The Erotic Mind-Control Story Archive

Edge of Oblivion

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READ FIRST: (All adult warnings from chapter one are still in effect and binding so if you haven’t read them do so before proceeding. Copyright W.A.C. © 2000 This work “Edge of Oblivion” and all it’s components and or related materials.)

Authors Notes: More Edge and Bourbon in the Forest World beyond the freezer door as the adventure continues. Edges newest adventure gives new meaning to the old cliché’ about “Fuckin like a bunny” !!!

I should probably explain that in an epic of this length an occasional segment is going to be filled with plot advancing and sexual devices that may lack strong mind control elements the story will revolve around once it unfolds fully. Hopefully the story line and entertainment/adventure elements will carry readers through to the “juicy bits”. I promise they are coming.... uh check that spelling...lol.

Edge of Oblivion

Chapter 6 Offerings to a Horny Bunny God

I.

Edge had long since ceased to struggle. Fate was simply having some more fun with him, and resisting the irresistible would only lend fate more source for amusement. The forth sea green aboriginal forest pigmy woman was rapidly losing sexual momentum as she rode Edge like her personal bitch slave. Her pelvic thrusts matched her heavy sweaty ragged breathing now. She faltered, slid off, and limped away with a bow legged gait, gibbering in what Edge could only assume passed for a language. The dozens of them gathered around the wooden (altar?) Edge was secured to gibbered in amazement, pointing wildly at his godlike manhood and its apparently legendary staying power. He figured he was doing....ok. The reality was that they were so tight that it was like fucking with a cock ring. That he could stay hard under these circumstances wasn’t a surprise to him. And Of course his proportionate (built to scale) manhood impressed them.

As a man, he was average to slightly above, but here he was a giant. What surprised Edge was the impressive depth of their femininity, or at least the effort they made to take him entirely inside, no matter how painful. Apparently it was part of their ritual, and to waste was a sign of a lack of female virility. Most of Edge remained indifferent, detached, intellectually anyway. He was simply an observer.

A fifth aborigine was gearing up for a ride on the Edge. She was stroking her little green furry patch deeply, using her entire hand to stretch herself like one might use a shoehorn to stretch a new shoe. A second image of an athlete warming up was equally if not even more amusing. More athletes were lining up to try on the “big” shoe. So far everyone had tried him on but that he could tell, no one had bought. Her hand went in up to the wrist where she turned it in little jerks. It made a sucking sound as it emerged covered in a thin membrane of yellowish goo like the stuff wind drying on his monolithic cock. Clearly, they came at the slightest provocation, and throughout the entire brief sexual process. Edge was hardly surprised by this strange reversal. Apparently (and everything was only apparent from Edges viewpoint) these creatures had disproportionate sexual organs to their overall size. This extended to and included the parts inside. If what he thought he felt was anywhere near accurate then her g-spot button was somewhere between the size of a quarter and a Kennedy half dollar piece back home. Pushing their buttons was as easy as furry pie. These creature’s probably partially excited themselves just walking! Edge wouldn’t have been surprised if they were perpetually horny. What men back home wouldn’t give for even one woman with this kind of one touch hardware, he thought to himself with a large grin.

Edge looked around. All the creatures around him were female. From what he could tell he hadn’t seen a single male. This worried Edge. The idea that these creatures might be some sort of midget amazons, who ate their men or worse, unsettled him.

The fifth had mounted him by this time and was forcing him inside. The fit was bad, even compared to the other four, and worse, this female wasn’t quite up to the task. She seemed less developed then the others, perhaps because she was younger, was having terrible difficulty. The others intently watched disapprovingly. She was a pretty little thing all things considered, and Edge, feeling sorry for her, made simulated motions like he was really getting into it. She never took him entirely in but he put on quite the show. The others leapt up and down screaming and gibbering frantically. He faked her getting him off and collapsed breathing heavily for good measure. Edge had a weird reversed deja vu experience. How many women back home had put on a performance for his benefit, he wondered?

II.

When she got down out of the saddle the others flocked to her and hoisted her up, carrying her very physically away. He couldn’t tell whether she was a cult hero or a prisoner going to execution from their rough handling of her as she disappeared into one of the little stone buildings. One small group that had formed around this building began chanting in high pitched screechy monotones. They began to sway and bob in a sort of hypnotic rapture after a while. The whole scene vaguely resembled a voodoo self induced trance ceremony. Their eyes rolled up into their heads and they proceeded to have strange seizures which another small group from inside the stone building scurried out to observe. They seemed to be perhaps priests or augers of some type, and gibbered over every spasm thoughtfully. Finally the seizing and interpreting ended, and the small observer group hurried back into the little stone building. Re-emerging they appeared to be dragging what appeared to be the girl he had tried to help with his award winning performance. A terrible thought occurred to him, maybe he wasn’t supposed to participate and he had somehow further dishonored her by what he had done.

