Bunny Girls, new and improved

Posted by C on October 26, 2003 at 09:22:31:

OK, here is greatly polished version of the draft posted below--with a new postscript added. i would very much appeciate any and all input.

By C

Part I

Like other vulpiform bipeds, Sly Foxx was a handsome fellow, with his bright red fur, his big pointed ears, and his toothy grin. His hands and feet were black-furred, and looked just like pretty boots and mittens. Though he was tall for his kind (almost five feet), he kept the solid build normal to human-fox hybrids. Like other vulpiforms as well, he was a gifted hunter. His teeth were sharp syringes, dripping with an incapacitating venom. The claws that tipped his fingers could hold tight even the most desperately struggling prey. His legs made him as fast as a human sprinter, but with more staying power. Something else, however, set him apart from all the other foxy hunters: a weapon below his waist that long ago had won the nickname “Lady Killer.” The Lady Killer was immune to all fairy poisons, and no fay whom it penetrated ever got up again. It was the Lady Killer that took Sly to the verge of greatness. He had used it, after all, to bring to justice the Lavender Bikini Gang. Sixty of the most ruthless bikini girls alive had done everything in their power to kill him; but now sixty lavender bikini bottoms graced his trophy room.

That had been an exhausting assignment. Sly needed something easy now. And “easy” seemed the perfect word for the McGillicuddy proposal.

McGillicuddy’s Farm, the biggest agricultural concern in the state, was under new management. Old Mrs. McGillicuddy, who’d always been a soft touch, had finally gone to her reward. Her son, Hiram McGillicuddy III, was a different customer altogether: ruthlessly bottom line.

Hiram spelled it out for Sly, when the two met in his posh New Gotham office. He was an intense, bullet-headed little man with an aggressive handshake. “Damned glad to meet you,” he told the hunter as he pumped his paw. Then he sat Sly down in a comfortable chair facing his mammoth, marble-topped desk. Once he’d seated himself, he got right to business. “Our production is maybe fifteen per cent of what it could be. Fifteen per cent! Can you believe it?” Sly just sat up a little in his chair and nodded politely.

“Would you like to know why?”

“Of course.”

“Because my dear, sainted mother didn’t have the backbone to do what needed doing! Well, Mr. Foxx, I do. I do, and that’s why I called you. I hear you’re just about tops in your field.”

“Well, I certainly give it my best effort,” said Sly with a happy smirk.

“I don’t doubt it,” said Hiram. “Now let me show you what I’m dealing with here.” He pushed a button on the desk, and an image immediately appeared on the far wall. It was of an exceptionally pretty brunette, dressed in a pink, long-sleeved blouse, black high heels, and nothing else. She had her rear to the camera and was looking back over her shoulder with an expression of studied insolence on her face. Because the shot was from behind, it was impossible to miss her fluffy white cottontail, jutting up smartly above what would have been her panty-line, if she’d ever worn panties. The whiskers on either side of her nose were plainly visible as well--as were her ears, white like her tail and much longer than human ears should be.

“Ah, a bunny girl infestation,” said Sly, and he smiled a big, toothsome smile. “I’m definitely the fox for the job.”

“Well,” said Hiram, “there’s a little more to the story than that. What you’re seeing is one of the saucy misses right after she entered our Garden, about ten years ago.

Hiram pressed the same button, and a new picture appeared. It was the same girl, as pert and pretty as before, but at least a hundred pounds heavier. Her posture was the same, her tail as jaunty as ever; but she was now vastly more—succulent.

“Oh dear,” said Sly, feeling himself stiffen below the waist. “Oh dear.”

“Yup,” said Hiram. “After years of helping themselves to our Garden, and years of my mother letting them have everything their own way—that’s how they all look now! ‘Oh no, Hiram!’ she said. ‘Laying traps would be cruel! Letting in predators would be cruel!’ Well, you know what, Mr. Foxx? I am cruel—at least, more cruel than my brainless ditz of a mom! I want a full yield from my property, and I want these fuzzy-tailed bitches to snuff it! Can you help me?”

“Well, of course I can,” said Sly. “But to be honest with you, Sir, I’m a little puzzled. A bunny girl problem wouldn’t seem to require—how should I put it?—heavy hitting. And with these girls as plump and out of shape as you say they are . . .. ”

“It should be a breeze, shouldn’t it?” said Hiram.

“Well, yes.”

“And I’m insulting you by even asking you to take on this job, right?”

“Well no, not that, but . . ..”

“Mr. Fox, it’s like this: I’ve sent out the usual pest control people--competent of course, but nothing more. And, believe it or not, they’ve all failed. Something about these cotton-tailed cunts makes them harder to catch than you might think. Now correct me if I’m wrong, but didn’t you bring down the Lavender Bikini Gang?”

“Yes, I did,” said Sly, straightening up once again.

“Without assistance?”


“At the end of the day, was there a bitch in the bunch who still had her bikini bottom?”

“I stripped them, one and all.”

“Well, I need someone to do the same sort of number on these . . . plundering, thieving, greedy, wicked . . . bunny girls!” (He brought his fist down on the desk for punctuation.) “Are you game?”

“Well, yes,” said Sly. “Though I’d like a briefing on what I’m up against.”

“No problem,” said Hiram.

“And be assured, Mr. McGillicuddy, whatever difficulties they caused the previous folks you sent after them—this’ll be different. I aim to catch them all.”

“Fabulous,” said Hiram. And he got up, strode out from behind his desk, and once again pumped Sly’s paw.

Part II

This was the deal. Sly got a generous advance. Then, a week after his arrival in the Garden, no later than noon, he had to present Hiram McGillicuddy with seven bagged bunnies. If he couldn’t bring down seven in that time, he was out. If, however, he succeeded, he’d receive an amount equal to his advance and another month to make the Garden bunny-free. Then he’d get a final pay-out, twice as big as the first two. It seemed ridiculously simple.

Armed with his trusty knapsack, he came to the Garden early, around sunrise. It was huge: as far as he could see were rows of corn, wheat, alfalfa, potatoes, beans, and God knows what else. He climbed a hill overlooking this vast agricultural expanse and had a closer look. Everywhere he cast his eyes, he saw big, beautiful, boisterous bunny girls! Some were strolling in the rows, others were sunning themselves on the little hillocks that dotted the Garden here and there. Others were, well, pursuing romance—in the rows, on the hillocks, and everywhere else. Laughter and the whimpers and cries of lovemaking were plain to hear.

“An all-female species,” said Sly under his breath. His mouth began to water. “Well, have your fill of fun, girls. It’s almost time to cry.” With these words, he slipped into the Garden.

