if all available attention was less so, she had to settle for what she could get. Deep down, she knew terminal shyness and visible disinterest were easily mistaken for quiet hostility, and she certainly knew that wouldn’t win her any friends. The roadblock lay in her approach to become more outgoing and extroverted. But also deep down, at the same time, she was terrified that if she allowed herself to open up to others she would just be setting herself up for more rejection, heartbreak and lonesomeness. Working up herself to be friendly and sociable took energy at this point, and when she still didn’t seem to be rewarded for it, it was all the more discouraging, which turned into an unfortunate cycle.
Her desire for attention clearly steered her in the wrong direction in regards to her ex-relationship as well. She had cheated on her boyfriend, in the worst manner possible, and she knew she wasn’t in her right mind at the time. The reality of someone else actually also being interested in her majorly clouded her better judgment, and after she realized what she had done, she felt awful. The man with whom she’d abandoned her boyfriend was essentially a user who’d just wanted cheap sex, and she’d ended up losing the man who’d genuinely liked her and might have made a future with her. And she’d broken her own heart on several levels, perhaps the most disappointing being the feeling that however she tried, she just wasn’t a good person. She couldn’t stop persecuting herself.
All this had happened a couple of months before, and she was having trouble getting past it. But she’d been cleanly and matter-of-factly honest with Sandra about her infidelity because the continued lack of attention (positive or otherwise) drained her of any want for privacy about her personal life, and also because outside opinions no longer fazed her. There was nothing anyone could tell her that she hadn’t told herself a hundred times already. No one could punish her more severely than she’d punished herself. It was true, her ex-boyfriend was becoming very friendly with another girl remarkably soon after the breakup, but she didn’t know how long it had been going on. She honestly didn’t know if he had been with her while they were still together, or if her act was what thrust him into the other woman’s arms. She knew she didn’t have any right to be upset about it, but when she saw the two of them together, she nevertheless couldn’t help wishing she could drive a stake through that girl’s heart. Oh, if only she could go back in time.
But it was just as well; she couldn’t repair the damage she’d done her boyfriend, and trying to get him back wouldn’t accomplish anything at this point. She still felt terrible, but she couldn’t change the past, it happened, it was done, and so she decided she had to move on, try to make a fresh start, learn from her mistakes and hope she could be lucky enough to meet someone else as good. This experience definitely hadn’t helped improve her social skills, but perhaps fate would give her another chance if she gave herself another chance. And though she remained baffled by Sandra’s belief that she was a model, she thought meeting her and her husband for this interview could encourage her to do more new things, draw herself out of her self-loathing rut and make a fresh start.
Lou and Sandy took her into the living room and they sat down together.
“That’s a lovely purse, Heather,” Sandra complimented her.
“Oh, uh…thank you,” she said timidly, working up a tiny smile. She summoned up some words she wanted and arranged them in her mind. “By the way, Mrs. Sandra, ma’am, I wanted to apologize if I came off at all as dismissive or aloof last week.” She looked around the room as she said it, having trouble making steady eye contact, feeling a little awkward about it all. “I didn’t really mean to, ‘s just…” She shrugged and let it drop off.
“Oh!” Sandy scoffed and gestured it away. “Don’t even worry about it one bit. Go ahead, sit, sit. Have some veggies, help yourself.”
As Heather sat down, Sandra deliberately turned the veggie tray around so that the carrots were closest to where Heather was sitting, encouraging her to begin with them.
“Well, it’s indeed wonderful to meet you, Heather,” said Lou as he and his wife also sat. “Sandy’s told me a little bit about you.”
Heather threw Sandra a look.
“Oh, don’t worry,” she assured her. “I also told him there were a couple things we talked about that wouldn’t go any further than the two of us.”
Heather relaxed a little. Lou said next, “Although it’s really okay either way, Heather; believe you me, I’m truly the least judgmental person in the world. Seriously, someone could tell me the single worst thing possible about themselves, and I’d still try to give them the benefit of the doubt.”
Heather was pleased to hear that, though her countenance still reflected apprehension.
“So, I understand Sandy’s filled you in on some of the details of our little operation here?” he asked.
“Well, uh…kind of…” she said uneasily, unassumingly fingering one of the carrot sticks, not bringing it to her mouth just yet.
“Heather, hon, you seem a bit nervous,” remarked Sandy. “You know what, maybe it would help relax you a little if you took off your shoes and put your feet up.” She patted the top of the coffee table. “You know, like you were that day outside your building. You did seem more at ease then.” She nodded with a smile. “Really, please do, go ahead!” she encouraged. “We want you to be as comfy as possible with us.”
While this seemed a bit of an out-of-the-ordinary request, Heather nonetheless said, “…Okay,” slipped them off and rested her bare feet upon their table, crossing her legs just as she had on the other chair outside the office.
When she unknowingly put her feet on display for them, Lou and Sandy both mentally marveled at just how petite and soft and pure they looked. One might not exactly say they were flawlessly immaculate, but she certainly looked after them. Sandy was close in guessing her size; she was actually a 7-and-a-half.
With one slight glance to one another at which no one could suspect a thing, Sandy and Lou communicated an entire conversation.
See, babe, what did I tell you?
Wow, Sands, you weren’t kidding; those little sweeties are adorable. They’re almost as cute as yours.
Honey, they ARE as cute as mine. In fact, they’re even cuter. This girl may be grown up, but she’s still just a kid; she’s only 25.
Dunno; haven’t found out yet. Don’t worry, we will.
“There! That’s better, huh?” Sandy said. “Now, let’s go ahead and get on with the interview. Now Heather, you told me you’d never done anything like this professionally before, right?”
Heather dipped one of the carrot sticks and took a bite out of it. “Right.”
“No film work at all?” asked Lou. Heather shook her head. “Mm-mm.”
“How do you feel about exhibitionism?” was the next question Sandy asked.
Her expression turned a tad surprised. “Like…taking my clothes off?” she said through bites of carrot.
“Well, yes,” she answered. “I know you don’t have any experience, but it’s okay, that can’t hurt you here. And what we’re looking for requires a bit more exposure than your average day of modeling.”
“…All of it?”
“Well, we can ease into it, and work our way along,” Lou explained to her. He could see she was becoming reluctant, so he steered her back in their direction. “Oh, and Sandy did tell you about the salary, didn’t she? That it’s $1400 a day?”
Heather’s eyes popped open as she swung her gaze back to Sandra. “I…thought you told me it was $1000.”
“Oh, did she?” asked Lou, feigning. “I’m sorry, sometimes my handy little Sandy gets her figures a little mixed up. It used to be just a thousand total. When our sales increased we upped it to $1400.”
“Ah—he’s right,” said Sandy. “At that point I’d become used to telling candidates the salary was an even thousand. I’m sorry about that, Heather,” she apologized with a small chuckle.
Actually, both of them knew full well it was $1400 at that point and had been for a long time. The part about upping the money when they sold more product was true, but the initial—intentional—little white fib about the figure was a deliberate move on their part, one of Sandy’s techniques from her psychological bag of tricks. If a person goes into a job opportunity being told what they’ll be making, she’d explained to Lou long ago, and then finds out they’ll actually be making even (much) more, they will feel that much more eager and inclined to take the job and perform any tasks involved.
“Oh my God!” exclaimed Heather. “That’s almost ten grand a week!”
“Total, yes,” said Lou, “If you’re willing to work every weekday and weekends as well.”
“Of course, if we keep you on payroll through the end of the year, there’s an annual $5000 Christmas bonus,” added Sandy, to Heather’s amazement.
“WHOA!” said Heather, about two hundred percent more excited about the position than she was first setting foot on Lou and Sandy’s doorstep. “Is there really that much money in modeling??”
“Heather, if we decide to hire you and keep you on staff, this would just be the beginning,” Sandy told her, drawing her in further. “Remember, I told you, that daily $1400 is only starting salary. And furthermore, traditional modeling often lasts only a few years, but here in our little academy, if you take excellent care of your face, and especially your body…who knows how far this could go.”
By this point Heather was becoming truly excited. Sandy took another carrot from the vegetable tray, dipped it and handed it to her. “Here, hon, have another carrot.”
“OH my GOD!” repeated Heather. “Just for taking my clothes off? What am I going to be doing, modeling lingerie or something like that?”
“Well, not exactly,” said Lou. “Heather, let me ask you this: how do you feel about performing in front of a large live audience?”
Heather thought about it. If she did this, it appeared that her constant thirst for attention would be quenched, if only temporarily. The source of the attention did not matter quite as much to her as the attention itself; she found it hard to care if she was applauded for her mind or for her body. Hey, maybe they would let her be a “smart” model, if such a thing existed, and she could earn applause for both. Their magic was working better than they planned; she was indeed getting more eager by the moment.
“I think I’d like that,” she said, starting to smile.
“Okay then, good, next question,” Sandy asked her. “How do you feel about being…touched, on camera?”
Her hint of a smile retreated. “Touched?”
“Well, we won’t lie to you, Heather,” Lou took over, “Touched in a rather intimate manner. Our material deals in very…shall we say, familiar…and friendly subject matter.”