The priests (whatever?) dragged her very physically away to a point apparently in the center of the city towards what vaguely appeared to be a pyramid or dais. After that time no one approached within several meters of Edge again, and finally he lost “enthusiasm” after about fifteen more minutes passed. This too was rather strange in the light of lack of any stimulation. Apparently their sexual fluid contained something that at least in his alien physiology, created an extending effect. Back home they could bottle this stuff and sell it for a fortune, provided it could be proven safe. Or even if it couldn’t be proven safe, on the sexual black market it would sell for a fortune. Spanish fly would have nothing on “Yellow Goo”. That was IF Edge wasn’t eaten, IF he wasn’t kept around and used until he could no longer perform, IF he wasn’t tribal concubine for life, IF they didn’t kill him outright, IF they didn’t have roast side of Edge, IF was the key. But if he could get away and got the chance he was going to see if he could capture a little (love juice?) and take it home for analysis, or better yet a live specimen would be multi-purpose, he mused.

III.

It began to rain, and still no one approached, but neither did anyone go away except occasionally, and they always returned shortly.

It was only now that Edge wondered what had become of Bourbon. The last he had seen of him Bourbon was fighting like a wildcat not to be stuffed into some sort of fiber sack. A dozen of them were having difficulty with the task. It was a horrible blood bath. Pound for pound Bourbon had them badly outmatched. And unfortunate for them, he was equipped with natural weapons, of which they seemed to have none. Indeed, they seemed somewhat unfamiliar with the whole concept of violence and handling wild animals. Bourbon didn’t take this into consideration, and didn’t cut them any slack, on the sack, or their inexperience. He was however quite willing to give them a free lesson. More than a few were definitely going to lose eyes and have terribly infected slashed limbs. Bourbon was putting a new word in their vocabulary.... psychotic.

Edge didn’t get to see who ultimately won out, he had been overwhelmed by sheer weight of numbers. They just kept piling onto him until their weight carried him to the ground, and then just kept piling on, until he simply couldn’t move any more.

Bourbon on the other hand was a spinning twisting whirlwind of claws and fangs. Edge wasn’t sure who he felt sorrier for. He hoped these little people had an equivalent of a health insurance plan; they were going to need it.

But Edge hadn’t seen Bourbon for several hours. Or at least what he perceived as several hours. They had forced some sort of fluid into his mouth at some point that had disoriented him so he couldn’t really tell time with any certainty. What the fluid was, and what other effects it might have had were unimportant at this point, beyond effecting his judgment of time. It wasn’t like he could have resisted or it would have otherwise mattered. Once tied down he was pretty much at their tender mercies. The sun , a reddish sphere, had moved across about a third of the sky which back home indicated several hours. But here in this strange world, dimension, delusion, the length of day was indeterminate, as he didn’t know how long the day was here, and therefore couldn’t tell time from the sky.

IV.

Many hours passed, and he was first fed, and then washed, as various members of the group around him came and went and came back again many times. Clearly the day was longer here. The sun was just beginning to set. A great commotion seemed to be going on at the other end of the stone complex. Music, chanting, and occasional (cheers?) seemed to periodically punctuate the proceedings, whatever they might be. It was definitely something big. Maybe they were roasting the psycho wildcat in a great victory celebration. Maybe they were performing some great sacrificial ritual to include him as an assurance of fertility in the coming year.

Edge really hoped that their primitive state of development didn’t parallel primative societies back home. If it did he was in serious trouble. The picture of little green amazons danced through his imagination, and he got an uncomfortable feeling in the pit of his stomach. The only thing that seemed in his favor was their apparent lack of familiarity with violence. But that didn’t preclude the possibility that he was now the grand dildo in service of the whole society.

He still hadn’t seen any indications of males. Unless they all had large well developed tits and slits he was definitely in trouble. Having watched them come and go for quite some time he was almost certain now that they were permanently semi-aroused all the time. Although no one had touched him for a long time they seemed completely unabashed about publically sexuality touching each other. Maybe this was part of their ritual too. Or maybe they just semi constantly did each other to relieve the incredible sexual tension their sexual design must have been on them. From what he could see, prone as he was, they coupled on the ground, on the walls, in the streets, in the bushes, walking and eating. Anywhere and everywhere.... and most of the time.