Staying under cover of a row of corn, he approached the largest hillock. He got as close as he safely could, then peeked out. Seated near the top was a pretty brunette in pink. Sly couldn’t take his eyes off the rosy fullness of her cheeks, the greater fullness of her bosom. Her hands, surprisingly tiny and delicate, rested at her sides; her big, shapely legs were folded demurely in front of her. She wore black high heels. Seeing these, Sly suddenly realized that she was the girl in the picture! Oh, I want you, he thought.

Lounging a little further down the hillock were two other bunnies, as plump and pretty as the brunette: a redhead in bottle-green blouse and heels, and a blonde all in yellow. The trio were chatting amiably; Sly couldn’t follow the conversation, but he learned that the brunette’s name was Mori. The redhead was Mandy, and the blonde was Popkin.

After a while, their palaver came to an end. They now got up and descended the hillock, right toward Sly! He saw their delicate little muffs—brown, red, and blonde—and almost groaned as the Lady Killer stood at attention.

She’s going to be mine, he thought; she’s going to be mine.

When they were all just feet away from him, he judged the time was right and sprung out from behind the corn. The looks of dismay on their faces as he bore down on Mori were as plain as day. He imagined the sweetness of her pussy as his jaws closed on it . . . and then they took off.—Popkin and Mandy in one direction, Mori in the other.

In the briefing, he’d been told of their phenomenal speed, which frustrated every effort to capture them. He had discounted much of this talk as excuse-making by second-rate hunters. Now he saw his error. The magic high heels of a normal bunny girl give her a modest speed, no trouble at all for a vulpiform at the top of his game. But these ladies! Mori’s pumps were a blur as she dashed away. Sly was exerting himself to the utmost, and she still had no trouble staying just ahead of him.

This went on for several seconds. At last, Sly summoned up energy he hardly knew he had. He surged forward, to within inches of Mori’s madly bobbing cottontail. Just a little closer, and he’d snag it for sure. Closer . . . closer . . . . Then he tripped on a root and fell flat on his face. Mori soon disappeared from sight.

Slowly, painfully, Sly got up. He made his way back to the hill from which he had first viewed the Garden. This time, he saw no one. He went back in and prowled from row to row, hillock to hillock. Not a sight, not a scent. No bunny would cry today because of Sly Foxx.

Part III

The next day, Sly chased a perky brunette in blue until he collapsed, gasping in the dirt.

The day after that, he cornered (so he thought) a green-clad blonde in a cul-de-sac. Just before he could seize her, she leapt up, over his head, came down behind him, and was gone. Three days, and not one bagged bunny for all his trouble! If he didn’t have seven under wraps by the end of the week, McGillicuddy would send him packing. What was he going to do?

That night, he slept as best he could. The next morning, he reviewed the ongoing debacle, to try to figure out a plan. Normal bunnies could not have reacted so fast, or attained such speeds, or kept running so long. These ladies were something very special; but he had no idea what made them so, or what their weaknesses might be. After mulling it over some more, only one thought occurred to him: given their swift reactions, next time he would attack from behind. He might then gain the split second or so he needed for a capture.

He went to the top of the hill from which he’d first surveyed the Garden, and which was now his headquarters and sleeping place. Gazing out, he soon saw that the bunnies were up to their usual mischief: strolling, eating, or rutting wherever he looked. Mori was nowhere to be seen, but he soon caught sight of her friend Popkin, the blonde in yellow. Popkin was taking her breakfast in a field of alfalfa., and she was close to a cluster of bushes. Sly reentered the Garden, then slipped into the bushes and slowly and silently worked his way towards his quarry.

It took more than half an hour, but the blonde, intent on stuffing her face, hardly moved at all. Soon Sly was less than a yard away. Just then, Popkin turned her back to the bushes, crouched down on her ample haunches, and raised her fluffy tail. Soon a stream of sweet-scented bunny pee was pattering the ground. Now, said Sly to himself--and pounced.

He made hardly a sound as he leapt toward her, but somehow she knew. Without even a glance back, she darted forward, and the chase was on. It was exasperatingly similar to Sly’s previous encounters: as hard as he ran, the girl stayed just ahead of him. But several seconds in, he did notice something encouraging: this girl was slower by a tiny fraction than Mori. He kept up his pace and leaned forward. Being very careful not to lose his balance, he reached out with his right paw in an effort to seize her by her tail. The paw shot forward, gripped the tail for half a second, then lost it. Popkin responded with a new burst of speed. That turned out to be a mistake, for almost immediately she tripped, much as Sly had when trying to run down Mori. The blonde fell to her knees, and Sly caught her tail again, this time with his teeth. Incredibly, she was on her feet once more and running before he could get a firm hold on her; but, rattled as she was, she couldn’t keep up her previous rate of speed. He caught her tail again with his teeth, and pulled her (squealing in terror this time) onto her bottom.

And, in the blink of an eye, she was up again and running! “Damn!” he said out loud, then remembered to save his energy. His mistake had been to pull her down and then let go. His teeth caught her tail again, and this time he held on tight, until he got his arms around her waist and forced her onto her back. Twisting, kicking, and crying “No! No! No!”, she struggled against him, but whatever magic was aiding her, it didn’t make her any stronger than the average bunny. Holding her in place, he sought out the moist, fragrant softness between her legs. Soon his jaws closed on her pretty little twat (had he ever tasted anything sweeter?). She screamed then--a long, thin filament of hurt and despair. Her legs kicked out again and again—until the poison in his saliva began to tell. The kicking subsided, and at last she fell into a swoon.

He wrestled her up from the ground now and, with some difficulty, slung her, bottom forward, over his right shoulder. Where to take her? During one of his reconnoiterings, he had noticed a fallow field just a hundred or so feet away. He brought the captured girl to the middle of the field and laid her out on her back. Then he pinned her arms to her sides with some tendrils of faybind from his knapsack. (Faybind is a fay-catching plant that won’t release its prey unless cut with a knife.) He now noticed the girl’s bunny-earrings: pretty little buttons of silver. Knowing that bunnies are incorrigible thieves, he wadded up another length of faybind and tucked it under Popkin’s head, like a pillow. If another bunny bent down to swipe the earrings, this bit of predatory plant had a good chance of catching her. Next he sat down beside his prey and waited for her to return to consciousness.

In the meantime he studied her and was struck by how beautiful she was. Her long, blonde hair shone like a mix of fire and gold in the sun. Her succulent breasts gently rose and sank beneath her blouse. The curves of her ample belly and plump thighs were smooth—so smooth! And her puss, with its crisp little blonde V and delicate slit, was as lovely as any he’d ever seen—even with the puncture marks from his teeth! Just looking at her made him stiffen painfully.