Hmm, thought Heather. With those high monetary figures, she figured something more on the demanding side was involved. “So…” she hesitated, “You’re saying I might be, like, what, in my underwear, together with a guy, pretending to…make out, something like that?”
Lou and Sandra looked at each other a moment with a nod before turning back to her. “Well…yeah,” said Sandra. “The content may shift back and forth in terms of the intimacy and intensity, but, yeah, you’ve got a decent idea of it.”
She processed it. “Okay…” she discreetly commented.
“Well, Heather, we’ve got a few more details to lay out, but how do you feel about this opportunity so far?” asked Lou.
How did she feel…well, on the one hand, she felt rather nervous about taking her clothes off in front of a bunch of strangers, but, she reasoned with herself, they probably wouldn’t ask her to be completely naked…or would they? On the other hand, first of all, $1400 a day—just to start, no less—and she also reminded herself that she never knew what it felt like to be visibly attractive. It sounded like this would be a good way to find out.
“Well, it…definitely sounds interesting,” was all she could think to say at the moment.
“Good!” said Lou. “So then let me tell you a little bit about the whole process. Basically, as you’re in center stage, and the audience is watching, Sandy’ll give you cues and direction. The two of us do in fact also participate and do some performing ourselves.”
“Oh…’kay, I see…”
“And also,” Sandy chimed in, “We’re always looking for new ideas and crowd-pleasers for our productions and shoots. We’re very timely with the annual holiday schedule. This Sunday, for example, the first project for which we’d like to use you, if you’re interested, is going to be our Easter greetings show. It will take place on the holiday itself, Easter Sunday, and it will start at 9:00 p.m. It basically, essentially entails portraying the Easter Bunny.”
“Yes, but I must let you know a few things at this point,” Lou stepped in. “You see, for one, Heather, there is no rehearsal. One of the twists of our material is that everything is done impromptu. Rehearsing a shoot of this nature beforehand can result in losing the natural spontaneity. We strive to make our productions as real and natural as possible. Make sense?”
“Excellent. The next thing you need to know is, there is no questioning our direction. Pardon me for being firm, but I remind you that you are working for us, and you will need to do everything we say, exactly as we say.”
Heather nodded, in complete agreement with that.
“That’s right,” added Sandy. “The secret to our success is those ingredients: spontaneity, impulsiveness and compliance.”
“So, Heather,” said Lou, “All of this in mind…do you think you might like to be our Easter Bunny?”
Heather tried to see the cons of the situation to properly weigh things out, but the money and the attention kept impeding her vision. All she could see were the pros. Much as she attempted to, she could not bring too many negatives to mind regarding how this job sounded. However, one thought that made her anxious continued to return.
“Uh…would I have to, eh…” She cleared her throat and asked quickly, “Would I have to be naked?”
They took a second, and Sandy fielded this question. “Well, Heather, the circumstances vary. It’s like I told you before, the line of the intimacy-slash-intensity moving back and forth. This is a very challenging business, and there’re lots of reasons most don’t make it. One reason is they don’t have what it takes. Some have opted out at this point. But I will be honest with you: the answer is yes.”
Heather widened her eyes and gulped.
“But not all the time,” Sandy went on. “It will depend on the particular scenario in play at that time. Should we decide we’d be able to use your talents in a particular video shoot, and you decide to participate, you may be naked or you may not, depending upon what that scenario entails.”
“Right. Oftentimes, everyone is nude. But there will be some times when you would be nude and others would be clothed, and then other times when you would have clothes, others nude. So it’s just vice versa, you see?” elaborated Lou.
Heather thought this through. It was a startling thought, though she was a sensible person; she knew they wouldn’t be paying her this handsomely for nothing. Still, at the same time she felt the anxiety of baring herself to all those strangers, a part of her found it somehow intriguing. If they cheered on her nudity, it could be taken as a compliment. A big compliment. Something thought of as genuinely good and appealing about her. She liked that idea. And yet…it remained a tough decision.
Sandra broke into her consideration. “I will tell you this much, Heather—and we can’t go into much more detail at this point, but I can tell you one thing right now, and that is: the Easter Bunny will be brought on stage in her bra and panties.”
That seemed a little much right off the bat. “Oh, gosh,” said Heather.
“And—oh, actually, there’s one other thing we can tell you right now about the show,” said Lou. “We may be on stage with you as well, but that’s all. There is no supporting cast in this show. The Easter Bunny is the only performer. So not only is this a starring role, it’s the only role, really. Should all of us be interested in you participating, all of the performance would be yours.”
Well, that sounded pretty cool, she thought. Absolutely ALL of the attention on her, and only her.
“Do I need to, like, memorize anything? Is there a script or something?” she asked.
“No,” Lou said. “‘S like we said before. It’s basically improv. We’ll tell you what to do and say. Just leave the direction of your performance up to us.”
She thought some more. She had to admit, they were making it sound pretty tempting.
“Do you need an answer right away?” she asked.
“Actually, I’m afraid we do,” said Sandy. “I know the timing is a bit unfortunate, Heather, and I really apologize for that. This was the only day both of us were free, as were you. You can have a little time to think about if it you really need some, but I’m sorry to say it’s a gamble. It’s pretty risky. During that time you’re thinking about it, if we decide we’re interested in someone else who’s also immediately interested, we would have to offer them the job.”
“Oh, gosh…” Heather let herself go back and forth on it for a few more moments, and then decided with herself, Y’know what? Fuck it. What the hell. Maybe it’s about time I did something wild like this. It sounds a little scary, but it also sounds like it could be really fun! And maybe doing something crazy’ll help take my mind off all the stupid stuff I did recently. Just maybe…what the hell!
“Okay…” She took a breath. “So…are you guys definitely offering me the job right now?” she asked eagerly.
They both nodded. Sandra said, “If you want it right now, it’s yours.”
Heather accepted before she could talk herself out of it. “I’ll take it!”
“Oh, wonderful!” “That’s great!” Sandy and Lou said, respectively and simultaneously. Sandy, sitting nearer to her, took a carrot stick, dipped it and fed it to her. “Here you go…bunny,” she said.
Easter Sunday, April 3rd, 8:33 p.m.
The sun was arc’ing down, waving goodbye to the moon. The baskets had been given out. The families had taken themselves to church. The stores’ candy shelves had been reduced to barely a single M&M, Peep or jelly bean. The dairy sections hadn’t a single case of eggs left. They had all been purchased, and the ones that were not eaten were dyed, painted and decorated, hidden and found.
Lou and Sandy had asked Heather to show up at their door half an hour before show time, which would have been 8:30. She got there just a few minutes after. She apologized to them for being late, but they told her it was no big deal. They asked her to please wait upstairs while their guests arrived and were ushered down into the basement. Sandra kept her company on the top floor while Lou greeted the visitors who would collectively form Heather’s audience.
Heather was now in their living room where their interview had taken place, wearing only a translucent lace bra and panties. Sandra had given them to her and said she could change in the bathroom when she’d arrived.
“So, how you feeling?” asked Sandy.
She took a breath. “Uh, well…not too bad…few butterflies, y’know, but…well, I’m excited!” she smiled. The enthusiastic part of her kept trying to convince the anxious part of her to just relax and have fun.
Sandra smiled too. “Excellent,” she replied. “Would you like a little snack or drink before we get started?”
“Ooh, ummm, I probably shouldn’t,” Heather said. “If I do, and then I get real nervous in front of everybody, I might do something…bad,” was the word she went with.
Sandra nodded. Her mouth said, “Completely understand.” Her mind said, Oh, hon, if you only knew.
She explained to Heather as the remaining minutes ticked down that Lou would be introducing the show, and she would escort her out on stage later, and that she was not to go anywhere near the stage until Sandra brought her out. She nodded.
Lou, meanwhile, was checking the guest list. He’d asked everyone who wished to attend to show no later than 8:45. He went over it several times, as always, and at 8:52, after a final confirmation that everybody had indeed arrived, he went upstairs to check on Heather.
“How’s our new little bunny?” he asked with a grin.
“Oh, she’s just a teeny bit nervous,” said Sandy. Turning back to Heather, she said, “Don’t worry, you’re gonna do great. Just remember, you don’t have to come up with anything yourself, I’m going to feed you all your direction. And just remember too, you must do absolutely everything I tell you, and absolutely only what I tell you.”
It was almost 9:00. Another minute or two went by as Lou checked himself in the mirror, glanced at the clock, threw them a thumbs-up and headed downstairs to begin the show intro.
They heard the door creak open, followed by a mild wave of applause, then the door shut. Heather couldn’t hear anything once it closed again.
“Good evening!” Lou called as he stepped to the middle of the studio. It was a large rectangular room, somewhat narrow though not extremely so, and on three sides of it sat dozens of the Burtons’ friends, colleagues, reviewers and other guests, leaving only vacant the side of the room bearing the door and curtain. The curtain concealed the small “backstage” area, where technicals such as props, toys, other sexual aids and recording equipment were kept.