These couldn’t be the builders of the city, he concluded. They’d never have the time or energy left over after all this sex to get a major project like building a city completed, even given generations. Further observations led him to conclude that either they were generally lesbian or there was some male feature he was missing. The use of forest fruit and vegetables between them as a sort of sexual bridge strengthened his initial impression that they were all female. And their entirely amazing serpentine foot long tongues were being put quite efficiently to use as well. None of this boded well for Edge as the only male.

V.

Observing the little folk with a critical eye for the first time really, (he had the time) Edge noticed that they walked with a sort of a lopping hop. Edge started to think of these little people as the bunny folk. Although, beyond there propensity to fuck like bunnies, and an odd slightly extended fuzzy ear shape, (and their obvious coloration) they looked most like scrunched down Hooters waitresses, or squished beach bunnies from a planet where there were greater gravitational forces then back home.

Not that he could feel any discernible gravitational differences here.... but still he couldn’t help but get that odd impression that the bunny people didn’t belong here any more than he or Bourbon.... well, any more than he did. And it was a feeling that just wouldn’t quite go away.

Having seemingly endless time to continue pondering, his mind wandered across a plethora of possibilities. He also had time to continue observing his captors even more closely. They weren’t really less than attractive after their fashion. The oversized eyes and their huge pupils were somehow disconcerting, and at the same time were so expressive and doe-like, but otherwise the slightly animal-like features weren’t.... a REAL put off.

VI.

As the sun set the air was beginning to grow sharp and cool. When full night set it was going to be absolutely frigid. Smoke from small fires was beginning to rise from some of the stone buildings. And off in the distance in this fading light, Edge could see the growing orange glow of a great bonfire from the direction of the commotion that had been going on for many hours now. The light danced through the trees but he couldn’t tell if it was indeed bunny dancing or the natural flickering of the firelight. The shadows danced ominously closer as darkness descended. Eventually it became clear that something or someone was coming slowly closer. The noises and chanting were now louder. And growing still louder as what appeared to be a procession wound through the street (path?). A procession of shadows were definitely approaching. The fact that they had built a huge bonfire before coming to get him boded extremely ill for Edge. Somewhere in the multiverse it was Boding Day.

Edge prayed that he was completely insane, and this was the mother of all hallucinations. Being roasted alive was not a prospect that appealed to him on any level however sadistic some dark part off his subconscious might secretly be. Then again, the fact that he couldn’t move might simply mean he was otherwise restrained in the real world and this was his delusional way of interpreting events. Then again maybe he had a secret desire to be punished for his dark fantasies, and this was his subconscious actuallization of.... Edge regretted that intro to psychology course he had taken in his freshman year of college. Then again, sometimes an amazon bunny bonfire was just an amazon bunny bonfire.

Rough hands grabbed and hoisted him up over their heads. He was hauled off as the last woman had been, towards the ever growing firelight. He was off to see the wizard. Not good, he told himself, definitely not good.

Edge of Oblivion

Chapter 7 Proper Etiquette: Which Fork to Use at A Human Sacrifice

I.

The center of the overgrown city was a stone plaza of some size. Clearly the scale and style of the buildings here was different than the sort of ramshackle hastily constructed outer dwellings used by the “Bunny” people. Someone larger had built these structures very long ago. Perhaps the Bunny folk had been larger at one time and had become smaller through some evolutionary development. But more likely they had occupied structures once the dwellings of someone else.

Clearly the outer structures, (the bunny hutches?) had been built from materials pilfered from the very periphery of this ring of buildings. But this was hardly of any real matter to Edge. He was trying to ascertain a matter of much greater importance. What his place in this unfolding drama would be. Whether dinner or diner, whether this was a party, a ritual, a sacrifice, or something else entirely. The group here was adorned heavily in bird feather of many bright colors. Those carrying him were naked as the majority had been. As he entered the plaza a howl went up and everything fell silent. He was carried toward a pyramid-like dais at the plaza’s center. Obviously something was going on there.

The great bonfire burned in a great pit before the dais. The tremendous heat of it would sear flesh from bone in seconds. This looked more and more like a Mayan style sacrifice and this sent Edges fragile reasoning process into an irrational spin. It was clearly a formal costume party Edge observed. And having only jeans (which he no longer actually had) and a ripped Rolling Stones “lips” tee (ironic as it was) felt badly under dressed. But somehow Edge didn’t suppose they’d let him go home and change into something more appropriate and come back later.... At least he still had his sense of humor. “Barbeque sauce or marinate,” he muttered.