After about half an hour, she groaned, and he knew she was coming to. She looked up at him with eyes wide and full of fear—they were pale, pale green. “Ohhhhh,” she cried, “it hurts! You . . . you got my . . . pussy!” And she kicked a few times to underscore the fact. Her feet, in their yellow high heels, were as shapely as the rest of her.

“I can’t deny it,” said Sly.

Popkin began to sob. “W-wasn’t supposed to h-happen!” she wailed. “We were . . . safe! Old lady . . . was nice to us . . . and the s-secret weapon . . . . Oh! Ouch! Ouch! Ooooo, my pussy really hurts!” Her tears were in full flood now.

Sly got a tissue out of his knapsack and wiped her face. “This secret weapon,” he said. “It’s just the subject I’m interested in. Why don’t you tell me more about it?”

“If I d-do, are you gonna l-let me go?”

“Of course not, silly rabbit.”

“And if I d-don’t, are you gonna . . . torture me?”

“Good Lord,” said Sly. “Certainly not! Do I look like that kind of fox?”

“W-well then,” said Popkin, “it doesn’t sound as if I’ve g-got any reason to tell you anything! F-fuck you, Mr. Fox sir!”

“Hmmm,” he said. “I think you’ve cut right to the quick of it. You’re bright, and brave, as well as plump and pretty. But since you won’t tell me what I want to know, there’s not much point in further conversation.”

“Are you going to . . . going to . . . ?”

“Yes, but not just yet. For now . . . well, faybind is good, but even so, you might still get up and wander off. I’m going to put you to bed for a while.” And with that, he nipped her pussy again, more gently than before. “Ouch!” she cried, and kicked out hard several times. But at last she fell into a deep slumber.

How then to find out more about the “secret weapon”? He’d worry about it tomorrow. Exhausted, he found a hollow under a big, overgrown hedge, and quickly fell asleep.

Part IV

On the fifth day, Sly awoke and stealthily set out to make up for lost time. He hadn’t gotten far when he saw Mori—his heart’s dearest desire—strolling in a field of barley. Her brunette tresses had red highlights, and these coruscated in the sun. Her pink blouse and black heels seemed the perfect ensemble: the pink complimented her rosy skin; the black stood in delightful contrast to the same. The thought of her made him stiffen once again.

Without a sound, he worked his way behind her, and was mere inches away when he pounced. His mouth snapped shut on air. She was off and running, her heels the same blur of motion as before. No question about it: she was faster than Popkin. He got about a foot from her tail, but never any closer. Finally, he stopped and fell gasping to his knees.

It came to him with the force of a revelation: he had lost; the bunny girls had won. He was going to be fired, and his reputation would never recover. He got up and began to trudge dispiritedly back to his hilltop headquarters. Just then, he heard them. As carefully as he could, he peeked into the adjoining row of alfalfa, and there they were, in plain view: two bunnies making love.

Very foolish. With a predator about, they should have retired into one of the many warrens that the bunny girls had no doubt excavated beneath the Garden. But they were impatient, Sly supposed, or maybe they preferred the fresh air. One was a jet-haired East Asian, in turquoise with pink heels. The other was a black girl, all in orange. They were lying on their sides, each with her tongue in the other’s twat. To judge from their thrashing and groaning, they were both about to spurt.

Soon they did. “Mmmph, mmm, mmmph,” they said as each tongue discharged its girl-seed. Nothing else in the world mattered to them now, and it was now that Sly chose to pounce.

It was over very quickly. They cried out bitterly, and struggled for all they were worth: but Sly held them down and bit their breasts, their bottoms, their pussies, until they passed out. Then he somehow contrived to put them over each shoulder and stagger out to the fallow field. He lined them up next to Popkin, who was moaning now in the midst of some dream of capture and climax.

He secured them with faybind and, as he had with Popkin, slipped an extra tendril beneath each girl’s head. When at last they awoke, he tried to learn what he could. “Caught with your pants down ,” he said, “. . . uh, so to speak. What are your names?”

“T-Tomiko,” said the Asian

“C-Coffee,” said the black girl. “W-what are you going to do?”

“You know very well what I’m going to do. I can make it more pleasurable, though. Just tell me . . . .”

“Nope. No way,” said Coffee. “Not telling the secret. Fuck off, Mr. Fox!”

“That’s right!” said Tomiko. “Fuck you!”

Sly had long ago sworn an oath never to resort to torture. He sighed and said: “Very well: beddy-bye for now, and then it’s dinner time.”

“No!” “No!” they cried.

“Yes,” said Sly and nipped them both to sleep.

He had called it a day and was returning to his headquarters, when he heard a loud snapping noise, and then a girl’s high, sharp scream. The faybind! He dashed back to the fallow field. Sure enough, an especially buxom brunette in red blouse and heels had gotten too close. She was twisting and thrashing on the ground with a tight wrap of faybind around her arms and waist. Perhaps she had wanted to steal earrings, or to taste all that lovely pussy nectar. Whatever her motive, she was in the bag now, as surely as the others.

“I . . . I wanted to help!” she wailed.

“Of course you did,” said Sly. “Whom do I have the pleasure of . . . .”

“Winifred. I’m W-Winifred. Please don’t hurt me! Oh God, I really am c-caught!” And she started to cry.

“Why would getting caught surprise a bunny girl?”

“We were safe . . . the old lady . . . .”

“She’s gone now. The Garden’s under new management.”

“And we have . . . protection. Predators can’t catch us . . . can’t make us cry . . . unless they play tricks . . . like this one! Oh God, I can’t believe I got caught! Oh fuck, fuck, fuck!”

“So tell me more about this protection.”

“No way, fur-face! You can try to find out from . . . from Mori! She’s too smart for you; you’ll never catch her!”

“That remains to be seen,” he said. Then he leapt on Winifred and quickly punctured her puss. When she was done with her shrieking and kicking, he lined her up next to the others.

Five days in, and he had four fat, pretty bunnies for his trouble. In other circumstances, he wouldn’t have minded those numbers. But Popkin had tripped, and the others had been careless. His chances of bagging another three by day seven were small to vanishing. And even if he pulled that off, how could he clean out the rest of them thereafter? He had to discover their secret, or concede defeat.

Enough for today. He returned to his hillside headquarters and fell into a profound sleep.

Part V

Day six. Sly got up early, slipped into the Garden, and pondered what he now knew. Foolishly, Winifred had given Mori credit for the secret weapon. It was time to go to the source and see what he could find out. Mori was on her hillock again, with some of the others. He got as close as he safely could and listened in.

Mori sat about halfway down from the top, with three or four other bunnies nearby. Once again, she kept her lovely legs folded daintily in front of her. At the foot of the hill stood the redhead, Mandy. Mandy was clearly upset.