When they bought this house, they’d had the room specially built with a widely-spaced three-step staircase that expanded around its occupied three sides, so that they could set up chairs for audiences on it. They knew they would need a vast open space. Fortunately, the maximum room capacity was just a bit upwards of a hundred, and there was still plenty of space left for the entertainment. They’d also had the forethought to hire a carpet expert to come in and craft them a massive rug to run the length of the stage, made of impossibly soft sheepskin fibers, thickness healthy enough so that stunts could be performed on it without any serious injuries. It was as soft as insulation; it was like stepping onto a cloud.
Sometimes, like this evening, a few additional touches were made around the room. For example, in front of the audience chairs, about every three or four seats apart, sat Easter baskets filled basically identically with grass, eggs, candy and other goodies.
There was another small round of applause. “Welcome to our Easter spectacular!” said Lou. “We’re delighted and honored by your presence this evening. As you know, we’ve got a special performance in store for you tonight, presenting a brand-new bunny in her Burton Productions debut!”
Lou continued. At a couple minutes past 9:00, Sandra finally took Heather downstairs to stand just outside the door and wait for her cue. Lou’s voice of course grew more audible the closer they came.
“Ready, hon?” whispered Sandy.
She gave a few excited nods. “I, uh…I think so, yeah.”
Finally, after a few more nerve-wracking for Heather but perfectly run-of-the-mill moments for Sandy, he said, “And now, without further ado…”
Sandra turned the knob and quietly slid the door the first few inches open.
“…I give you…our Easter Bunny for this evening: the, lovely, Heather!”
Sandra tossed the door the rest of the way open and led her in by the hand. When Heather walked in to a generous hand of applause and gazed around at what she saw, her tummy did a flip. Her feet suddenly felt very cold. She felt herself flush just a little in the cheeks. She was quite nervous now. There must have been eighty people in the room!
She abruptly felt very self-conscious. She had no idea the audience would be this large on her first shoot. It looked like about a 60-40 ratio of men to women. She wanted to cover herself, but forced herself to keep cool and remember what led her to the decision. Just go with it, she kept repeating to her timid self. Just go with it. Behind them, Lou silently shut the door. Having earlier readied the camera, he began rolling. There were also a couple of other stationary cameras placed strategically among the corners of the audience, zoomed at the appropriate degree to capture just the optimum footage. They all rolled at the same time. This way, when Lou compiled his film, he could use the preferred angle for any scene or shot, cut and splice, and produce a quality video.
Sandy was smiling big and lovely and waving to the audience, Heather noticed as the applause continued and finally started to die down. She did her best to smile big and wave along with her.
Placed on the rug a few feet in front of where they were standing was another large basket, but this one was extra-sized to hold props specific to the occasion. Not letting Heather see what was in it just yet, Sandra took it in her other hand.
“Good evening and welcome once more, everyone!” she said. “We’d like you to meet our brand-new, pure-as-silk virgin, Heather.” She clearly meant “virgin” only in terms of never having participated in their activities before. “Tonight is her first shoot, so…” She tossed out a shrug. “…go easy on her.”
She flashed the audience a wink, then turned to Heather, who was staring at her a little alarmedly, wondering what exactly she meant by that. Sandy gave her a benevolent smile that seemed to say, Don’t fret, I’m just teasing you. The audience threw her back a few provocative knowing laughs.
“Well, guess we better go ahead and get started, huh?” Sandra asked everybody. “You wanted a bunny rabbit, you got one.” She retrieved the first item from the basket, a hair band with a pair of bunny ears attached, which she handed to Heather. “I presume you know what to do with this,” she instructed. She did. And she did with it what she knew to do.
As she put them on, Sandy slipped the basket down her arm to free both hands and got the next two items: a small capped black watercolor and a paintbrush. “Okay, bunny, turn this way, please, my girl,” she said.
This would be Lou’s cue to come out from behind the camera and bring her a small glass of water. She dipped it, and readied the paint. “Now, this isn’t going to harm your skin; it’s just a watercolor. You might want to close your eyes, though. Now don’t move…” She painted the tip of Heather’s nose black.
Heather shut her eyes tighter with a stifled giggle. “That tickles.”
“Yeah, usually does,” Sandy smirked, dipping it a few more times and drawing whiskers on her cheeks.
When she was finished, she stepped back. “Aw…” she smiled, “Adorable.” She deposited the brush in the water glass, snapped the watercolor shut, dropped it back in the basket and gave Heather a rotating finger gesture. “A’right, turn around, bright eyes.”
She obeyed. The next thing Sandra took from the basket was a case of petroleum jelly. “Now hold still, head straight forward,” she ordered, popping it open and smearing her hand with it. She bent her knees, squatted, subtly slid down the back side of the panties and applied the jelly to Heather’s rear end.
Heather wasn’t expecting that. She twitched, and her fingers curled up a little. She was becoming a little uncomfy and embarrassed, but the audience was already very amused by this opening act. Once Sandra had finished liberally applying a healthy layer of jelly to her ass, she gave her a punctuating spank and wiped the excess jelly off her hand on Heather’s lower back. Once that was done, she seized the next object from the basket, the reason for the jelly. It was a plastic bag with a large ball of cotton in it.
“Theeeeeere we go,” said Sandy, fastening on her tail with just enough force that it stuck. “You are SO damn cute!” she chuckled, adoringly gliding a finger down the back of her right leg, making her quiver a little more.
“‘Kay, honey bunny, close your eyes and turn back around,” she said, returning the empty baggie to the basket and swapping that for a sizable, thick, full carrot, as opposed to the small carrot sticks they’d given her at her interview. When Heather turned around again, Sandra said, “Now keep ’em closed…and open that bunny mouth nice and wide…”
Heather raised her closed eyes’ brows and slowly, cautiously did as Sandra said. “Wider…” She affixed the carrot sideways between Heather’s teeth. It was large enough to keep her mouth open with her jaws relaxed. “…Keep holding still…aaaaand, close.” Heather again did so, hearing and feeling a light crunch. As Sandra removed her hands, she heard the audience laugh. Popping open her eyes and looking down, she couldn’t see far past her painted nose, but with a little discernment from her tongue, she determined that it was indeed a carrot.
It made the audience giggle, but again, it felt a little embarrassing to Heather, who was now feeling a little like a pig with an apple shoved in its mouth. But she left it there, knowing she’d probably get in trouble if she removed it.
“Now you’re starting to look like a bunny!” Sandra exclaimed with a clap of her hands. She turned to the audience. “Now, ladies and gentlemen, if you recall, Lou asked you to take a one-question poll before the show. So, I say we do this by applause. Now how many vote for choice A?”
The crowd produced a mild round of applause.
A slightly milder cheer for choice B.
The audience roared for C. “Wow!” said Sandy, returning to the basket. “I think we’ve got our answer; cuffs it is!”
Heather whipped her gaze to her. “Wuhh?” she asked, her mouth gagged with carrot.
Sandy gave her a smile and the rotating finger gesture again.
“W-…wuhh uh iu guhwuh oo?” an alarmed Heather shouted.
Sandra manually turned her around herself. “Why, honor the voice of the people, of course,” she answered, pulling a set of leather-lined handcuffs from the basket. Letting the basket drop to the floor, she took Heather’s wrists from behind, one at a time, and proceeded to cuff them together, prompting a muffled inquisitive squeal from Heather once she realized what was happening.
“You heard ’em, Heth,” Sandra told her in a no-nonsense tone. “The question was how to properly restrain you. You know bunnies; if you don’t catch them early on, they run away.”
Heather couldn’t believe it. “Yoh guhwuh rie ee uhh??”
“That’s right, sweetie. Option A was rope—or twine—B was chains, C was cuffs. They picked C.”
An impulse was suddenly awoken in Heather. For one half-second, she tried to turn and run for the door, but Sandy had her by the arm and held her back.
“He—!” The handcuffing complete, Sandy seized her elbow and pulled her back in front of her. She pushed her shoulders down, making her bend over, and gave her a disciplinary sharp smack on the side of her ass, where there was no cotton. “Bad bunny!” she admonished, triggering another whimper from her and another chortle from the crowd. “You’re not going anywhere.”
She brought her back up again. “Now be a good girl, and behave.”
The audience tittered. Some of them feigned sympathy with a giggly “a” Heather was beginning to feel humiliated. She would have tried to spit the carrot out, but it became more and more difficult as it slid and dug further back in her teeth, almost cutting off her airway. She tried to bite through it, but it was more carrot than her jaws and teeth could chew off at once. She tried to open her mouth as wide as she could, if only to ease it back towards her front teeth.
She whimpered again as she next felt Sandra cuffing her feet. Her legs were shaking, but she couldn’t do anything now. Once her feet were fixed together fast, she felt the light breeze of air as Sandra stood back up behind her again.
“Almost all set, cinnamon bunny,” she said. “Just one more slight adjustment to make here…”
Heather felt her doing something to her back around the spine, and then a cold chill assaulted her spine as she realized what it was. Sandra was…yes, she was! Unhooking her bra!
