First, it’s fiction. Get over it.
Second, it’s erotic fiction. Don’t like that? Too young? Fuck off, then.
Third, it’s MY erotic fiction. Steal it and I hunt you down and feed you to the Leather Dominatrixes of the Planet Platex!
Bunny Tales
Number One
“Bunny? Bunny!”
“Aahhh! Oh... hello, Master.”
“Bunny? What the hell are you doing?”
“Uh, what do you mean, Master?”
“I mean, we’ve been in our new home for two hours. The trucks are still being unpacked, and everything.”
“Yes, Master, I know. I’m the one in charge of moving everything.”
“Precisely my point, Bunny. You’re in charge of the move. So what the hell are you doing?”
“Nothing...”
“Bunny...”
“What? Can’t a girl take a break, now and then?”
“You’re naked and curled up in fetal position next to a water heater in a filthy basement closet that’s choked with spiders.”
“...and?”
“You’re the biggest arachnophobe I’ve ever met, Bunny. What the fuck are you doing in here?”
“Facing my fears?”
“NO YOU’RE NOT! You’re hiding from me! Why?”
“wellll... I.. that is... we... ummm...”
“I’m guessing that something has gone wrong with the move...”
“Maybe just a little bit...”
“It can’t be that bad, Bunny. Bunny? Bunny, stop crying.”
“U’m srrry, mfstrr... I lsst uh trrck...”
“Bunny, here. Blow your nose, wipe your eyes, stop crying and try that again. Just calm down. Whatever it is, it can’t be that bad.”
“I lost one of the trucks, Master.”
“You’re kidding.”
“No! I’m really sorry!”
“That’s not what I mean. You can’t seriously be this upset just because one of the trucks hasn’t shown up yet, can you?”
“It’s gone!”
“No, it’s not. It’ll turn up eventually, they always do. Besides, I don’t own anything that’s irreplaceable... Bunny? Bunny, please stop crying.”
“You own ME, Master. Aren’t I irreplaceable?”
“Well, of course you are. I was talking about possessions, there. Contrary to first glance, I don’t count slaves in that category, and it’s not like there were any slaves on that truck.”
“Yes there were.”
“Ex-squeeze me?”
“The gray slaves and the blue slaves were on that truck.”
“The what and the what?”
“The gray slaves and the blue slaves. I color-coded them all.”
“Uh-huh. And in the category of ‘Questions I Know I’m Better Off Not Asking,’ Why would you color-code my slaves?”
“Well, you put me in charge of moving the whole household, and that’s a really big job, and I read online somewhere that for any move to go well, it has to be organized.”
“That’s true enough.”
“So I wanted to be as organized as possible.”
“But why would you need to color-code the slaves?”
“Well, I don’t know if you’ve noticed, Master, but you have a lot of slaves...”
“I’m just going to skip over the part where I point out the razor-sharp irony of that statement.”
“...and it’s a big job relocating them all, so I grouped them together based on common sexual tastes and interests, and who’s familiar with whom and such and dressed the different groups in similarly colored underwear so I could glance at each group, know how many and who was supposed to be in each one and be able to tell if any were missing.”
“Hmm. In a twisted sort of way, that kind of makes sense.”
“Well, I thought so. I had the White Lace Slaves and the Red Silk Slaves on one truck, the Grey Cotton Slaves and the Blue Latex Slaves one another, and the Black Leather Slaves on a third.”
“Okay, I think I’m following, so far... just two questions. First, why underwear?”
“Sorry?”
“Why put them in color-coded underwear? Couldn’t you have dressed them in their street clothes and put color-coded collars on them, or something?”
“Where’s the fun in that?”
“Oh, sure. Secondly, why trucks? Why didn’t you just rent a few SUV’s?”
“Do you know how expensive that would have been, Master?”
“Expensive?”