“It’s a crisis, Mori; we’ve got to do something! Have you seen the fallow field?”

“Of course I have.”

“Well . . . ?” Here Mandy’s voice rose about an octave.

“I love Popkin as much as anybody, you know that. But you also know that something like this was bound to happen . . . .”

“No!” cried Mandy and stamped her pretty foot. “No, no, no!”

“Now hush up for a minute and listen!” And Mori’s stern tone was enough, for a while, to silence the other girl. “We knew the nice old lady wasn’t going to live forever. We knew what her son was like. We absolutely knew that when he took over, he’d send hunters after us. And he did. The first ones sucked big-time, so (surprise, surprise) he sent a better one. And in five days he’s had a little bit of success . . . .”

“A little bit? A little bit?”

“Shut up! I never told any of you that the herb gave perfect protection. Now I’ve questioned the witnesses. Two of them say they saw Popkin trip just before . . . just before it happened. Tomiko and Coffee were rutting out in the open again, the day after we warned them not to. And that idiot Winifred went into the fallow field after we told her not to. This hunter has had some very lucky breaks. We need to sit tight, and sooner or later McGillicuddy will send him on his way, just like the others.”

“Or maybe he won’t!” said Mandy. “This one actually . . . gets results. Popkin was one of the fastest of us—almost as fast as you.”

“That’s because Popkin took the herb almost every day. We’ve been over this. You’d all be as fast as me if you just gritted your teeth and ate it every single morning . . . .”

“But it’s . . . awful tasting!”

“Mandy, level with me. How often do you eat it?”

“Oh, uh, once a month . . . or so.”

“I think I understand now. You’re a little fool. You don’t take the necessary steps to protect yourself, and now you want to bother me as if I have some special obligation here. I’ve said it before: the effect of the herb is cumulative. If you start swallowing it daily—this very instant—in a month or so, you may be up to speed. It’s that simple.

“But I may not have a month, Mori! You’ve got to do something!”

“What do you think I can do?”

“You’re smart, Mori. You found the herb. Give me another kind, something that’ll work faster.”

“I haven’t been able to discover another kind. Believe me, I’ve looked.”

“Oh, please, Mori, give me something. I don’t want to be caught! I don’t want to be caught!”

“You could leave the Garden for a while . . . until the fox-man is sent packing.”

“L-leave? With all this wonderful food? And the herb—have you seen it growing anywhere else? I’d be a big fat sitting duck for some other hunter.”

“Then stay, and be especially careful, and get yourself back up to snuff as quickly as you can. Those are your options.”

“You’ve got to know something more! You’ve got to!”

“Well I don’t! Now go away before I . . . .”

“You’ve got to, you bitch! You’ve got to . . . .”

“That’s it!” Mori nodded to the girls beside her. Two stood up and made their way down to Mandy, who began to tremble.

“No, please don’t, Mor!. I’m sorry. I won’t call you names again. I won’t!”

“Just . . . stand . . . still,” said Mori, and her voice was as cold as iron in mid-winter.

The two girls seized Mandy by her arms. Mori descended the hillock then and re-seated herself. The girls forced Mandy to lie, face down, over Mori’s knees. Next, putting plenty of force behind it, Mori brought her right hand down on Mandy’s plushy bottom. Smack! Mandy wailed, as if she’d been caught in one of Sly’s traps. Smack! Smack! Smack! More wailing from the luckless girl.

Mori gave twenty-five hard blows to Mandy’s fundament before the shellacking was through. Then she got up. She and the others left Mandy there, weeping profusely and trying to rub the sting out of her reddened posterior. It was then that Sly chose to attack.

Mandy sensed him coming, of course, and away she ran. But it was true: she wasn’t as fast as Popkin or Mori. She darted frantically up one row of crops and down another, but he stayed right behind her, just a foot or so from her madly twitching tail.

Panicked as she was, she didn’t pay attention to where she was running. She dashed into a passageway between some maintenance buildings—and almost ran into a wall at the far end. Sly cornered her there.

Instead of performing the jumping trick that one of her friends had used a few days before, Mandy just shrank against the wall. Her eyes were red and tear-filled. Her body trembled—especially her ample breasts. As Sly approached, she tried to run past him on his right. He just seized her then and pushed her onto her tummy. Then he bit down hard on her already injured bottom. She shrieked and twisted onto her back. This was exactly what the fox-man wanted. His jaws closed on her cunt. Mandy shrieked again and got all kicky for a while. Then she was still.

So it was back to the fallow field. Sly laid his latest acquisition beside the others, fastened her with faybind, and waited for her to come to.

When she did, he almost regretted it. “Oh God, oh God,” she cried, “I’m caught! I’m caught! Oh, my bottom hurts! My pussy hurts! Oh God, oh God God God! Oh, I don’t want to be caught! I don’t, I don’t! I’m so afraid! It hurts! It hurts! Oh Lord, it h—”

He stuffed a handkerchief in her mouth and said: “Just answer my questions, okay?”

“Mmmph” she replied.

“That’s better. Cooperate, and I’ll take the hanky out.”

“Mmmph, mmmph.”

“Excellent.” He pulled out the handkerchief. “I’ll get right to the point. I want to know what the herb is that makes you and the others run so fast.”

“C-can’t tell you,” Mandy said.

“Why not?”

“Be-because . . . why should I help you?”

“Well . . . I saw that Mori wasn’t very nice to you today.”

“No.” A little sniffle escaped her as she said this.

“What do you think Mori’s doing right now?”

“W-what do you mean?”

“Well, do you think she’s lying with her toes up in some hunter’s trophy line?”


“Do you think she’s going to come help you now?”

“No. She forbade us all . . . to come to the f-fallow field. She’s not going to help me!” Mandy was crying profusely now.

“She didn’t help you before, did she?”

“No. No! No help; none at all!” And she cried even harder.

Sly stroked her forehead. “Will any of the others help you, you think?”

“No. They n-never did . . . and they won’t now!”

“So what do you owe them?”

“Owe them?” (Good Lord, thought Sly. Could the girl really be this thick?)

“Should they be laughing, and dancing, and folicking, and fucking . . . when you can’t?”

“Oh, why wouldn’t she help me?!” Mandy wailed. “Why, why, why?!!! No, they shouldn’t be having fun if I can’t! They shouldn’t, they shouldn’t, they shouldn’t!”

“Then you’ll tell me about the herb?”

“I’ll . . . I . . . . I’m sorry, b-but it still doesn’t seem right.”

The fox-man sighed, and then he had an idea. He didn’t like giving up this pretty prize—and he’d never had to do anything like this before, but sometimes a sacrifice wins the game. “How about this?” he said. “Tell me about the herb . . . and I’ll let you go.”