The audience was starting to whoop and whistle. “Uhhhhhrr!” Heather protested.
When all the hooks were undone, Sandy said, “Silly rabbit, have you ever seen a bunny wearing clothes? Of course not!” She slipped around to Heather’s front and tugged on the straps, which Heather was desperately trying to hold pinned down on her body with her arms. She gave Heather another, harder smack, on the side of the other ass cheek. When Heather again yelped at the sting and her guard was knocked down, Sandra yanked the bra off her and flung it into the basket.
The audience cheered. Her breasts were on full display, completely exposed. The 25-year-old lass wasn’t bargaining for that. Heather yelped once more, a step higher in pitch and two additional seconds in length. She knew deep down she still couldn’t do anything, but her body reflexively jerked about, as if she thought she could wrench out of the shackles and cover back up.
“I khauk iu kheh I wukh guhwuh hwee ih hwy hraw auh hwahheekh!” she shouted.
“Ah, ah, I said I’d bring you out in your bra and panties. I never said you’d stay in them.”
Each second seemed to amp the intensity of the situation, and the ever-upping ante was upped again next. She felt Sandra slip her fingers into the sides of the panties and whip them down her legs. Heather screamed, spastically jerking and jumping again, but the scream was inaudible over the audience’s even bigger cheer this time. She knew it was going to lead to more trouble, but she tried to hop and shuffle her feet around to turn her back to the crowd. Of course, Sandra halted her halfway through.
“SIT…still, you naughty little hare whore,” scolded Sandra. Heather let her eyes shut with a cringe, beginning to want to cry. She dropped her sad eyes to the floor, wanting to sink and vanish into it. She didn’t notice Sandy taking another object from the basket, a fresh stick of lipstick, until she put it to work on her.
“Bend over,” Sandy ordered her, shoving her down by the shoulders again. As Heather did so, Sandra popped the lipstick open and out, and Heather felt the sensation of Sandra doing something on her back with it. She felt an alternating pattern of curvy and straight lines being lipstick-scrawled first across her upper back, then her lower back. Finally, Sandy rolled the lipstick back down, capped it, put it away, pulled Heather’s body up again and pulled her hair from her back over her shoulders to the front.
“Okay, now turn around.” She spun her 180°, making her shift her feet around like a penguin, now indeed turning Heather’s back on their guests, and after a second Heather heard a mixture of cheers, laughter and mock-sympathetic “awww”s. Heather had no idea what Sandra had scribbled or drawn on her back—all her mind could concentrate on was the nightmare this “model shoot” had become. She had adequately deciphered it as some sort of bizarre porno thing. She couldn’t believe she had allowed herself to be lured into this prison of shame.
Sandra turned her back around. “Why don’t we address our little rabbit friend by the new pet name we’ve just given her?” she requested.
Heather looked in the dozens and dozens of eyes in the audience to see them shout at her, “SLUT-BUNNY!!”
When being addressed by that terrible phrase struck Heather’s brain, it pricked her in the eyes so hard she cried immediately. Breaking into tears, it was hard enough breathing already, mostly through her nose, under normal circumstances, but now standing stark naked, cold and making her whiskers run sobbing down her cheeks, she had to concentrate extra hard just to circulate her oxygen. The audience regarded her crying with varied reactions, but she couldn’t care so much anymore. Sandy fetched a pair of scissors and snipped the panties in half to get them off from around her ankles, but she didn’t care about that either. This was making her feel so mortified and crestfallen, all she wanted right now was to make it go away.
The audience’s response settled down, but she was continuing to weep just as hard. She might consider this just about the most horrific day/evening of her life, but even if not somehow, it was definitely in the top three. Sandra looked at her. “What’s the matter, bunny? You look upset. Aren’t you having fun?”
In a moment of ire, Heather’s larynx croaked out a phrase she regretted instantly. “Hrukh iu.”
OH, no, she promptly thought. Tell me I didn’t just say that. Even though her voice was muffled, she was pretty certain Sandra would still be able to comprehend it.
And she was. “Excuse me…” she said to Heather, placing an ominous hand on her shoulder. “Just what was that again?”
Heather was starting to shake, and a whole other stream of tears was coming on from a totally different source. “Uhkhiw,” she pleaded. “UHKHIW. I’ khahwee. I’ khahwee! I hwihwi hwee ih! I’ KHAHWEE!”
“ARE you now,” Sandra hissed at her, squeezing her shoulder. “That’s funny, you know, because for a moment there it sounded like you said…” She took Heather by the back of her hair. “…fuck you.”
A low, sweeping “oooooooohhh” emanated from the audience, anticipating the poor girl’s demise.
Sandra didn’t have her by the hair hard enough to hurt her, just to frighten her. Heather emitted another terrified muffled wail. “Wihwih Khahhee, I’ khoh khahwee! Hweekh, I hwihwi wee ih…” she spat out between her wracked sobs.
Eventually, Sandy nodded, releasing her grip. “All right,” she said, “You didn’t mean it. I will choose to believe you.” She stalked back to the basket and grabbed the lipstick again. “But yet, when a bunny is bad, a bunny must be punished nevertheless,” she said sternly. Making sure all the hair was brushed away, Sandra started writing something else across her forehead. “And this bunny,” she continued, recapping the lipstick and getting another as yet unused object from the basket, a hand mirror, “Has just earned herself a new nickname.”
Heather heard her voice approach again until she was right in front of her. She looked up into the mirror and promptly regretted it. Staring back at her on her forehead was the backwards reflection of the letters “TNUC.” She cringed her eyes shut and let a shamed whine drip pitifully out of her. She sank to the floor until she was a humbled heap of ignominy on her knees. The audience’s reactions were many, varied and merciless. Clearly, some things are worse than death, she thought to herself.
“All right, perk up now,” she heard Mrs. Sandra say. She took Heather by the arm and slowly pulled her back up to her feet. “We’re not just going to have you standing still all evening, of course not. It’s time for you to entertain our guests.”
Heather held off on the sobbing long enough to turn her puffy red eyes to her. “Khahw?”
“Why, how else?” Sandra answered. “By bunny-hopping!”
The audience applauded. Heather was surprised to find herself not utterly horrified by the thought of this latest exhibition. The response from the audience felt strange. On one hand, they seemed to really like her…well, really like seeing her humiliated, that was to say, on the other hand, they intimidated her. And yet, the shy meekness of her nudity was wearing off, and she was growing used to being naked in front of all these strangers. After all, she reasoned, they had being staring at her entire body for several minutes now, and the one bright spot was that now there was no more left to hide. And they seemed to like her body…or did they? Or were they just applauding and cheering out of what passed for support?
Well, she thought, maybe the worst was over. She’d been stripped, cuffed up, publicly disgraced and mocked, labeled a slut and a cunt, and forced to bawl her eyes out, and her teeth were really starting to ache, but if she tried to put it in perspective…at least it had all been done now. Even though it was still happening, the act of setting such events in motion was in the past. Maybe she could get a little more used to it…
Sandy had recapped the lipstick again and this time removed all the items left in the large basket. She brought it back to Heather and commanded her, “Now hold still, my little bunny-whore…”
Heather obeyed her, submissively looking at the floor. The words still stung her feelings and made her weep, but at least the sting was starting to dull. Sandra unlocked her left hand from its cuff. Heather raised her eyebrows and looked at her.
“Nope,” Sandy said. “Don’t get used to it.” She slipped the basket around her free arm and recuffed her. “Now get on your knees.” Heather again expressionlessly did as she said. Sandra scooted her ass up and forward a bit, getting another good look at those lovely soles. “Oh, look at your little pink bunny paws,” Heather heard her say. She stroked one of them.
“Y’ticklish?” she heard from behind her. Her body jiggled at the sensation and her teeth sank further into the carrot as her facial muscles were forced into a smile. She felt the other one stroked, and again twitched and giggled through the carrot.
“Awww, how adorable…sweet little bunny’s ticklish on her paws,” Sandra told the crowd. “Isn’t that cute?”
Heather made a point of taking an especially deep breath in through her nose, having a feeling she was going to be needing it. She started exhaling just in time to hear Sandy say, in a low, scary voice, “Sweet little bunny’s gonna love this then.”
Uh-oh, she thought, turning afraid again. Maybe the worst wasn’t over. The next contact she felt was unfamiliar. Something was being attached…to the bottoms of her feet, it felt like. What was going on now?
After another moment, Sandra pulled back up once more, concealing the two objects now in her other hand. “Okay, bunny, one more thing, what is it…oh yes!” She dangled one of the two objects, a long, narrow, opaque scarf, just in front of Heather’s eyes and nose. “What do you think, ladies and gents?” Sandra asked. “Blindfold her?”
The audience threw out a huge cheer. Heather panicked.
She looked at Sandy, begging her and shaking her head. “Auh-auh,” she cried. “Hweekh ohhh! Hweekhhweekhhweekh ohhh!”
Sandy clutched her chin, looking back into her sad-puppy eyes. “You heard ’em, bunny. The audience calls the shots here.”