When the group carrying him stopped about ten feet from the fire and held him up to it, Edge’s heart nearly stopped, saving them the trouble of killing him. But the group suddenly turned away and made their way to the other side of the fire pit and proceeded at a redoubled hop pace, up the long staircase. At least he had a few more moments. But if they were in fact Mayan-like then this simply meant they were carrying him to the high altar so everyone could get a better view of the coming gory proceedings. Edge weighed the odds that they were going to do something terrible vs. the long shot possibility that they were peace loving agrarian vegetarians and he didn’t like how it came out.

When he reached the top of the dais he completely mentally floundered. All he could manage was a completely hysterical laugh.

“Hey Mikey. What kept ya?”

II.

Edge was so completely flabbergasted he didn’t even realize that they had untied him for several minutes. He just sort of stood there in a stunned stupor trying to pull everything that had, and was happening, together into something that could be made into one reality or another. At this point any reality would be acceptable as long as it made ANY sense.

Bourbon sat contentedly, indifferent to any rational, upon an ornate knee high pedestal (waist high by native standard) licking the last remnants of the ice cream from his underside. Nothing interesting, or from his point of view extraordinary, had happened thusfar. So until something happened that was important from his point of view, he wouldn’t participate in the insignificant social amenities that would proceed the important stuff. Edge clearly didn’t like being left hanging, to try and figure it all out for himself.

What the hell was the point of having Bourbon along at all if he was only going to be sporadically helpful when it damned well pleased him? Edge stared an indifferent Bourbon down. He was ignored. Having no choice, Edge determined to make sense of thesituation using intuition on his own. He looked around the top of the platform (dais) and tried to take it all in.

The dais was about twenty to twenty five feet across. It was polished stone blocks with sporadic grass and weeds growing up between the spaces. The blocks were five or six feet across. The stones were well worn by eons of weathering and foot traffic. There was clearly a central altar-like stone off to the rear. (Bad sign) It was a large square block of bluish marble-like stone with a thin slab of black onyx or something like that on top. The height of the surface seemed too high to be of practical use to the bunny people.

Mounds of aromatic wildflowers were heaped over its surface obscuring the surface.

The bunny women were divided into two main groups, one on either side of the altar in a semi circle that opened just slightly where he and this new group had joined the proceedings, and thereby closing the rough circle. Back lit against a large fire bowl at the rear of the dais was a single Bunny Woman, or it could be man in this light, who sat in a wicker chair (throne?) apparently overseeing the proceedings.

The pedestal on which Bourbon sat impassionately was one of two which sat at the front edge of the dais like some sort of gateway between them was indicated. The other had upon it a most amazing thing. Edge did a double take and then looked back and forth between Bourbon and the matching pedestals matching stone cat. It was the spitting image of Bourbon! The careful craftsmanship clearly lent to the conclusion that this statue had not been made in the day or even days since their arrival in this world. This statue had clearly been here for some many years. The growths of moss and wear seemed to set it’s age as comparable to the structure as a whole which made it’s insane resemblance by coincidence or other circumstance to Bourbon minimally mind boggling.

Bourbon noted Edges reaction and chuckled. “I wouldn’t bother with the details Mikey, what you need to be doing is taking in the big picture.” Edge didn’t find that particularly helpful. But Edge had long ago accepted that Bourbon was going to offer whatever cryptic assistance he chose in his way and time. “So it doesn’t look like we’re on the menu. I see nothing that would seem to indicate sacrifice, and no weapons or executioner type things so....”

“That’s fairly obvious,” Bourbon countered impatiently.

“So.... I would guess something else is going on here. Something I have no idea what it is. Something that has something to do with your resemblance to their statue and the one man orgy we, or more correctly I, had earlier. Though how these events tie together....”

Bourbon remained as silent as the stone cat, and nearly as motionless. Again he seemed to be waiting for something. It was weird and more than a little disturbing, how Bourbon almost always seemed to somehow anticipate important turning points. But then cats to some degree always gave the impression of waiting so it was hard to tell how much was some sort of supernatural foresight and how much was his imagination slipping into paranoid mode whenever Bourbon was involved in something.

