Originally published January 2014 as Smokey Saga #11
I originally posted this shortly after the debut “Happy Endings” installment, at the turn of ’14. At the time, I’d written a tribute to Christmas, but no other holidays. This was my salute to Easter. It’s rather edgy and sinister, so proceed at your own risk, Beloved Readers. Although believe it or not, before this edit, it was actually even more sinister.
After Lit, I got this story (the unedited, extra mean version) published somewhere else in September ’16: a site called ENF-CMNF, devoted to embarrassed, shy, reluctant and humiliated naked women. So to date, this story is unique because it’s the first Smokey Saga to appear on three different sites. But you, loyal Noveltrovers, have the privilege of being the first to read the freshly edited, polished-up version. So enjoy, although it really does bear repeating, this is the cruelest story I’ve published yet on NT. But it’s fun. It really is, and works itself out to a happy ending. So please do keep that in mind.
Thursday, March 21st, 2013, 4:25 p.m.
In the heart of downtown, it was typical hustle and bustle. Streets were jammed, filling the air with exhaust and impatient horn-honking. Sidewalks were as congested with folks on foot. The city of Juniper was populated with individuals of all kinds, from all walks of life, belonging to all sorts of different occupations.
This totality was exemplified by two people who dwelled in the downtown heart’s left ventricle: a husband-and-wife swinger couple, Lou and Sandra Burton. Both in their mid-40s, they’d been together for about fifteen years. Their shared life was something of a mystery to casual acquaintances. And the reason they were so choosy with whom they allowed into their circle of friends.
Lou and Sandy made a very nice living, and kept home in a very nice residence, affordability supplied by this very same mystery. It was why they kept a low profile regarding their living arrangements. By morning and afternoon, Lou worked on wait staff at a restaurant, and Sandy was a department store salesperson. Even as a two-income couple, it could be seen how one was baffled by their lavish situation.
This was of course where their secret—and swinger lifestyle—came spiraling into play. They managed an organization of BDSM pornography together. Its name, The Fetish Buffet, was Sandra’s idea—a gimmick designed to encapsulate the wide span of sexual interests and kinks in which they specialized. They produced videos of their session content and scenarios, and ran a site that offered previews, the option to purchase shoots, an overview of themselves, and of their models. While both featured as performers themselves, Lou was the cinematographer, leaving the better part of screen time to his wife. Though Sandy’d be too modest to agree, Lou insisted she boasted a much more appealing camera presence.
They started out renting a warehouse for their private studio. Once doing well enough, they scaled up into a two-story house, turning the spacious basement into their new studio. In their ever-growing BDSMpire, they’d recruited quite an accumulation of male and female models, of different age groups, ethnicities and backgrounds. As for their own histories, Lou had taken film school courses. Sandy’s academic expertise lay more in the area of psychology. With Lou’s camera skills and Sandra’s acumen of human appeal, they co-directed and edited pretty successful films.
Ads were placed for new models, but a good portion of applicants and participants were met right on the street. Lou or Sandy would be out and about, see a cute potential new colleague/plaything, approach and introduce themselves. Sometimes the candidate accepted their invite, sometimes not. They approached more folks in person than got responses to their ads, but percentages were better to make a connection via an ad.
On this typical Thursday, it was Sandra who was scouting for new possible talent. She combed the northern face of downtown, currently on 18th Avenue and Juniper Street. For their latest venture, they wanted a timely concept and equally tasty female model. Easter was around the corner, and so natch, they needed a new “bunny.”
Actually, when it came to finding new talent, it was indeed Sandy who did most of the approaching. Persuasion to appear in an adult film production was achieved more effectively by a woman, be the candidate either male or female. Besides, she had the better grasp of the human mind. Lou also scouted, if Sandy was already out and they were more hard-pressed to find performers. He’d brought a few amateurs onboard, but overall, it remained Sandy’s territory.
Some days they did better than others. Luckily, as expansive as the city was, years would pass before they’d hit every nook and cranny. Rounding 18th and Juniper, Sandra entered a corner of the main business borough, where she and other citizens shrank into the labyrinth of buildings and skyscrapers piercing the blue sky.
A cool breeze tousled her hair and kissed her face. The vernal equinox had descended a few days ago, and spring was literally in the air. Statistically speaking, summer was their best season for finding new talent, as the population bared more skin and...assets. But spring was a close second. Sandy wasn’t far from the mall where she worked. She’d driven dozens of times by the enormous Klondike Complex, but had never traversed its lovely landscape. She gazed upon a pedicured checkerboard lawn stretching the grounds, decorated with umbrella’d dining tables, rock gardens, streams, fountains, tennis courts, even…she squinted into the distance. A…swimming pool?