“Well, you’re always complaining about how we can’t afford so many slaves, and that’s why I can’t go hunting anymore, so I figured I had to do this as cheaply as possible. I threw a bunch of mattresses on the floor of each truck, tossed in a box of toys and a few days’ worth of snack foods and water and told them to keep each other company.”
“Bunny...”
“It costs a lot less to get a bunch of women snuggled up in three medium moving trucks than crammed into eight or ten tiny little mini-vans, you know.”
“Bunny, I’m a fucking millionaire. I can afford to rent a few SUV’s.”
“Then why are you always complaining about costs?”
“Because I want you to stop recruiting so many slaves! It’s embarrassing, and sooner or later, someone is going to come looking for some of them. Besides, didn’t it occur to you that at some point they’re going to have to make a pit stop? What are people going to think when they see a couple of dozen women dressed in their underwear getting in and out of a moving van?”
“That we’re hauling ass?”
“Har har. I don’t know why you’re so worried, anyway. They’re all reasonably intelligent women. They can find their way here, can’t they?”
“Well...”
“What?”
“Well, I wanted to be as organized as I could be, and I didn’t want anything to go wrong, so I had each truck fitted with GPS beacons.”
“Huh. That was actually pretty smart. So, do you have the tracking device?”
“Right here.”
“Okay, and do you have the signal of the missing truck?”
“Yes...”
“...and where is it?”
“Asuncion.”
“Gesundheit.”
“No, Master. Asuncion. It’s the capitol of Paraguay.”
“PARAGUAY?”
“PRECISELY!”
“... Where the fuck is Paraguay?”
“Central South America, Master. Southwest of Brazil and northeast of Argentina, apparently.”
“How the fuck did they end up there?”
“How should I know? It’s completely in the opposite direction from where we were going, and aside from being tricked into loving you, they’re pretty smart girls, so how did that happen?”
“That’s pretty fucked... HEY!”
“Oh, I’m sorry, Master, I didn’t mean it like that...”
“Whatever. Let’s just figure out what happened. I assume you gave them instructions?”
“Well, yeah. I mean, we were a little rushed at the end, but I gave them the directions on paper and maps and stuff.”
“You were rushed?”
“Well, yeah. Originally, the plan was to put the girls in blue latex and black leather in a truck with the dungeon equipment, because then I’d be able to remember where they all were so much better, but then the rental place ran out of the longer trucks and I only had room for the dungeon stuff and the black leather slaves, so I wound up cramming the blue slaves with the gray slaves and all the dildos...”
“YOU LOST MY DILDOS?”
“Well, I’m sorry! I was running out of time, and I had to re-pack all of the trucks and the truck with the white and red slaves was full of linens and silks and kitchen stuff, so I just kind of threw all the dildos on with the other truck!”
“God-damnit, Bunny, I had an extensive collection.”
“Well, what do you care? You don’t use most of them, anyway, and you said you don’t own anything irreplaceable!”
“I don’t, but I had some real collector’s items. I mean, Jesus, I had a limited-edition gold-plated Titan Twat-Twaddler!”
“That thing was disgusting.”
“It was a novelty item.”
“They’re dildos. They’re all ‘novelty items.’”
“Whatever. You said you gave the driver instructions...”
“Yes, Master. I had directions, maps, names of hotels and rest stops and restaurants and all that copied out and organized in identical folders. I gave a copy to each of the drivers.”
“Right, but you said you’d been rushed...”
“Yeah, but I still gave each driver the folder. All the other drivers got here.”
“Okay. What did you say to the driver of the missing truck?”
“I remember it perfectly. I was in a hurry to get going because I wanted to keep up with the lead truck, so I handed her the folder and told her to be sure she gets home.”
“Home?”
“Yeah. Here.”
“By any chance did this driver grow up in Paraguay?”
“Doctor Bastos? Oh. hm. Now that you mention it...”
“Jesus, Bunny, you have to be careful what you say to these.... Wait. Who’s Doctor Bastos?”
“Oh, come on, Doc B? The urologist?”