Edge didn’t have to wait long for any of his answers. All the other bunny people bowed low. As if this were some visual cue the Bunny person upon the throne stood up and began gibbering in what sounded like an almost ceremonial tone. From what he could tell this voice seemed female as well. Clearly Bourbon was unconcerned. But then again, he hadn’t been all that upset back in the market until Edge had involved him either, so that was no indication of what way this was going.

As this figure moved around the altar and into the torchlight of the group, Edge was now standing well and conspicuously above the crowd. A very unconfortable position, he subconsciously attempted to duck down so he didn’t stand head AND shoulders above everything and everyone. It didn’t help much.

As the figure passed into the closer front lit torchlight Edge could have been knocked over with a feather. This was his second or third massive shock in the last few moments, and the way things were going it wouldn’t be his last.

It was the little bunny woman he had attempted to “help” earlier!!!

Edge was taken completely aback. The queen (high priestess?) of the bunny people stopped about three feet in front of him. She musically alternately trilled, gibbered (recited?) a long ritualistic (litany?) for the next twenty minutes with an intense seriousness that denoted some importance to her resertation. Edge made concerned and serious nods and affectations in what seemed to him all the right places. She seemed pleased with most of his acknowledgments. But when she gestured beyond Edge and Bourbon came trotting up beside him and she... looked DOWN!!! Down??? She looked down. AT Bourbon. And began to recite AT him, Edge became seriously mentally disoriented. No one in ALL his delusions (adventures?) had EVER seen Bourbon before that he could recall. Was this a sign that Bourbon was real or that he was getting worse?

The (queen?) had not only acknowledged Bourbon but also had touched him and physically interacted and was continuing to do so by reaching down to him and holding him up to the crowd which ooooooooooo’d and ahhhhhhhhhhhhh’d, both on the dais and below, as she reverently displayed him.

They could clearly not only see, but interact with Bourbon. For a moment Edges struggle with the Bourbon question seemed half way settled. Then looking at the question more sanely (if that is the word that even can be applied under these circumstances) Edge reconsidered. But if they were a delusion, he reasoned, what did their reaction to Bourbon actually prove? This was getting Edge nowhere. The only place he could even begin to test this reality issue was back in HIS world. And he immediately determined to bring something back that could have its reality weighed by people he could be relatively certain of the reality of.

Edge looked at her more closely now. She was no longer completely naked as she had been earlier. She wore a sort of woven flower chains feather outfit that (of course) still left nothing to the imagination. It was more ornate than any of the others ritual garbs, clearly a distinction of position. But upon her head was the strangest accouterment of all. A headpiece like device which she obviously wore as a crown or revered object of sorts. It was adorned with flowers like everything else, so it was difficult to make out any details, but clearly it was of a technology not obvious or native to these current surroundings. Some sort of large crystal cluster was set in it as a center piece. The crystals varied from clear to pale blue through a striking royal purple.

She gestured for Edge to take a place beside her, which he did. He seemed terribly out of place dwarfing her. And when she sat in the wicker throne he truely looked the part of a giant. She alternatly gibbered at those assembled and Edge, who didn’t get any of it. Bourbon again shocked Edge as he began to translate from her lap. More proof they were like Bourbon, hallucinations.

“The queen says that our thanks go out to the fulfiller of our most divine prophecy (you) and his emissary , harbringer, omen and forteller of his iminent coming, the most sacred stone beast made flesh, the .... (on and on like this for five minutes) friend and companion. We thank and welcome you. We the Children of Dezuhshamkalamasalami who will have your children till the next coming and change honor you. Give to you all we are and have. Those of us who shall continue.... (and on it went incoherently for hours). It sounded like Bourbon was getting his ego stroked the most in the speech, but Bourbon might just be elaborating and embellishing his own importance to get Edge’s goat. His ego was easily ten times bigger than he was on a good day. But Edge lost interest as soon as he was certain he wasn’t going to be on the menu or kept in perpetual sexual bondage.

Bourbon broke from translating this ritualistic torture and stroking his own ego just long enough to explain that Edge, having had sex with their queen, had fullfilled his commitment to them, and they would help Edge and Bourbon on their way at the conclusion of the coronation festivities. Beyond that Edge wasn’t interested. He only wanted to be on his way. The trail they were following was growing steadilly colder by the hour. It would be hard enough to pick it up without.... “And let the most holy one go forth in peace with our thanks.” Thank god it was over.

Edge of Oblivion

Chapter 8 Every Great Journey Begins & Ends With A First Step

I.