“Y-you’ll what?”

“I’ll let you go.”

“How do I know this isn’t a trick?”

“I’ll swear any oath you like. Of course it’ll all have to check out, and I’ll have to catch Mori. No deal if I can’t catch her.”

Mandy considered for a moment and said: “O-okay. Swear by Leporina, the Goddess of Bunnies! She’ll blast you if you go back on your word.”

“I’m sure she will,” said Sly. And so he swore: “By the Goddess Leporina: I, Sly Foxx, swear I will release Mandy the beautiful bunny girl, if she’ll tell me what I want to know, and if I can catch the even more beautiful bunny girl Mori.”

“Hmmph!” said Mandy.


“Yes, I . . . I guess I am. The herb is faywort. It grows on the hills around the Garden, it’s a big, black fuzzy thing, and it is soooo nasty . . . it’s almost impossible to choke it down.”

“I’ve seen it!” said Sly. “It’s all over the hill where I’m camped out.”

“You’ll have no trouble getting it then,” said Mandy. And then she smiled. It wasn’t nice to see.

‘Well,” said Sly. “Until it all comes together, I need you to stay put, so . . . .” And he gave her pussy a gentle nip.

“Ouch! Not again! Oh fuck, fuck, fuck!” Mandy fussed and kicked for the better part of a minute, but at last she was out.

“I like you much better this way,” said Sly. Then he headed for the hill.

Part VI

Once back at his headquarters, he had no trouble finding faywort. He pulled up a big clump of it, put it into his mouth, and began to chew. Immediately, a taste of unparalleled bitterness assaulted him. His stomach cramped up violently, and a surge of nausea almost brought him to his knees. And this was before he’d swallowed anything! Somehow, he managed to get the awful stuff down his throat. Then he lay there, moaning and gasping and doing everything in his power not to throw up. Perhaps he’d poisoned himself; if so, he wanted to die before another minute passed.

It took half an hour at least, but the nausea and cramping finally subsided. He lay still for at least another half-hour, for he was utterly exhausted. Could it possibly have worked? He certainly didn’t feel as if it had; but he staggered to his feet anyway, to give it a try. He bent down to run, and almost before he thought of his destination, he was at the base of the hill. Then, in even less time, he darted back up to the top. He had never run so fast, and his fatigue had completely disappeared. He did a few longer dashes, to convince himself he wasn’t hallucinating; the results were just as spectacular. “And now for Mori,” he said.

He found her at the edge of a wheat field. She was as lovely as ever, and he responded as he had before: getting so stiff that he almost fell to his knees. Feeling a surge of confidence now, he didn’t bother trying to sneak up behind her. Instead, he just bore down on her at his new, augmented speed.

She had been chewing on an ear of wheat. When she saw him coming, and saw how fast he was, she dropped the ear, and for just a moment a look of terror crossed her face. Then she took off.

He had been a little too confident. She was still incredibly fast, and bringing her down was going to be work. The distance between them slowly lessened, but it was taking all his energy to draw close. His desire, and his fear for his reputation, kept him going. Closer, closer, closer. At last he was near enough to reach out with his paw. She shrieked as he grabbed her cottontail. She pulled free and surged forward, but it cost her energy she could ill afford. He closed in on her once more and grabbed her tail again, this time with his teeth. Another shriek. Now she darted sideways, crashing through the wheat into the next row. Her stratagem worked: he lost his grip on her, and he used up valuable time turning and smashing through after her.

Still, he made up most of the distance, until he was only about a yard behind. He didn’t quite feel tired yet, but he didn’t know how long he could keep up this pace. Perhaps he was once again going to lose her. No! He wouldn’t think like that. He had to focus his mind on the task at hand. He kept his eyes on her bobbing tail and forced himself to run faster. It cost him almost unbearable pain: his stomach was seizing up, his heart felt as if it might explode. But once again, he came within range and his jaws closed for a second time on her tail.

She screamed again, twisted to get away from him again; but this time she could not. He held on tight, then jerked his head savagely and pulled her off balance. She fell to her knees, and he was immediately on top of her. She struggled hard, scratching at him with her nails, but they made no impression on his thick fur. He pushed her down on her back and thrust his muzzle between her thighs. His teeth punctured her pussy, and its sweetness surpassed even Popkin’s. Mori cried out again of course: a long wail of bitter despair.

When he got to the fallow field, he laid his latest catch gently beside the others and tied her up with faybind. Then he went over to Mandy, at the opposite end.

“Well, I got her,” he said. “I remember my agreement.”

“And . . . and you’re going to go back on it!” she cried. “I just knew it! I just knew it! There’s some loophole . . . I just knew it!”

“There’s nothing of the kind, you little twit. Here, let me cut that faybind for you.” And so he did. “The venom’s weakened to the point where you can get up and run off now, so why don’t you do just that?”

Slowly, unsteadily, she rose to her feet. All the while, she kept her eyes on him, as if he might spring. He made no move to do so. At last, when she’d gotten used to being upright again, she left at a brisk trot, glancing back at him frequently as she went.

“I’ll see you later,” said Sly when she was out of sight. Then he returned to Mori. All the girls he’d bagged were splendid, but there was an especial loveliness to her. It was perhaps the reddish tinge to her brown hair, or the pale, pink softness of her skin. And there was a . . . calmness to her beauty. Except for the bite-marks near her genital slit, she looked as if she’d settled down to a very restful sleep. Her bosom rose and fell gently. Her face showed no sign of pain or fear. Sly almost regretted that she’d be awakening soon.

He waited beside her until she did. She moaned a few times, then her eyes opened. When she saw him, she shuddered. “Y-you! You . . . learned our secret then?”

“Yes,” said Sly. “Thanks to Mandy.”

“Ooooo, that tr-treacherous bitch! I’m not . . . not the least bit surprised.”

“It was very clever of you. How’d you figure it out?”

“You mean f-faywort? I saw its . . its effect on other . . . critters that ate it. So I tried it out. The first time almost k-killed me. I learned . . . for maximum effect . . . you have to . . . have to keep eating it. M-Mandy and a lot of others . . . d-didn’t like hearing that. Not a big deal . . . while the old lady p-protected us . . . but I knew . . . I knew . . . someone like you would show up . . . when she was gone.”

“Well, you made me work for my fee. You can take some comfort in that.”

“I know a lot of other . . . forest magic . . . secrets that m-might prove useful to you or your employer . . . if we could just . . . .”

“No,” said Sly. “I’m sorry, pretty girl, but what I bag, stays bagged.” (Well, there was Mandy, but he’d set her to rights pretty soon.)

“But I’m sure . . . I mean there must be . . . .”

Sly just shook his head. Mori began to tremble violently now. Her eyes filled with tears. A little whimper escaped her.