“YOU LOST MY UROLOGIST?”
“Well I didn’t mean to!”
“God, Bunny!”
“She was the most intelligent of all the slaves on that truck, and I figured if she can find her way up a penis with a fiber-optic cable then she can find her way up I-80 with a U-Haul! How was I supposed to know she’d be able to drive to Asuncion without even looking in the stinking folder?”
“Who else was on that truck, Bunny?”
“No one special, really. Some assorted sorority girls, a few underwear models, the swim team, a few fetshists...”
“YOU LOST MY.. oh, god. You lost my swim team?”
“Oh. Yeah. I’m sorry, Master.”
“You lost my swim team. Four eighteen-year-old girls with tight, toned little bodies, cute little breasts, and perfect asses who spend half their free time obsessed with shaving each other and the other half working out to keep so toned. I just got them all trained to perfection, too. I loved those shiny, slippery suits they wore...”
“Master?”
“They were my favorite cuddlers...”
“Are you going to hurt me, Master?”
“What? Oh. No, Bunny, I’m not going to hurt you. I can be mature about this. You didn’t lose my triplets, did you?”
“No, Master. They were wearing the black leather.”
“Oh, good. So aside from some of my favorite slaves and my dildos, what else is lost?”
“Nothing, really. Just a few odds and ends.”
“YOU have an odd end, Bunny. You’re going to have to go get them, you know.”
“I will? Won’t they just eventually come back here?”
“Bunny, they’re three dozen young, beautiful, sex-obsessed women in their underwear and a truck full of mattresses soon to be in need of cash. You need to hurry.”
“Oh. Umm...”
“Foolishly, I’m assuming this was the only problem you’d faced in the move...”
“Well...”
“Okay, I’m going to start hyperventilating any second...”
“...there was that little run-in with the Welcome Wagon.”
“Fuck hyperventilating, I’m having a full-blown cardiac event, here.”
“Well, they saw all the trucks and figured we were moving in, so they came by to give us their little package and a Jesus speech.”
“Jesus? The Welcome Wagon isn’t religious.”
“I don’t think that was their original intention, but one of them was the local preacher’s wife and the other is the preacher’s sister, the mayor’s wife...”
“Jesus, Bunny, we’ve been in this town for two hours... Did you give them the cover story?”
“Yes, Master. I told them we were opening a relocation shelter for domestic abuse victims, but they didn’t believe me. They kept asking me why the ‘domestic abuse victims’ were unpacking the trucks in their underwear.”
“In their underwear?”
“Well, yeah, the white slaves and the red slaves were unpacking the dungeon stuff.”
“Didn’t you have them put their clothes on, first? Oh. Let me guess. Their street clothes are in Paraguay?”
“No, Master, I just didn’t think of it.”
“Goofy fucking me. What did you tell them?”
“Well, I tried to tell them that it’s hot out and they were working really hard and wanted to stay cool, but they didn’t buy into it. One of them kept screaming about how whorehouses weren’t going to be tolerated and the other kept pointing at the sign...”
“Sign?”
“Yeah, the one I put on the side of that truck. It...”
“Stop, stop, stop. I have the feeling that before this conversation goes any further, I’m going to want to sit down... take a long draw on this whiskey bottle... take a few deep breaths... okay. What sign?”
“Well, I wanted to be organized...”
“God knows that worked out...”
“And I wanted to be able to tell what was in each truck at a glance...”
“Oh, god...”
“So I put a sign on the side of each one with a list of what was in it.”
“Naturally, you wrote each sign in code, right?”
“Code?”
“Right. Pointless to have asked, really. Okay, Bunny, what did the sign say?”
“Whips, canes, paddles, chains, manacles, hoods, collars, leashes, ropes, harnesses, black slaves.”
“No more sugar for you, Bunny.”
“What? Why?”