Wow, people who get to work here’re really lucky, she thought. She could only imagine the amenities on the interior of the suites. They’ve probably got a four-star café in there, and I have to choose between Arby’s and Panda Express at the food court.
Time to get down to business. Sandy slipped on her shades to conceal her predatory eyes, and began people-watching. They were mostly dressed in business suits. Logical; an upscale work atmosphere commanded upscale dress attire. She smiled as she imagined getting her mitts on one of these savvy, no-nonsense professionals in—or should she say out of—their expensive suits, bending them over, branding them in her own special way, and marking her territory.
There was indeed some nice male and female eye candy to be found here. Reminding herself they were specifically looking for a young lady, she checked out one to the next, confident in what she was seeing. Nice…nice…ooh, quite nice…cute…also nice and cute…HOT… she thought, like the vulture she was. She didn’t worry in the least about being asked what she was doing here. She was good at thinking on her feet, and could satisfy curiosity by supplying a fake name and occupation. In a particularly playful mood, she’d add a fake accent. The occasions someone did ask were scarce anyway.
It was close to 4:30 in the afternoon. Inconspicuously slipping around one suite to the next, Sandra’d made her way around more than half of them by the time she finally found her girl. She didn’t have to look twice. Her eyes locked and zeroed in. Sitting at one of the umbrella tables, she was an auburn-haired young thing in a black lady’s pantsuit, texting on her phone. Her shoes were overturned on the grass, bare feet on the seat of another chair, legs crossed, idly wiggling her toes. She may not have been classically model-gorgeous, but something about her attracted Sandra. The candid bare footplay was just a delightful bonus.
Sandra smiled, heading in her direction. As she neared, she noticed something else. The girl looked…upset. Her face seemed to be reflecting a mixture of anguish and disappointment. Naturally, Sandy wondered what was wrong. Well, perhaps I could cheer her up a little, she thought, sauntering on over.
Once the girl noticed her shadow and looked up, Sandra merrily smiled. “Hi there!” The smile was genuinely kind and friendly, though it was difficult to tell with her Aviators on.
The girl paused, looking blankly for a moment. “Uh…hello,” she replied uncertainly.
“How do you do?” Sandy asked cordially. “My name is Sandra Burton.”
“…Um, hi…Sandra. I’m Heather…” She let her voice hang, as if to continue speaking, but let it trail off. She didn’t offer her hand, so Sandra did not extend hers just yet either. When she realized that’s all the girl was having for the moment, Sandy continued.
“Well, it’s lovely to meet you, Heather.” She gestured to the empty chairs at her table. “I know this may sound a little forward, but do you mind if I join you? Unless of course you have to be running off somewhere; I don’t wanna keep you.” Okay, that’s kind of a lie, but she doesn’t need to know that.
Heather seemed to be upset by what Sandra’d said. She dropped her eyes and sighed.
“Wh—…” Sandra hoped she didn’t hurt her feelings. So far, she’d thought the extent of their exchange was polite and friendly. “Oh, I’m sorry, did…did I say something wrong?”
Heather shook herself out of it. “Oh, no, no. No, uh…it’s fine. Go ahead.” She indicated the vacant chair where Sandy’d just gestured. “Sit down if you want. I don’t care.”
Hmm, thought Sandy. Something was bothering the lass, but she didn’t want to pry. She decided to simply employ her mind tactics. “Well, thank you, Heather,” she graciously rejoined, accompanying her. “So then…do you have a few moments free?”
“Sure, why the hell not,” Heather muttered gloomily.
My goodness, something really is bothering you, isn’t it, Sandy thought. “Well, I…I really do hope I’m not pestering you, or being a nuisance in any way,” she reiterated.
Heather put her phone down on the table. “I’m sorry, I’m being rude. I-I’m just…” She covered her face with her hand. “This has just been a kinda…well…shit day.”
So she was right, Sandra regretfully realized. “Oh, dear, I’m so sad to hear that. Well, we just met; you probably don’t wanna talk to a total stranger about it.”
“Ah, what the hell; might help to get it off my chest. My boyfriend dumped me.”
Sandy’s face dropped. “Aw, I’m sorry, Heather. That’s really tough.”