The ceremonial feast lasted three days, and Edge was not allowed to leave until it was over. Bourbon convinced him that it would be very disrespectful to try, so he sat through endless speeches he didn’t understand a word of, and what turned out to be very little actual feasting. With a dozen or more bunny people around him at any one time he seriously doubted he could have made a clean break anyway.

By the time it was finally over the trail was as cold as a dead mackeral on ice. As promised, the bunny people supplied them with food and sacks and any other odds and ends they thought he and Bourbon might need in their travels. Edge’s request for a small jar of horny bunny lube met with titters of amusement and quizical looks, but the request of the great breeder was fulfilled, and the jar was sealed with something that looked like bee’s wax.

The whole bunny nation turned out to see them off. When fully assembled there turned out to be five or six hundred of them.

How his boinking five of the bunny people made any real difference he couldn’t conceive. He was doubtful about whether he could even cross breed with them. And if he could make it bunny style and make it stick, how much difference one guy could ever make in the depths of their gene pool? Statistically he would be a couple drops of semen in the bunny bucket. He asked Bourbon (who seemed more informed than he was letting on) who sidestepped the subject admirably. He clearly wasn’t ready to spill what he knew, and Edge knew pressing him wouldn’t get him any additional info till Bourbon was ready. So Edge just waved to the enthusiastic masses lining the street and set out to say his final “goodbye” to the queen who he was told was awaiting him for the ceremonial goodbye ritual on the dais (apparently the new queens seat of power).

Surprisingly this ritual was extremely brief. Edge said his good bye’s and they were on their way.

But before setting out on the road to pursue the mystery man, Edge did one last thing to help raise his benefactor in her people’s eyes (partially at Bourbons suggestion). Or at least this was how he rationalized it. All rhetoric and semantics aside, he screwed her bunny brains out in the public square for the better part of an hour. And it wasn’t an altogether unpleasent task. Another hour wasn’t going to matter at this point, he told himself.

By bunny standards this performance was more legendary thean his last, and would probably be a story told for many many generations. And for the record; this time he didn’t have to fake ANYTHING. And further, truth be told, she was one hell of a good lay now she was queen. She produced so much yellow goo he was going to have a woody long after they’d been on the road an hour. He couldn’t believe that he was still getting his world rocked a full fifteen minutes after she was done. He was willing to bet that past great breeders had to be dragged kicking and screaming away from the bunny people, if they had left at all. The other residual goo effect would make getting his pants back on and hiking on the trail/ road more difficult for some time. That stuff was truly amazing!

II.

The more he thought about it the more he was almost sorry she couldn’t go with them at least for a couple days when they would probably leave the forest world or at least the edge of the bunny kingdom.

He had actually come to really like her as a (person?) and her growing insatiability was an odd but attractive asset in a travelling companion as well. “Who says good things don’t come in small packages,” He told himself silently. Usually, It was always just him and Bourbon, and clearly HE didn’t offer the same advantages as a companion that the bunny girl did. But Edge knew that he’d never be able to explain her when he got back home, and she would be more liability and distraction than anything on the difficult path ahead, so Edge resigned himself to going with Bourbon and his other suggestion.

During his last “encounter” with the Bunny Queen, Edge took a “souvenir” that might come in useful later (several, but he didn’t know it at this point). And something he could use to test the reality of all this when he did get home eventually. Not to mention make a few bucks on. The pale blue crystal from the ceremonial headpiece went into his travel bag, along with food and other provisions. Hopefully it wouldn’t be missed until well after they were gone. He considered it repayment for what he had done for her. Surely they couldn’t grudge him some small compensation for all the services rendered? Hadn’t they said “What was theirs was his” or something like that?

It was funny how he felt more like a whore taking money off a dresser after sex then a national hero, savior, (or was it father?) of the bunny people race. At least if he was going to be a thief, he wasn’t going to be the stealer of toilet paper....

And when Bourbon found out he had taken the stone he (Edge) wanted, and not the one Bourbon had “suggested” he procure, the cat was going to lose his little mind!

The only thing that was beginning to bother him even a little about the recent events was that the funny itch between his legs was becoming quite annoying and getting steadily worse.

“We’re on our way Bourbon,” he told the cat cheerfully as they finally left the city.

“Maybe,” the cat responded slowly, ominously looking all around, ears alert.

Edge had no opportunity to ask what the cat meant, but he got that old sick to his stomach feeling and the hair on his neck was standing up so he prepared for the worst.

What he thought was the worst wasn’t even close. They had gone maybe ten paces beyond the last building and onto the main road when the attack on the city began.