“Don’t fight it,” he said. “Don’t fight it, my sweet pretty fay.”

With those words, the captured bunny began to sob. “It was . . . Paradise!” she cried. “Paradise! And now it’s . . . over! Over!”

“And who was the serpent in this Paradise?” said Sly.

“You! It was . . . you!” More sobs.

“And what did I do?”

“Figured out our defenses . . . and soon you’ll . . . catch everyone . . . the way you caught me! Oh God, I’m caught! I’m caught! It hurts! It really, really hurts!” And then she just wept, kicking from time to time with her lovely black heels.

He let her wear herself out. Then he put her back to sleep with a nip, just as he had the others.

Part VII

It was 11:45 on the seventh day, and Hiram McGillicuddy was waiting, none too patiently, in the fallow field. Sly had called the day before and promised to show him a brace of seven bagged bunnies. Five lay before him, all buxom and beautiful—but five wouldn’t cut it. If they’re too much even for the great Sly Foxx, Hiram said to himself, I’m in a fix.

Just then, someone coughed behind him. Hiram turned, and there was the fox-man, with a big, luscious bunny draped, bottom foremost, over each shoulder. Hiram saw the slits of the girls’ pussies and felt a sudden, sharp pang of arousal.

“Sorry,” said Sly, “but it took me the better part of the morning to get these two. With some effort, he laid them out, face up, next to the others. Then he pinned their arms to their sides with faybind. The two new girls were a redhead in bottle green and a jet-haired South Asian with a violet blouse and silver heels.

Hiram had a closer look at the trophy line. Each girl’s cunt had clearly taken a biting, but otherwise they looked uninjured. They appeared to be sleeping as if they hadn’t a care in the world.

“My venom keeps them that way, till I want them awake,” said Sly.

“Well, you’ve fulfilled the terms of the agreement so far,” said Hiram. “Though I’m a little concerned that it took you till this morning to meet your commitment.”

“I can’t lie to you,” said Sly. “This has been my toughest assignment yet. One of these ladies was a really sharp customer, for a bunny girl. That’s her, the lovely brunette, right next to the redhead I just brought in. She learned the properties of a special herb, and she used it to make her and her friends the fastest fays alive. That’s why no one could catch them until now.”

“Until you got on the job,” said Hiram.

“Well, I had some luck; but yes, I did have a notion of how to learn their secret. Bunnies are thick as thieves, until one of them has a grievance. Then loyalty pretty much goes out the window. I’ll spare you the details. What matters is this: I've tried the herb myself (godawful stuff by the way), and with it I can catch the lot of them. These two I got within minutes of each other.”

“So you foresee no problem in carrying out the rest of your assignment?”

“No problem at all. When they learn that their speed no longer protects them, a few will leave the Garden. That’s not an option most will choose, since they love this place, and since the herb—faywort they call it—appears to grow nowhere else, and since they’ve all gotten fat. It depends on how long the effects of the faywort last, but the few who leave will all, sooner or later, be caught.”

“Good,” said Hiram. “I don’t like these bitches.”

“As for what I expect to be the majority that stays. Working non-stop as I intend to do, I plan to have them all under wraps in two weeks . . . three weeks tops.”

“Magnificent!’ said Hiram. “Let me write you a check.” When that business was completed, Hiram once again surveyed the line of captured bunnies. “And, uh, what now?”

“Now for the fun. I like to put a smile on a client’s face. I’m going to give these garden pests their comeuppance, and, if you’re willing, you’re going to help me.”

“Well, that, uh, sounds good,” said Hiram, “but aren’t fays, uh, poisonous to the . . . er, normal person?”

“I’ve studied herbs, too, Mr. McGillicuddy . . . .”

“Please, call me Hiram.”

“Of course . . . Hiram. I’ve studied herbs, too. For a long time, I looked for one that would afford others the immunity to fay poison that, thanks to a peculiar mutation, I already enjoy.” With these words, Sly reached into his knapsack, which was lying near the feet of the lovely brunette. He pulled out a pill bottle. “And I found it. I call it Flos Prophylacticus. Consume its extract, and you’ll be safe from fay-poison for hours.” He opened the bottle, shook a white tablet into his paw, then offered the tablet to Hiram.

“You’re . . . sure this is safe?”

“Well, it’s been extensively tested, and no one’s died yet. You can’t banish risk completely, Hiram. A venture capitalist like you knows that.”

“You’re right, of course. You know . . . I have been curious . . . .”

“Well, here’s your chance to satisfy that curiosity.” With that encouragement, Hiram took the tablet and swallowed it. “Now let me clue you in, Hiram: they’re an all-girl species. They can’t survive being brought to climax by a male. There’s no need whatsoever to be rough about it. I want your word that you’ll be gentle.”

“Well . . . sure.”

“Good man. Another thing: you can have as many as your stamina will allow, but I must have the beautiful brunette. Are you OK with that?”

“Of course. You’ve done me a great service, Mr. Foxx; whatever you want.”

“Excellent. For starters, I recommend you have a go at that redhead I just brought in. She’s especially luscious, don’t you think?”

“Oh . . . oh yes!” said Hiram. It was all he could do to keep from licking his lips.

“I’d say it’s time to wake them,” said Sly, and he clapped his paws together smartly.
“Rise and shine, girls, rise and shine.”

Seven bunny girls awoke. When they all remembered where they were, and how they’d gotten there, they began to tremble and cry. A few struggled against the faybind, but of course it was no use.

In the midst of her fruitless efforts to break free, Mori twisted her head to one side and realized who was lying beside her. “You . . . traitor! You . . . worthless, worthless bitch!’

Mandy had a ready response: “And w-what if I am a traitor? Why should I have been caught, while you and the others were having a fine old time? It wasn’t fair! It wasn’t fair! No . . . if I had to be bagged, so did you! In fact, I’d have been looking in on this field and laughing . . . laughing at the sight of you all tied up right now . . . except . . . except he . . . caught me again! He caught me again! That’s not fair either!”

“Ohhhh,” said Mori. “If I could just get free, I’d give you something to whine about! Oooooo, you miserable, disloyal bitch!”

“Ladies, that’s enough,” said Sly. A fay must obey any man who captures her, and so Mori and Mandy fell silent, though it grieved them bitterly to do so. “For years you plundered this Garden, stripping it almost to the ground. It’s long past time you took your proper places in the food chain!”

“Not fair!’ cried Mandy.

“Uh, look,” said Mori, “I know we’ve had this . . . discussion already. But you’ve seen I’m not . . . not just your average dumb bunny. I could do . . . I could be . . . something more useful to you . . . than dinner. Why not help yourself . . . to the dumb ones . . .” (“Not fair!” Mandy screamed) “and let me be . . . your Bunny Girl Friday?”