“No shit. He cheated on me.”
“You’re kidding me! He cheated on you, and then he dumped you?? That’s horrible!”
“Well, much as I’d like to put it all on him, I can’t,” she admitted. “I cheated on him too.”
Sandra’s brows arched. “…Oh,” she replied. “Well, forgive me for sticking my big proboscis in your business…but perhaps it wasn’t exactly a heaven-made match.”
“No foolin’ you,” Heather said, a dash of feistiness in her voice. “We got in this big fight. It was ugly. He said some shit that really hurt me. And I wanted to get even with him, so I fucked one of his friends. So when he finds out, he freaks on me. Calls me a whore, says he never wants to see me again. Next thing you know, I find out he’s making out with some chick behind my back. You believe that?” She shook her head with a scoff.
Sandra had a little trouble processing this. She was sure Heather’s feelings had indeed been quite hurt. But describing having had sex with another man first—if Sandy was in fact understanding correctly—her tone sounded matter-of-fact, as if it were no big deal.
“But…if y—…how d—…”
After another second she shrugged it off. “Y’know what, never mind that. Why don’t I tell you why I wanted to talk to you. I know this is gonna sound very random, but let me ask you if I may, Heather…” She took a strategic pause. “Have you, by chance, ever done any work in the field of modeling before?”
Heather raised her gaze. “You…think I’m a model?” she asked with both a skeptical expression and a caustic chuckle.
“Well, I’m just asking,” explained Sandra. “You see, my husband and I run a small film company. We do a lot of…what you might call documentary work, and we’re always looking for fresh new faces. Being young is also a plus. And while I was in the area today, something about you just happened to catch my eye.”
Heather took another moment to just stare. Then she looked to her left and right as if she thought Sandy was talking to someone else. Finally, she pointed to herself.
“Indeed!” Sandy confirmed. “Certainly someone finding appeal in your facial features and physical structure can’t be the most mindblowing thought in the world?”
Actually, her bared feet on display helped very much. They were quite lovely, Sandra thought. Not too wide, not too flat, soft-looking soles, the curve of the instep from the fair skin tone of the tops to the tender pink bottoms, the clear nail polish…Sandy coerced herself to maintain eye contact while sneaking glimpses at her petite tootsies, which she was guessing were about 7s. Heather absentmindedly flexed them, stretching and scrunching, over and over. And the fact that Heather had on dress pants—baring no leg, just isolating the feet—made them even more enticing.
She wondered how ticklish they were. She wanted to find out, if only to try and get the girl to smile. Lou’d love those babies, she thought, her husband also very appreciative of a pretty couple of peds. Sandy let him do everything with her feet: rub, lick, nibble, tickle, et cetera. Though she was shy to admit it, Sandy had an extreme weak spot just below her arches. Once that spot was activated—on either sole—she was melted putty in the hands of the activator.
Heather, in the meantime, was answering. “Well, considering what an ugly fucking duckling I was growing up, and how the boys always went after the pretty girls and cheerleaders…you’ll forgive me if I do find that kinda hard to believe,” she groused, while Sandra wondered if there were any weak spots on her feet.
“Well, that’s unfortunate to hear. But perhaps I can convince you otherwise by inviting you for an interview with us? Say, next Wednesday?” Sandy proposed. “Early, mid- or late afternoon could all work.”
Heather gazed cynically. She flipped her feet up from the chair, dropped them on the grass, put her elbow on the table and propped up her chin.
“All right, what’s the deal, lady? What’s really going on here?”
Okay, this is a tough cookie, Sandy thought. But she opened up her purse and retrieved a business card. “Well, Heather,” she began, “If you’re having doubts about our being on the proverbial level, I assure you that everything about our operation is legitimate…”
She handed it to her. Heather read, more or less obligatorily.
BURTON PRODUCTIONS & TALENT, INC.
LOUIS OLIVER BURTON
SANDRA ARIANA BURTON
6307 WEST RICHGATE STREET
FOR LOUIS: 555-4789
FOR SANDRA: 555-0182
EXOTIC MODELING, ACTING, FILM WORK
She glossed over the card for about three spectacularly blasé seconds. She then let it drop on the table, picking up her shoes and slipping them on. She grabbed her phone and purse, and got up. “Sorry, lady,” she mumbled apathetically. “Not interested.”
She started away, leaving Sandra to the table on her own.
“Suit yourself,” called Sandy. “Starting female salary’s a thousand dollars a day.”