Heather Hoffen had just had a LASIK procedure done to her eyes a couple of years ago, which was a very big relief. Her whole life until then had involved wearing glasses to correct her extreme nearsightedness, which she hated. She didn’t hate the way they looked or being teased about them, but she did hate the total blindness that instantly assaulted her senses when they came off. Being blind had become one of her most mind-crippling fears. She didn’t even like having to close her eyes to go to sleep very much. She was sure she wouldn’t be able to handle this.
Once Sandra tied it over her eyes, she freaked. She started juddering, shaking and whimpering. The basket too jumped and bounced off the side of her body. Sandra took hold of her other, unoccupied arm, and said, “ALL right, bunny, it’s all right, I’ve got you. Come on now. I’m going to guide you down the bunny trail.” She nodded to the audience on Heather’s basket-bearing arm’s side to bring their respective baskets into play. “Because that’s the name of this first little game we’re gonna play; it’s called Bunny Trail! And as you go along, our guests are going to fill up your bunny basket! Doesn’t that sound fun?”
The only thing that sounded fun right now was yanking the infernal blindfold off.
“Well, it will be,” said Sandy with evil glee. “Take my word for it. All right, bunny, straightforward. Time to get hoppin’.”
Not too many noticed the thin, elusive thread of wire that was running from the bottoms of Heather’s feet up inside Sandra’s hand. But they did notice a moment or two later Sandra raise her hand, with the words, “I said, NOW,” and press the button, on the other object in her hand.
“AAAHHHH!” Heather shrieked as the jolt in her soles propelled her involuntarily upwards. She heard the big audience response, but couldn’t focus on it one bit. Prickly agony swelled in her feet, just beneath the arches—the exact spot which was Sandy’s favorite. It felt like they were being poked with a thousand tiny pins. It was a little unclear to Heather what was happening, but anyone else in the room right now could see that there were electrodes on her tender soles, and Sandy had just activated them.
“That’s more like it!” Sandy praised her. “You see? Sometimes you have to goad a wild animal a little to get it to cooperate.” She pressed the button a second time, but just halfway this time, sending only half a jolt of hell through Heather’s hind “paws.”
“EEEEKH!” Heather squeaked, performing another small painful hop in the air.
“Now if you’ll just be a good little bunny-whore, and keep hippity-hopping, I won’t have to do that again,” Sandy said convincingly.
It was enough for Heather to understand. She raised herself a few inches on tippy-toe, bent her knees, leaned her body forward and started hopping. Her breasts started to bobble and bounce in all directions, delighting the audience. Sandra indeed guided her by the arm, and she soon felt small bats and splats lightly pelting her as the audience tried to land the eggs in her basket. Some of them seemed to come harder than others. Some of them started to feel like they were deliberately trying to hit her instead of the basket. Oh my God, she thought, ARE they really trying to hit me instead of the basket?
It was hard for her to believe otherwise, especially after the audience’s aim went farther and farther off. The first eggs just whapped her in the left arm, left side and left hip, but then the targets expanded to include her stomach, her shoulder, her boob, her leg, her thigh, her foot, her ass cheek, even as far up as the side of her face. Someone popped her one right on the cheek and temple, just narrowly missing her (human) ear. Besides which, one would speculate that to land the eggs in their destination, the audience would lightly toss them under-handed. Some of these really didn’t feel like gentle lobs. Some of them were really starting to sting. Laughter from the crowd generated, and then intensified.
Sandra noticed when she got nailed in the cheek. “Oh!…Talk about having egg on your face!” she laughed.
The game was also torturing her psychologically as well as physically, having to pause momentarily just to take quick, necessary breaths through her nose, having to just hope the pauses would be short enough to avoid the pedal electrocution. Eventually, they reached the far side of the room where the center audience sat, and Sandra spun her around to guide her back. And the audience continued literally egging her on. Heather had been wrong. The worst, she could (figuratively) see, was from far over. This was too humiliating for words. Heather couldn’t remember when anyone had ever thrown such derision and ridicule upon her before. The trip back was made even worse by the trail of cracked eggs left there in the first half of the game. Heather actually broke and cracked a lot of the eggs when her feet came down on them, which also provoked small pings of pain. She did a certain amount of wincing and cringing on the way back.
The Bunny Trail felt endless. She was almost the rest of the way back when the worst part happened. Just when she was beginning to think this couldn’t be any worse, she made one of the last hops, and she landed on a half-broken egg in just such a way that when her feet squashed it and cracked it open, she slipped on it. She lost her balance, the egg’s contents squirted out from under her, and then so did her feet. She slid out of Sandy’s grip, let out a yelp and plummeted to the floor, on her hands, which were behind her back. The crowd gave her a low “ohhhhh,” feeling her pain on that one. Miraculously, just the way she fell, the basket landed right-side up, and none of the eggs inside tumbled out.
“Oh, no!” exclaimed Sandy to the empathetic audience. “Our bunny’s had a slip!”
Thank goodness the rug was soft. They got her back on her paws. When she finally got back to the other side of the room where she started, Sandra let go of her arm and gave her an enthusiastic “Yay!” leading the audience in applause for her. Heather bent down on her knees to catch her breath and give her feet a break. Sandra took her sticky arm, uncuffed her sticky hand, removed the sticky basket and recuffed her.
“Now let’s see,” said Sandy as Heather tried to circulate oxygen. “You got…” She counted them. “…one, two, three, four, five, six, seven, eight, nine…ten eggs!” Some of them were in pieces, but the contents added up to the equivalent of ten whole eggs. The audience cheered and applauded again.
“Well, ladies and gentlemen, I’d say that deserves a reward, wouldn’t you?” Sandra proclaimed. She lifted Heather’s chin up to see her tearful eyes and her red cheeks pleading for mercy.
“Open wide,” said Sandy. Heather stretched her mouth open as wide as it would go, and Sandy plucked out the carrot.
“Oh!” heaved Heather in relief, throwing her breath out.
Sandra patted her on the shoulder. “Breathe…breathe…” she advised, fake-nurturingly. “Just take a little rest. We’re gonna let you relax a few minutes.”
“Oh…th-…tha-…ank…you…” Heather puffed out between wheezes.
They gave the audience a short intermission. Lou came out from behind the camera and starting getting the eggshells swept up. They would of course thoroughly vacuum and shampoo the rug later, as always.
About eight minutes later, the shoot resumed. “Welcome back, gals and guys!” Sandy called to them. She had taken the electrodes off Heather’s feet, toweled her off, and refilled the basket with a different arrangement of items and brought it back out on stage. “We’ve two more games to play with our bunny here this evening, my friends. The next one…is called Funny Bunny. And for it I’m going to need two volunteers.”
Several audience members let out excited “ooh!”s and raised their hands. “Okay, now we’re not going to reveal who you are to our bunny,” explained Sandy. “We can’t have her being able to expect anything or anybody in particular—that could compromise the fun of the game.” She looked around. “Um…let’s see, how about…” She chose a young lady and a young man, around Heather’s age, give or take. “…you, and…you. Why don’t you two come with me…” The audience gave the volunteers a small ovation as Sandy brought them back over to Heather.
“Okay, bunny, why don’t you go ahead and lay down, on your back,” instructed Sandy, taking her arms and helping her down to the floor. “Something tells me that might be a refreshing change for you.”
Even though her capabilities of coherent speech were no longer impeded by a jumbo orange vegetable, Heather didn’t say anything. She had no idea how she felt anymore. This experience had taken a turn for the surreal for her. She just sank into the soft, inviting rug, carefully lowering herself, placing her hands flat, palms-down, on the floor, feet pointed to the audience. Once she was down, Sandy instructed, “Okay, you two, go ahead and sit on either side of our bunny, I’ll be down here.” The volunteers sat where she asked. Sandy sat in front of Heather’s feet, at an angle so as to not obscure anyone’s view, the three of them forming a triangle around Heather’s body. “All right, bunny,” she said, “This is the reason you’re blindfolded. And the reason we took the carrot out of your mouth. Here’s how we play this one. My two accomplices here and I are going to be tickling you.”
Heather shut her eyes tight under the blindfold. “Oh no-o-o-o…” she moaned.
Sandra laughed. “Don’t worry. We’re not going to torture you.” She smiled and silently winked at the volunteers. “What we’re going to do is simply tickle several areas of your body, with a collection of different tools. We’re each going to be using the same implement each time, for fifteen seconds, and when we finish, you’re going to have to guess what the implement was.”
Heather didn’t say anything for a second. That actually almost sounded like fun, but still seemed more like not fun.
“Got it?” asked Sandra.
Heather nodded slowly and helplessly. Part of her wanted to ask her to repeat the rules, and if she did, ask her to repeat them again, and again and again, just to postpone, but that wouldn’t exactly get her out of this. One of the volunteers stroked a finger along her ribcage, making her snicker and wriggle.
“Hey. No jumping the gun,” smiled Sandy. “Are you ready for the first implement, bunny?”