“Ah,” said Sly. “Spare you because you’re so bright? That’s exactly the best reason not to spare you. Bunny girls are horrible pests, a plague on hardworking farmers and gardeners everywhere. Too many really bright ones like you, and they might get an edge. Then the world would be overwhelmed by bunny girls!”

“Good!” cried Mori. “I’d love it! Fat, happy bunnies everywhere . . . it’d be wonderful!”

“Until the food finally gave out,” said Sly. “No, I’m sorry. Your brains, and your beauty, make you a keeper, not a let-‘er-go.”

“No!” Mori cried with a sob. “Oh, please God, no!”

“Yes,” said Sly. “Come on now, sweetie: bright or dim, a fay knows when her time has come. You and the others can do some more comfort-crying . . . and then we finish up.”

And it was so. For the next several minutes, Mori, Mandy, and the others just wept, and wailed, and kicked up the dirt with their heels.

When the fuss had died down somewhat, Sly said to Hiram: “The drug’s had time to take effect. Step out of your pants, and you’ll see.”

So Hiram did, and he exclaimed: “My God, it’s . . . bigger . . . and stiffer . . . than it’s ever been! And you’re sure it’s bunny-proof?”

“As sure as I can be,” said Sly. Hiram saw now that the Lady Killer stood at full attention. A gasp of wonderment escaped him: “Wow.”

“It is impressive, isn’t it?” said Sly with a smirk. “Now it’s time to give the redhead your best, but remember: gently does it!”

“Bunny-licious!” said Hiram. “Why don’t I follow your lead?”

“Okay then.” Sly went to the still weeping Mori and reached for her legs. She drew back sharply. “Obey!” he barked. “Obey.” Whimpering, Mori had to comply. “That’s better,” he said, “that’s my good bunny girl.” He now took hold of her legs at the ankles and drew them apart, until her slit was fully exposed. Then he hunkered down and used his tongue to stroke the insides of her thighs—just the lightest of touches.

Hiram tried the same thing with Mandy, and got kicked in the face. “Obey, you bitch!” he yelled. “I mean . . . obey.” “It’s not fair!” she said with a big pout, but she submitted. Soon her legs were spread, and Hiram was licking every inch of her splendid thighs.

Before long, little feathery gasps were escaping each captured girl. It was time now to go further, so Sly applied his tongue to Mori’s pussy. Already moist, her twat got even damper. The taste was wondrous: sassafras with just a hint of musk. Sly kept this up, till clear drops of fay honey began to appear on his victim’s labia. These he lapped up eagerly. Hiram was doing the same for Mandy. In no time at all, both girls were groaning and twisting their hips this way and that.

They were ready now for the next level. Without any warning, Sly gave Mori’s pussy one more nip—much the gentlest of them, but still enough to smart. She shrieked and drew her legs back—and her pussy got even wetter. Mandy shrieked next, victim of a more painful assault from Hiram.

These were the first of a long series of nips, plenty of fun in themselves, but also with an important purpose: to prime the girls for male penetration. Members of an all-female species, these bunnies used their tongues to inseminate one another. Even at its stiffest, a bunny tongue was a much slighter thing than the average male equipment--let alone the Lady Killer. Mori and Mandy had to be brought to maximal moistness and elasticity—or they would feel only searing pain, not the sublime mix of hurt and pleasure that Sly wanted for all his victims.

It took about ten nips for each girl before Sly decided that the time had come. He lay on top of Mori and nuzzled her breasts and tear-stained face. “It’s painful at first,” he whispered in her ear. “But it gets more and more blissful by the minute.” Then he entered her.

The sound that came from Mori now was half scream, half groan. She thrashed and kicked; and her head snapped back and forth. And slowly, oh so slowly, a pressure (an itchy, fluttery pressure) built between her legs and in the pit of her stomach. It seemed to her to fill her whole body. She was going to burst if there were no relief. She groaned, and whimpered, and cried out, and wept. And then, after a near-eternity, something did burst. A stream of fay honey poured out between her frantically kicking legs; her breasts spurted milk; and the tears gushed down her face like a mountain stream in early spring. “Oh God!” she cried. “Oh God! I’m caught . . . and I’m about to die . . . and this is what it’s like! Oh God, God, God . . . .”

Hiram had done nearly the same for Mandy, and her cri de coeur was similar: “Oh my God! Oh my dear, dear God! This is it! How much more . . . ? How much more . . . can my poor pussy take?”

The two girls each came another nine times. Then, after a few final groans and whimpers, a few hard last kicks, they were still. Sly and Hiram took a well-earned rest. When that was done, they went on to the others.

There were more tears and begging, of course. It made not a bit of difference. Coffee and Tomiko were next. Sly let them share a final kiss, then took the black girl. She groaned loudly and deeply with each cunt-rending spasm. The East Asian preferred shrieky little whimpers, and Hiram gave her plenty of those.

When those two had kicked their last, it was time for Winifred and the South Asian, whose name was Madhu. Hiram wanted a darker girl now, and Sly graciously obliged. Madhu uttered a high-pitched wail with each orgasm, and the fox-man wondered if his client wouldn’t be deafened by the end of it. In pleasant contrast, Winifred was a whimperer like Tomiko, but not nearly so shrieky.

When those two had given up the ghost, Popkin alone remained. Wanting the best possible reference, Sly generously offered her to Hiram.

“You’re . . . you’re sure?” Hiram was obviously smitten by the buxom blonde. (Through some strange alchemy, fays are at their prettiest when trembling and crying their hearts out.) Thanking the hunter profusely, he went to work.

Sly stretched out on the ground and rested. He had to admit that Hiram was a quick learner: he licked when he should, and nipped when a nip was needed, and soon Popkin was crying out and coming to beat the band. At the last thrust of her lovely legs, Sly had counted fifteen orgasms.

The rest was silence. Hiram looked down in wonder at the seven fatally rogered bunny girls. “We did it! I mean . . . you did it!”

“Well it’s just the start,” said Sly. “By the way, I’m feeling a little hungry at the moment. I think one should tide me through till tomorrow.”

“Oh, of course.”

Sly walked over to Mori and positioned himself behind her head. Into the mix of fox and man, the scientists who’d made him had also thrown some python genes. His jaws opened alarmingly wide.

“Perhaps I should . . . .” said Hiram.

“You can wasshh if you rike,” said Sly.