Something in that sentence made Heather stop in her tracks. She returned.
“Oh,” Sandra innocently noted. “Change your mind?”
“Did you say…a THOUsand dollars…a day?”
“Why, yes I did.” She dug briefly through her own purse for her checkbook and a pen. She scribbled out a check to just that amount, tore it out and handed it on over. “You may consider this your advance…”
Heather came back and sat with her again. She snatched the check and took a look.
“…But only if you’re willing to come to the interview,” Sandra continued. “If you don’t, or decide you don’t want the job, the check won’t be any good.”
Yeah, that was a one, a comma and three zeroes, all right, no hidden decimal. And definitely a dollar sign.
“So, Wednesday afternoon, around this time or so?”
Wednesday, March 27th, 2013, 4:51 p.m.
The Burtons had prettied themselves up for Heather’s arrival, Lou in a three-piece and Sandy in a blue cocktail. They brought out a veggie-dip plate and set it out on the coffee table, which they found to be a pleasing welcome to any and all guests and future staff.
A short while later brought the fateful knock. Three slow, sharp raps. To one who didn’t know Heather, a fraction of her personality could be discerned by the knock alone. Lou opened the door. There she stood, again clad in one of her pantsuits. Lou diagnosed apathy and indifference at first glance. Though to Sandy, who’d met Heather previously, a trace of sadness could also be read around the eyes. She held her purse at thigh level with both hands, like a child who had just gotten her first one ever.
“Welcome!” grinned Lou. He held out his hand. “You of course must be Heather.”
Heather said nothing for the moment. She hesitated, gave a slight nod and weakly returned the handshake, then regrasped the purse as if it were her security blanket.
“Come in!” said Lou. “Make yourself at home.”
“Hi, Heather!” greeted Sandra, in the same cheerful tone of voice as when they met at the Klondike building. “It’s so nice to see you again!”
Heather gave Sandy a nod, trying to make eye contact. She was sincerely trying to be polite and make a good first impression, but…Heather Annie Hoffen’d endured a rough childhood and adolescence. She did okay scholastically, but never had more than one or two close friends, and always felt rather out of place. There was truth in what she’d told Sandra too; she was considered unattractive by the boys in school. She wasn’t asked to dances, but neither exactly dying to go to them anyway. Her home life wasn’t much better, brought up by two verbally abusive parents whose love for her seemed questionable, and who couldn’t afford to give her the things her classmates’ could.
As a result of this lousy hand of cards, she didn’t catch a lot of breaks. The truth was, Heather’d always had a secret desire for attention. Preferably of the positive nature, but at this point, she’d settle for what she could get. Deep down, she knew terminal shyness was easily mistaken for hostility, and that certainly wouldn’t win her any friends. The roadblock lay in her approach to be outgoing and extroverted. But also deep down, she was terrified to allow herself to open up. That she’d just be setting herself up for more rejection, heartbreak and lonesomeness. Working herself up to be friendly and sociable took energy at this point. And when she remained unrewarded, it was all the more discouraging. It was truly an unfortunate cycle.
Her desire for attention steered her in the wrong relationship direction as well. She had cheated on her boyfriend, and knew she wasn’t in her right mind at the time. The reality that someone else was actually also interested in her clouded her better judgment. And after she realized what she’d done, she felt awful. The man for whom she’d abandoned her boyfriend was a user who’d wanted cheap sex. She’d lost the man who genuinely liked her and might have made a future. And she’d broken her own heart on several levels. Perhaps most disappointing of all was the feeling that however she tried, she just wasn’t a good person. She couldn’t stop persecuting herself.
All this happened a couple of months before, and she was having trouble getting past it. But she’d been cleanly honest with Sandra about her infidelity, because continued lack of attention—positive or otherwise—drained her want for privacy about her personal life. And also because outside opinions no longer fazed her. There was nothing anyone could tell her that she hadn’t told herself a hundred times already. No one could punish her more severely than she’d punished herself. It was true, her ex-boyfriend became very friendly with another girl remarkably soon after the breakup. But she didn’t know how long it had been going on. She honestly didn’t know if he was cheating, or if it was her act that thrust him into the other woman’s arms. She might not have any right to be upset, but when she saw the two of them together, she couldn’t help wishing she could drive a stake through that girl’s heart. Oh, if only she could go back in time.