Heather let out a little whine. “Ready as I’ll ever be…”
“Excellent,” said Sandy. “Audience, reaction kept to a minimum during the tickling, please…no revelation of the implements. Thank you very much. And volunteers, please tickle with nothing but the implement currently in play.” They nodded. She put an obligatory finger to her lips and quietly reached into the basket. Heather kept her head still to avoid conspicuity, but she tried to look down to see if she could detect anything under the blindfold. But even if she could, it would be of no use; all she would have seen would be the basket. The first item of three Sandra produced from it was…coincidentally enough, carrots. She gave one to each of them, put the finger back to her lips, then counted silently with her fingers, one, two, three…and off they went on her.
Without any warning or notice to prepare her, Heather broke out in wild laughter. Her head dropped back behind her on the floor. The ever-active audience cheered at her laughter. The two volunteers almost started raucously laughing too, but held their laughter inside. Sandy was taking care of Heather’s feet—finally getting to find out just how truly ticklish her lovely tootsies were, holding on to the cuffs to keep her from going anywhere—and the volunteers were covering every inch they could of her upper body, about to break out into their own hysterics. And not without reason; no one could look at the smiles on Sandy’s and their faces and not smile themselves.
Sandra watched Lou for the cue. After the fifteen seconds, he signaled her. “And…stop!” said Sandy. Once the tickling was over, Heather took an enormous breath and threw her heaving breasts into the air and back down, prompting a few excited whoops from the crowd. All the action and contact was actually beginning to stiffen her nipples just a bit. When she settled back down and exhaled, her cotton tail detached from her bottom.
“Oh, you rascaly rabbit!” Sandy said, tsk’ing her with a finger. “You laughed your ass off!”
Heather blushed in embarrassment as the audience took another moment to laugh themselves. “Okay, Heather, our little slut-bunny,” teased Sandy, “What do you think those were?”
Heather was so worn out she could barely think. “Uhhhhhhhhh…” she groaned, “…no fucking idea.”
“Why, those were carrots!” exclaimed Sandy, prompting another laugh from the audience. “You sad little bunny, you don’t even know a carrot when you feel it! Shame on you!” she playfully chided her, giving her a light smack on the leg.
Yet another laugh. Embarrassing, yes, but no more embarrassing than a lot of what had happened so far this eventful evening. “Okay, no points so far!” announced Sandra. “Next tickle tool!”
The next thing she gave them was a couple of ballpoint pens, already clicked out. Those of course gave them the opportunity to give Heather some more little not-quite-tattoos, doodling little words and pictures on her. When they finished with the pens, Sandy asked her, “All right, bunny, what were those?”
“Ehhh…” Heather was still finishing laughing. “They…they felt like pens.”
“That’s correct!” shouted Sandy. A big wave of applause followed. “That’s one point!” she added.
After the pens logically followed small pencils, just sharp enough to emphatically tickle but just dull enough not to injure her. She guessed them correctly as well, but unfortunately for her, those were almost all the correct guesses she ended up with. In due course they worked their way through four-tined forks, goose feathers, letter openers, hairbrushes, toothbrushes, and full-size feather dusters. Some carried more severity than others, but all of them made Heather adorably surrender under uncontrollable laughter. Finally, not least but last, they went to town on her just with their fingers, which she was definitely able to guess.
“Yay! And that’s Funny Bunny! Let’s have a hand for our volunteers!” said Sandra, again to tremendous applause when they were done the second time. The audience once again settled down. “Okay, my bunny, you got three correct out of ten in Funny Bunny. Now, here’s the deal: we set aside the rest of the time for you this evening to finish game three, in the event you got all ten right in Funny Bunny. You got three, so we’re going to give you eighteen minutes. You get it? It’s six minutes per correct answer. Just be glad you got some correct at all. If you hadn’t gotten any of them, you don’t want to know what we would have had to do to you,” she said with a lovely smile and a chuckle that made Heather very nervous. “Oh yes, and you also got ten eggs in Bunny Trail, so that’s eighteen plus ten, so we’re going to give you 28 minutes total for the third game.
“Are you ready to find out what it is?” she asked Heather saucily after a moment.
The audience was silent.
Getting more anxious, Heather made herself say, “I…I guess so.”
“All right, little rabbit friend…Easter Bunny game number three…” She paused for dramatic effect. “…is called…Fatal Attraction.”
The audience’s reaction was as chilling as Sandra’s voice. They let loose a chorus of whistles, “uh-oh”s and “OH NO”s.
Heather squeaked like a mouse. She started quivering and trembling on the floor.
“Okay, now, the first thing you need to know is that we’re most certainly NOT going to kill you,” Sandra smiled. “Nor are we going to throw you in a cauldron of boiling water. Would you like to know what our Fatal Attraction entails?”
Heather emitted a high-pitched moaning sound.
“Well, I’ll tell you.” Sandy stretched out cat-like and lowered herself to her side next to Heather, propping her head up on her elbow. “In Fatal Attraction, my dear…” She was saying the game’s name several times, for the sole purpose of instilling fright in her. “…First of all, my loving husband Lou is going to join me on stage and we will all be playing it together.” She turned back to Lou. “Hon?”
Lou handed her a very specific device, which she held up for the crowd to see.
Sandra started to ask, “How many people know what we’ve got here?” but she didn’t get past the word “know.” As soon as she asked the first half of the question and showed it to them, the audience blew up in a big cheer.
“We-ell!” a pleased Sandy called back to Lou. “Apparently they all do!” Laughter accompanied the cheers. “Guess that just leaves our little virgin bunny then,” she said, leaning down to leer into her face. “Let me ask you something, Bugs…” she said.
The audience chuckled. Heather realized Sandy meant her.
“If I say the name…Hitachi…does that mean anything to you?”
Heather’s eyes shifted back and forth under the blindfold. Wasn’t that a grill or something? she thought. “Ummm…” she stammered, stalling for a bit of time, “…it…uh…sounds Japanese?…”
“That’s right, very good!” Sandy congratulated her. “And now if I say the words ‘magic wand,’ does that tell you anything?”
Oh. Maybe it wasn’t a grill. “Uhhh…” Her mind conjured something whimsical up. “…you’re going to pull me out of a hat?”
This time everybody, the audience, Sandy and Lou, all laughed.
“Oh, you are a package!” Sandy giggled. “How can you not love this girl?” she asked the audience. “She is such a card!”
That gave Heather her next guess. “…you’re going to do a card trick?”
“Silly rabbit,” she scolded her. “Tricks are for kids.” The audience laughed again. It was turning into a bit of a comedy show. “Okay, no, but seriously,” Sandy continued, “I could tell you what this Hitachi magic wand is, but instead, I think it would be more fun to show you first, and then tell.”
Heather didn’t have anything left to say or do now. Sandra went on, “Lou, come join us. Ladies and gentlemen, my lovely husband, Louis Burton!”
The crowd applauded yet once more. Sandy handed him the magic wand, sat up, grabbed the basket, dragged it back over near Heather and said, “A’right, bunny, now allow me to explain about Fatal Attraction.”
Heather gulped. That name just frightened her. Heaven only knew why…
“It’s time to give our audience their money’s worth,” she heard Sandy say. Then she felt something in between her knees which seemed to be pushing her thighs apart. Then she heard her say, “Lou, show her.”
Her feet still together but the rest of her legs spread a little from each other, Lou flipped on the magic wand and touched it to her. And predictably, Heather starting going crazy. Her nipples were already semi-erect from the tickling, and now with the juice starting to flow to her pussy, her fearful hesitation and reluctance to this point had transformed into fearful arousal. She realized that, amazing as it seemed, she was being sexually turned on against her will. She relinquished her resistance and willpower, gave in, and moaned in distressed passion. She’d thought up till now they only wanted to humble and humiliate her, but now, suddenly she realized the other reason she was naked. And cuffed. But after just another second, he turned the wand off again.
“Now, those of you whose view may be blocked may wish to come have a closer look,” Sandy encouraged them. The audience got up from their seats and came closer to kneel, sit and lie nearer Heather.
“Listen up, bunny…Fatal Attraction is going to test your powers of concentration,” Sandra explained to her. “Now before we go any further, I have a question for our lovely guests this evening…who here feels like they could use a bit of luck?”
A bit of tittering followed, a few audience members raising their hands.
“Okay, how about the two of you…” said Sandra, pointing to a different young man and young lady raising their hands sitting down by Heather’s legs. “…since you want a little luck, you can rub the rabbit’s feet.”
Heather curled her toes and scrunched up her feet.
Sandra went on. “Because just by tic—oh, see?” she said, pointing to her scrunching feet. “Just by tickling her, I’m pretty positive this bunny has VERY sensitive little paws.” She turned back to Heather. “Don’t you?” she asked, running her index finger hard up the bottom of her foot. Heather laughed wildly.
“Huh? Don’t you? Huh?” Sandra continued teasing her, alternatingly raking both her soles with her finger, driving Heather crazy. She made her guffaw just a few seconds later, then finally went on. “Okay, now for the rest of the explanation. Heather, you’ve got 28 minutes…to come…to a nice little bunny-gasm.”