“WHY? Mary Magdelaine on a pogo stick, Bunny! Why didn’t you write ‘black LEATHER slaves?’ Shit, why did you even write ‘slaves?’ Didn’t it occur to you for two seconds that some people might interpret ‘black slaves’ in a bad way?”
“What do you mean?”
“Oh, fuck it. Of course you didn’t think anything about driving halfway across the country with a racial slur on the side of the truck. You’re insane.”
“HEY! I AM NOT INSANE! THAT’S WHAT THAT BITCH LADY SAID!”
“WELL OF COURSE SHE THOUGHT YOU... wait. She said what?”
“SHE SAID I WAS CRAZY! SHE KEPT TELLING ME I WASN’T PLAYING WITH A FULL DECK!”
“Oh, no. Oh, Jesus.”
“WELL, GOD-DAMNIT, I HAVE A FULL DECK! Some of the cards might be backwards and upside-down, and some of them are kinda warped and frayed at the corners, and I may have made a few erotic doodles on most of the face-cards, but GOD-DAMNIT, I HAVE THEM ALL!”
“Which gun, Bunny?”
“WHAT?”
“Which raygun did you shoot them with, baby? Which color?”
“Oh. Umm...”
“Bunny, sweetheart, please. I won’t have anyone but me insulting you, but I need to know which one of the rayguns you shot them with.”
“Well, technically, Master, I didn’t shoot them with ‘a’ raygun...”
“Fuck, Bunny, I’ve told you a hundred times not to mix the rayguns. It’s unpredictable.”
“Well, I was really angry, Master, and I’ve had a lot of practice at using those rayguns.”
“Ain’t that the fucking truth? Okay, Bunny. What did you do to them?”
“Well, first I hit them with the silver one...”
“Memory eraser. Good. That would have done it, you know.”
“...then I got them with the red gun...”
“You hit them BOTH with the dominatrix ray?”
“...and then the green one.”
“THE INCEST GUN? I thought you said they weren’t directly related?”
“They both mentioned they had daughters.”
“Fuck, I’m out of whiskey.”
“I sent them both home with some collars and whips and stuff and told them to...”
“I get the idea, Bunny. How old are the daughters?”
“They said that they had daughters the same age as our slaves.”
“Thank God for small favors.”
“I’m really sorry, Master. I let my anger get the better of me.”
“It’s okay, Bunny. It actually all works out okay.”
“It does?”
“Well, yeah. All you have to do now is call the local press with an anonymous tip that the local preacher’s wife and the mayor’s wife are diddling their own daughters and bang, the preacher and the mayor are not that big a threat, anymore. No one in their right mind would believe them if they turned around and told them they got the idea from a girl unpacking a bunch of slaves in their underwear. In the meantime, you get to take a few days off driving to Paraguay while I calm down with pretty much any slave I can get my hands on, here.”
“Oh. So, I did okay?”
“Partly by accident, but yes. Everything is fine, or can be fixed. I just wish you could have told me in a better way than this.”
“Really? So, if I had just walked up to you and said, ‘Master, one of the trucks wound up in Paraguay by mistake and I had to blast the Welcome Wagon to keep them quiet,’ then that would have been okay?”
“I would have preferred it, actually.”
“Oh. Well. That would be the silver gun, then.”
“What?”
FLASH!
(five minutes later...)
“Master?”
“uuugh, gerthafleckum... “
“Master?”
“Huh? Bunny? What are we doing in the basement closet... and why are you naked?”
“You drank all your whiskey and passed out, Master. I was watching over you.”
“Well, that was nice of you... Why was I drinking down here?”
“Master, I have a couple of things to tell you, but first... can I have sex with you, Master?”
“Ex-squeeze me?”
“I want you, Master.”
“Bunny, you never want to have sex with me. You hate dick.”
“Master is not a dick. He’s a very nice man and I love him.”
“You’re scaring me, Bunny.”
“Master needs a little excitement in his life, now and again. That’s why he keeps me around.”
“Riiiiiiiiight...”
“Shut up and fuck me, Master.”