And, though it made him a little uneasy to do so, Hiram did watch. Sly seized Mori by her head and shoulders and lifted her up from the ground so that gravity would assist him. His jaws gaped even further. Then, twisting back and forth and jerking forward and upward every few seconds or so, he slowly drew the girl down his vastly expanded throat. When his teeth reached her tummy, it looked for a moment as if she might be stuck; but he was able to get another inch or so out of his elastic lower jaw, and she resumed her descent. Quite deliberately, he paused to savor for the last time the sweetness of her pussy. After that, all that could be seen were her plump legs . . . then just her heels . . . and then, at last, she was gone. Sly belched loudly and slumped down to the ground. Slowly, carefully, he turned onto his back. His belly was grotesquely distended now. He was exhausted and would soon fall into a deep sleep.

Hiram spoke up then: “Will the others, ah, keep?”

“Yes,” said Sly. “They’ll stay fresh and tasty as long as I need them. Say, I have another kind of pill . . . if you’d like to try what I just did.”

“Oh no, that’s quite all right. Thanks.” Hiram stepped into his pants again. “Well, Mr. Foxx, you’ve done everything I hired you to do . . . and then some. I’m very impressed.”

“You’re more than welcome. As I’ve already said, I believe I can declare the Garden bunny-free in less than a month.”

“I have no doubt on that score,” said Hiram. “Well, uh, goodbye.”

“So long,” said Sly, and belched once again.


Most of the bunnies stayed in the Garden, as Sly knew they would. But even though most remained, Sly had no trouble at all in meeting his next deadline. Thanks to faywort, it took him just two weeks to put all but hatchlings to bed.

Now he had only bunny eggs to contend with. Several, of course, lay hidden in the warrens under the Garden. Bunny eggs always hatch within a few days of laying, and the new fays emerge fully grown. Since bunny girls are Lamarckian critters, these new ladies were as plump as their mothers, but with no knowledge of faywort. And there were no momma bunnies to teach them about the magic herb, or other tricks. Only Sly was waiting for them when they tottered unsteadily into the sunlight. It was a little sad, really, but some jobs just need doing. Before another week was through, the last hatched bunny had cried and kicked her life away in the fallow field.


Two months later and twenty-five miles away, Farmer Brown was awakened in the middle of the night by the baying of his dogs. “What the . . . ?” he exclaimed as he quickly dressed, then picked up his flashlight and fay-gun and headed out to find the cause of the racket.

At the northern limit of his property, he got an answer. His dogs were all there, and they had cornered something at the old oak tree. They couldn’t contain their excitement. With the aid of his flashlight, Farmer Brown saw two astoundingly full-bodied bunny girls, hugging each other tight and trembling with abject terror as the dogs swarmed around them.

“Boy howdy!” said the farmer. “I didn’t know they got so big!” Then he remembered his gun. He raised it, aimed it, and emptied both barrels. There was a ka-choom! of rapidly expanding air as two fay-bees were hurled at the luckless bunnies. The bees zeroed in on their targets, then stung each girl on her midriff. The bunnies screamed and fell writhing to the ground.

“Pearl’s gotta see this,” said Farmer Brown, and ran back to the farmhouse. Bee-stung and guarded by the dogs, the two buxom bunnies weren’t going anywhere. “Pearl!” he shouted when he got back, “You gotta have a look at this!”

It took some time to convince his wife to leave the comfort of their bed, but at last, dressed in a nightgown and boots, she came on out with him to the old oak tree.
“Land sakes,” she said. “They’re so big . . . and beautiful!”

“They sure are,” said Farmer Brown. He bent down and seized one of the unconscious girls by her heels to pull her away from the tree. His back almost gave out. Mrs. Brown quickly helped him, and with more than a little strain, they hauled their catch onto a smooth expanse of grass a few feet away. There they laid them out, face up and side by side.

The girls were brown-skinned and black-haired--Filipinas by the look of them. It was hard to tell in the dark, but they seemed to be dressed in white blouses and black heels. “Should we wake ‘em up yet?” asked the farmer.

“Why not?” said Mrs. Brown. “You know how hungry I get in the middle of the night.”

So he shook the hapless pair awake. He had plenty of questions, and (of course) his two unwilling guests had to answer them all. Their names were Nina and Negra, and they were lovers. (“Ohhhhh, lovers!” said Mrs. Brown. She absentmindedly began to stroke the front of her nightgown with her right hand.). They spoke of McGillicuddy’s Garden (the Browns knew it well), and faywort, and how fine things had been until the fox-man showed up and caught their leader, Mori. Nina and Negra had decided then to take their chances in the world outside. Unfortunately, the faywort had worn off about a week ago. It was an easy matter for Farmer Brown’s dogs to run them down and cut off any escape.

“So,” said the farmer, “you thought you’d help yourselves to my produce. Well guess what, my gorgeous girlies, now we’re gonna help ourselves to you!” And with that, he seized Nina’s legs, spread them wide, and continued to hold her tightly by her ankles. His wife did the same for Negra. Wailing pitiably, the girls twisted and frantically kicked, but, weakened as they were by bee-venom, it did them no good.

A normal human being cannot feed on a fay. But Mr. and Mrs. Brown were something other than normal. Like Sly Foxx, they were hybrids, though of a different kind. Farmer Brown’s tongue now oozed from his mouth a good six inches or so—and then, from the tongue, a long, thin proboscis emerged. It was gray, and cylindrical, and it ended in a cluster of sponges and sharp hooks. “No! Oh dear God, no!” cried the girls. The proboscis worked its way into Nina’s pussy, and she screamed and screamed as it did. It took Mrs. Brown a little longer to reach full arousal, but soon Negra was screaming, too. The bunnies were kicking now like nobody’s business, but the probosces were long enough (about four feet), that the farmer and his wife could withdraw to a safe distance. Mr. and Mrs. Brown lay down on their sides (like Roman banqueters) and put their strange appendages to work.

This kind of proboscis does two things at once: it pumps an irritant into the victim’s genitals that brings on a series of ultimately fatal orgasms, and it slowly drains her of all her fluids. It wasn’t long before Nina and Negra were moaning and crying out with the first of their death-spasms.

The farmer and his wife felt a comparable excitement. They had never tasted bunny fluids as sweet, or as abundant, as these—and they had caught two lovers as well! The farmer got rock-hard just thinking about it, and he reached out to give his wife an affectionate tweak on her breast. Mrs. Brown scooched over to him so that he could slip his hand up her nightgown. She unzipped his levis and began to squeeze his cock. Soon they were writhing and moaning, almost as energetically as their prey.

The bunnies suffered spasm after spasm, until the biggest and the last. They groaned in a fit of pussy-hurting pleasure, gave a flurry of final kicks--and then they were through “Oh! Oh! Oh! Oh!” cried the farmer and his wife, coming in perfect synchrony with the bunnies and each other. When they’d recovered, they spent nearly an hour sucking out the remaining fluids.