She paused. Heather didn’t say anything for the moment, so she went on. “Now Lou, and our two volunteers, are going to help you. These two helpers of ours are going to rub your paws, and Lou’s going to put the wand on you. What I’m going to go is distract you. How, you’ll find out when we get started. We’re also going to need a timekeeper. Would anyone like to volunteer to keep track of the time for us?”
Some more hands were raised. “Hmm…how about…you, sir,” said Sandy to another fellow, who was wearing a digital watch. “Okay, good. Now listen up, bunny, ’cause here’re the twists of the game. Lou’s gonna have the wand, like I said, on your little bunny-pussy, but…it’s going to be repeatedly turned on and off at random.”
Heather swallowed, not liking the sound of that.
“You two, just go ahead and regularly massage her paws,” she told the foot-rubbers. “We could mediate that too if we wanted to give her a little extra challenge, but it’s her debut with us, she’s our virgin, so we’re gonna go a little easy with her. Not extremely easy…” said Sandra, putting a finger to her lips as she reached into the basket one more time, “…but a little…”
Holding the finger to her lips, she took out the gnawed carrot, the same one that spent all the time in Heather’s mouth, put it down, tapped the finger on her lips for emphasis, reached in the basket again and retrieved the very last item. It was a Violet Wand in the shape of a candle. The audience provided some intense facial reactions, but honored her request and kept silent. “Last rule, bunny: our 28-minute round of Fatal Attraction will bring our presentation this evening to a close. In the event you do not manage to reach your orgasm in 28 minutes, I’m afraid that not only will you not be allowed to come at all…but, your $1400 for the shoot will be donated to the audience to divide up however they see fit.”
The crowd cheered loudly one more time, but not loudly enough to drown out Heather screeching, “WHAT?!”
“Ah—!” Sandra put her finger now to Heather’s lips. “The bunny is not allowed to speak during this game. Moans, giggles and screams are permitted. Words are not.”
Heather began uttering, “But-but-but-…” Sandra cut her off. “Is everybody ready??” she called out. The crowd affirmatively began cheering and clapping. Sandra pointed to the gentleman with the watch. “Timekeeper, please count down ten seconds to the top of the next minute and note the time for us.”
“Okay…” he said. “You want me to give you a countdown when it’s over, or…?”
“No, that won’t be necessary,” she said. “Just say, ‘Time up!'”
They waited another fifteen or twenty seconds, then he counted, “Ten, nine, eight, seven, six, five, four, three, two, one…zero!”
Lou activated the Hitachi and started massaging her with it, and the lucky volunteers starting rubbing her feet. Heather dropped her head again and started moaning and squirming. Sandra gave her the first two minutes free, then leaned down towards her with the carrot. “Open wide,” she said in a playful, sing-songy voice.
Heather thoughtlessly obeyed her, but also wondering open wide why exactly. Once she opened her mouth just a bit wider, Sandy jammed the carrot down into it again. Heather reacted with a start and began to shout muffled protests, but that was why Sandy had the Violet Wand in her other hand. Lying on Heather’s right side, she let the tip of the Wand rest on her right nipple. It lit up with an orange flame-like electric surge and made a bzzzt! sound.
Heather screamed through the carrot. She tried to spit it out, but it had been lodged too deep. She tried to shout at Sandra, but that too was to no avail. Holy shit! So THAT was what Mrs. Sandy meant by saying she was going to “distract” me? she thought incredulously. Did she say “distract” or “destroy”?? Goddamn it, that HURT! She wanted to bend her head down to soothe her nipple with her mouth, but she couldn’t reach. Besides, the massaging her pussy and feet were receiving was already taking her mind back off the pain.
Another couple of minutes passed, and soon Heather couldn’t even remember having her delicate titty electrocuted. Around minute four, she still felt the tender loving rub on her paws, but the Hitachi wand switched off.
What the—? She was starting to enjoy that! She raised her head. “Mmmmph?!” she said.
The audience responded with delight. Lou and Sandy chuckled. “Ah, ah, ah, we warned you, bunny,” Sandy reprimanded her patronizingly, tickling her under the chin. Heather let her head drop back down on the floor with a whimper. But after another short while, the wand turned on again and slowly, degree by degree, she started to become turned on again.
And then at minute five, she felt the other Wand again. The scary one. The painful one. On her black-painted bunny nose.
“Errrrggghh!” she squealed, turning her face away, feeling more tears being brought on, from the physical agony this time.
Oh, this was not fun at all. Nor was it funny, to her, yet the audience was of course enjoying it a great deal. She’d just start to get used to the massage, and enjoy it again, for three seconds, then bzzzt! Pain! On her side, her cheek, her tummy, her arm, her (indigenous) ear…around minute eight, the intervals of the Hitachi started to become shorter as well. It clicked on and off every what seemed like thirty seconds or so. It was beginning to drive Heather utterly insane. She was starting to writhe on the floor.
Around minute ten, Sandra pulled the carrot from her mouth, but then she shoved it back in again. She started to lift her head, but Sandra pushed it back down ramming the carrot into her throat. And ramming. And ramming.
“SUCK your carrot, slut-bunny!” she ordered demandingly. “Suck it like the wretched fucking little whore you are!”
Oh my good God! her mind exclaimed. Sandra was ramming the carrot down into her mouth, again and again, almost triggering her gag reflex. She remembered when it was lodged into her mouth the other way, and tried to concentrate on breathing through her nose. But trying to get a good breath started right now was anything but easy.
Minute twelve. The audience was cheering her on. The vibrator was still going on and off and making her crazy. Sandy pulled the carrot fully from her mouth and whapped her in the face with it. Her own saliva smacked her cheek.
“Aaaaooow…” Heather whined, starting to say “ouch” before she remembered she wasn’t allowed to talk.
“You worthless little cunt-rabbit!” Sandra reproached her. “You call yourself a bunny. Pathetic! You can’t even suck a carrot! No wonder you lost your boyfriend! Just a filthy little brat! You’re just begging to be dick-slapped! You want me to fuck you with this instead??”
One half of Heather’s mind was thinking, Hey, lady, you’re really hurting my feelings! Her parents may have yelled at her a lot, but at least they never hit her, or called her a cunt or a whore. The other half, however, in response to the inquisitive end of this little rant, was thinking, ACTually… The idea of sticking anything up her vagina—especially food—that had been in her mouth and throat did seem unpleasant, but right about now, her time was almost halfway up, and if it would stay down there, penetrating her at a good, steady, regular rate, and not switching on and off like this Hitachi wand from hell, it could be a carrot, a penis, a remote control or a bar of soap and she’d be game. The verbal abuse was merely an act, purely for entertainment purposes, but Heather didn’t know that. The cruel words were starting to make her feel degraded and down on herself. This was that same sweet woman she met at her office?
Minute fifteen. The halfway mark had been passed. She was squirming and wriggling, praying the Hitachi would stay on—and stay on her—then she had a terrifying thought. What if whatever that source of agony was, was applied to her pussy? Her entire body tensed and shivered just thinking about it. She just had to pray that didn’t happen. So far, the Hitachi had stayed right there on her clit and not moved (although it had started and stopped pleasuring her about a dozen excruciating times), but would it continue to stay there for the rest of this “game”? At least she had the continuous and constant comfort of the paw-rubbing. She really wasn’t giving these two who were massaging her feet enough credit. They were good at what they were doing.
Minute eighteen, and Hitachi on or off, Heather was in fact really starting to get turned on. Her head was rolling around, her hands were flexing into fists, her back was arching, her toes were curling and flexing, and her heartbeat rate was increasing. A few more random times, the Hitachi would cut off, and/or Sandra would shock her somewhere with the Violet Wand—it didn’t matter so much exactly where—but even the Violet Wand’s surging lightning was somehow beginning to light her up. She couldn’t explain it; it made no sense or logic. The electrocution hurt like hell, and yet…was jolting her juices into motion.
Minute twenty. The audience were on the edge of their (figurative) seats. Many of them were starting to get pretty turned on as well. Had Sandy or Lou or the two rubbing Heather’s feet looked up or around them, they would have seen a number of audience members rubbing and fondling themselves to the display. Some were mostly turned on by the nudity, some by the bondage, some by Heather’s whole submission, some by the clit-vibrating, some by the electrocution. Heather herself could barely have cared less at the current moment. Actually, she couldn’t even remember the crowd was there.
By minute twenty-two, she was starting to mentally plead for any sort of physical contact on her genitalia that would take place. Suddenly losing the feel of either wand was now making her angry. Sandy was striking her with more contemptuous words of disgrace and indignity, but she wasn’t hearing them or caring very much anymore. Sandy put the carrot in her mouth, and before it got too far down, she did bite right through it.
“Well, well, well!” a surprised Sandra told the crowd. “Seems our bunny’s starting to get pretty hungry!”
“Hungry” would about cover it at this point, yes. At minute twenty-four, Heather was flopping about the rug like a fish out of water, giving her lungs quite a workout with her moaning, and emitting a highly displeased growling sound when she lost the good vibes. She could tell what made this game so challenging. But she was getting determined. She knew she couldn’t have had too much time left, but she had made up her mind. She wasn’t going home without her orgasm (not to mention her pay).
Things went on this way until finally, they reached minute twenty-seven. The carrot was sitting pitifully on the rug, having been reduced to being half-eaten and covered in teeth marks. Heather Annie Hoffen’s vagina was red, soaked, and throbbing, and she had a forehead to match. The small region of the rug around her head was dampening with sweat. Had her hands been anywhere else, they would be flailing helplessly or pounding the floor in fists. The volunteers were having trouble holding on to her feet, as she was spastically pounding her heels into the floor. The audience were so fired up they would soon just about fly into an orgy. Most of the men were realizing that they should have worn looser trousers, and most of the women were realizing that they could see that the men should have worn looser trousers, but that only turned the women on more.
Less than thirty seconds to go. Heather only wished she had a built-in stopwatch in her head so she could know exactly what the time was. But she was well on her way. She was more than determined. No clock was going to beat her. She’d been lifting her ass to rub her clit harder against the Hitachi for several minutes. She was trying to be subtle about it at first, thinking they would deem this cheating and penalize her for it, but now was no longer the time for subtlety. Now was the time to focus. Concentrate! Concentrate…
The Hitachi had been steadily on and sending her on a thrill ride for several consecutive minutes now. Sandra was giving her more and more little Violet shocks, at which she reacted with a pleasure-packed scream and a mental, FUCK! YES! The audience was feeling the electrifying vibe emanating over into them. The timekeeper looked down at his watch.
Ten seconds left.
Disappointed, he kept his eye on the watch to count down to himself the rest of the way.
Heather had eliminated all other thoughts from her mind. She was going to do it. She was going to win. This game was hers, she knew it. There couldn’t have been much time left at all, but all she had to do was hit the ‘o,’ and victory was hers. Nothing could stop her now. Just as long as that cursed wand doesn’t shut off on me… she thought. Just focus…oh, good fucking God…just focus on your pussy…stay focused on her… She gasped as it at last came within sight. Oh, yes, she thought, feeling every sumptuous moment building her mountain of triumph, OHGODYES…here it comes! HERE it COMES! I’m gonna win! Just a little more time! Just a LITTLE more TIME! Just a…juuuuuuuust…a little morrrrre…
“Time up!” said the timekeeper, to the dismay of the audience, who let out an “awww!” The wands were taken away.
Heather gasped, audibly this time. “NOOOOO!!” she shrieked tearfully. She was so close she could taste it. Two more seconds, and she would have had it! It was gone. She was denied. “NOOO…” she groaned miserably. She lifted her legs and stamped her feet down on the floor repetitively. “NO…” she croaked one more time, dropping her head on the floor with a snivel, wanting to cry like an infant. “Oh, why…” she sobbed.
She had been broken. Broken like the bad little bunny she was.
The audience felt almost just as bad for her. They along with Heather had completely forgotten about the money. It no longer held a hint of significance to anyone. But they also felt lousy for themselves. Their party was over now, and they’d have to go home…but oh well, who said they had to go straight home? Now that they thought about it, there was no reason to. It seemed like an ideal venue to meet a potential playmate and go off somewhere to let things happen…
But poor Heather would have no playmates tonight. She felt like everything good had been washed out of her life. She tried to get some of her thoughts back that she had kicked out in the throes of her passion, but what was the use…she was miserable right now, and she would just have to ride the misery out.
“Aw, poor bunny,” commented Sandy, patting and rubbing her belly. “Looks like you don’t laid or paid. No money, bunny.”
Heather remembered, and started weeping all over again. Talk about adding insult to injury! she thought. Now on top of all this degradation, pain and suffering, it turned out that it had all been for nothing?
Fuck me-e-e-eeeee… her mind whined.
Some days it (literally) didn’t pay to get out of bed.
Easter Monday, April 4th, 1:23 a.m.
After a less-than-ceremonious goodbye to their bunny, all of the Burtons’ guests had departed, and they shut the door and returned to the basement.
Heather had stopped crying, but was still grouchy and in a foul mood, and who could blame her. Most of the audience members had given her a small goodbye as they headed off, be it a small kiss, a caress, a little nice word, a condolence…Heather hadn’t said anything in return. She knew it wasn’t very friendly, but she just wanted them to go.
When they came back downstairs and into the studio, Heather was still lying naked and motionless with the bunny ears on her head and a grumpy frown on her face. Sandy smiled kindly down at her, then dropped the check she’d just written for her on top of her blindfold.
“What’s that?” Heather asked in a monotone voice.
“Why, it’s your $1400, of course.”
Heather turned in their direction. “But…I thought you said you were giving it to…y’know, them.”
“Yeah, but we didn’t mean it,” said Lou.
“That’s right,” said Sandy. “And certainly you know I didn’t really mean any of those nasty things I said to you during the shoot. We just do and say those things because it’s kinky and it spices things up for the crowd. Welcome to show biz, kiddo.”
Heather cheered up a little. “So…I do get paid?”
“Of course!” smiled Lou.
“Sure!” said Sandra. “And we know it’s late, but…still want that orgasm?”
Heather pushed herself up on her hands a little, surprise spreading over her face. “You mean it?”
“Hey, it’s the least we can do,” Lou replied.
Heather’s heartbeat started to pick back up, as the corners of her mouth curved upwards again. Astonishing; so she WAS going to get to come after all! Having the orgasm yanked away from her like a rattle from a newborn baby was a horrible feeling, but if now they were willing to give it back to her, she held no ill will against them for that.
“But this time, no audience, no torture, no carrots, no beat the clock,” said Sandy. “Now why don’t we get you out of those cuffs…”
She leaned down to unshackle her, but something in Heather’s mind wanted to interrupt her. Heather smirked and asked, in reference to the cuffs, “Uh…do we…have to?”
Lou and Sandy looked at each other in surprise, then back at Heather. She was smiling up in their direction. Somehow, the whole experience had awakened and illuminated a side of Heather that not even she knew existed. Now having survived through this humbling ordeal, having absorbed all the pain and the torment inflicted upon her, she finally felt as though a suitable punishment for all the pain and torment she herself had caused those few months before had been administered. Things were even now, and she finally felt justifiably able to forgive herself for everything. It may not have made things right with her ex-boyfriend—he might’ve called her a whore too once he’d found out what happened, but he didn’t really mean it. He was angry, and he had a perfect right to be upset, but he didn’t really mean it. He was a good man, he deserved to be happy, she thought, and if this other girl made him happy, then that was what Heather wanted. That was it, she realized. That was all she wanted: for her ex-boyfriend to just be happy. With her or without her. She even found herself wanting the other woman to be happy. And the next time she found someone who really liked her and made her happy, she wouldn’t let him go.
Furthermore, once Sandy told her she didn’t mean any of the hurtful things she said or the names she called her, she thought, Well, maybe my parents didn’t mean to yell at me or make me feel bad when I was little, either. They might have yelled, she considered, but it didn’t mean they didn’t care. Maybe they just wanted her to learn from her mistakes and grow…into a better person. Again, that was it! A better person…I’m a better person! I can be a good woman now!! The thought made her so ecstatic she tingled. She felt a sudden desire to give them a call, or better still, to go visit them, give them a hug and tell them she loved them.
Last but not least…putting everything else off to the side, she couldn’t deny it, she knew without question how it felt to be attractive to someone else—actually, apparently, to a lot of someone elses—to be wanted, to be attended to, and to be truly, sexually, lit on fire. The other man—the one with whom she’d messed around on her boyfriend and actually lost her virginity—of course didn’t love her, he just wanted to sleep with her, and could not make her feel the way she’d felt tonight. Though she wasn’t a virgin, she still didn’t know the feeling of true, intimate passion…until tonight. She never could have guessed these kinky little nuances dwelled inside her, ignored and undiscovered for so long, until their collective effect was released through her body like a massive hormone, setting her ablaze with such heat from these two BDSMperors. Several parts of the evening she could have done without, yes, but on the whole, this was a deeply reviving night for her declining libido.
She was staring up at the two of them with a hopeful smile, drumming her fingers on the floor under her back, wiggling her feet back and forth, just as Sandra had noticed her doing when she’d spotted her a week and a half ago.
“Oh?…Starting to like the cuffs, are ya?” asked Lou.
“Do you want to keep the blindfold on too?” asked Sandy.
“And the bunny ears?”
“And…do you want us to torture you?”
Heather’s smile grew, ear-to-ear, and she slowly nodded more emphatically. More than anything, she thought. She heard them retrieving the toys once more, grinned giddily, obediently lowered herself back down on the floor and settled in to enjoy it.
But, if you can hear what I’m thinking, I’ve still never gotten to feel that perfect release, so this time…Mrs. Sandra, Mr. Lou…when you tell me I can come…PLEASE mean it.
Written by Smokey (, ).
Tags: casting/audition, ENF, forced exhibitionism, forced masturbation, forced nudity, forcibly stripped, humiliation, only one naked, paid to get naked, shy amateur models, stories, talked into stripping, tickling