But it was just as well; she couldn’t repair the damage she’d done, and trying to get him back wouldn’t accomplish anything. She still felt terrible, but couldn’t change the past. It happened, it was done, and so she decided she had to move on. To make a fresh start, learn from her mistakes, and hope she could be lucky enough to meet someone else as good. The experience hadn’t improved her social skills, but perhaps fate would give her another chance—if she gave herself another chance. And though she was baffled by Sandra’s supposition that she was a model…Heather thought this interview could encourage her to do more new things, and draw herself out of her self-loathing rut.
Lou and Sandy took her into the living room and they sat down together.
“That’s a lovely purse, Heather,” said Sandra.
“Oh, uh…thank you,” she said timidly, working up a tiny smile. “By the way, eh…Mrs. Sandra, ma’am, I wanted to apologize if I came off as dismissive, or aloof last week.” She looked around the room, feeling a bit awkward over it all. “I didn’t really mean to, ’s just…” She shrugged.
“Oh!” Sandy scoffed and gestured it away. “Don’t even worry about it, honey. Go ahead, sit, sit. Have some veggies.”
Sandra turned the tray so the carrots were closest, encouraging her to start with them.
“Well, it’s indeed wonderful to meet you, Heather,” said Lou as he and his wife also sat. “Sandy’s told me a bit about you.”
Heather threw Sandra a look.
“Oh—don’t worry,” she assured her. “I also told him there were a few things that’d go no further than the two of us.”
Heather relaxed a little. “Although it’s really okay, Heather,” Lou went on. “Believe you me, we’re the least judgmental folks. Seriously, someone could tell us the worst possible thing about themselves, and we’d try to give them the benefit of the doubt.”
Heather was pleased to hear that, though her countenance still reflected apprehension.
“So, I understand Sandy’s filled you in on the details of our little operation here?”
“Well, uh…kind of…” Heather said uneasily, unassumingly fingering one carrot stick.
“Heather, hon, you seem a bit nervous,” remarked Sandy. “Y’know what, maybe it’d help relax you to take off your shoes and put your feet up. You know, like you were outside your building. You did seem more at ease then.” She smiled. “Really, please, go ahead!” she encouraged. “We want you to be as comfy as possible with us.”
While this seemed a bit out of the ordinary, Heather nonetheless acquiesced, “…Okay.” She slipped her Hush Pups off, crossed her legs and rested her bare feet on the table. Lou and Sandy both mentally marveled at just how petite and soft and pure they looked. Sandy was close in guessing her size; she was actually a 7-and-a-half. With one slight glance to one another, Sandy and Lou communicated an entire conversation.
See, babe, what’d I tell ya?
Wow, Sands, you weren’t kidding; those little sweeties are almost as cute as yours.
Honey, they are as cute as mine. Even cuter, in fact. This girl may be grown up, but she’s still a kiddo; ’s only 25.
Dunno; haven’t found out yet. Don’t worry, we will.
“There! That’s better, huh?” Sandy said. “Now, let’s go ahead and start the interview. Now Heather, you told me you’ve never done anything like this professionally before?”
Heather dipped a carrot stick and took a bite. “Right.”
“No film work at all?” asked Lou. Heather shook her head.
“How do you feel about exhibitionism?” was the next question Sandy asked.
Her expression turned a tad surprised. “Like…take my clothes off?”
“Well, yes,” she answered. “I know you don’t have any experience, but that’s okay. And what we’re looking for requires a bit more exposure than your average day of modeling.”
“…All of it?”
“Well, we can ease in, and work our way along,” Lou explained. He could see she was becoming reluctant, so he steered her back in their direction. “Oh, and Sandy did tell you about the salary, did she not? Fourteen hundred a day?”
Heather’s eyes popped open turning back to Sandra. “I…thought you said a thousand.”
“Oh, did she?” Lou feigned. “I’m sorry, sometimes my handy Sandy gets her figures mixed up. It used to be a thousand. When our sales increased we upped it to fourteen.”
“Ah—he’s right,” said Sandy. “At that point I’d become used to telling everyone it was an even thousand. I’m sorry about that, Heather,” she apologized with a small chuckle.
Actually, both knew it was $1,400. The little white fib about the figure was deliberate, from Sandy’s bag of psychological tricks. If a person went into a job opportunity being told what they’d be making, she explained to Lou, and then found out they’d actually be making even more, they’d feel that much more eager and inclined to take the job.
“Oh my God!” exclaimed Heather. “That’s almost ten grand a week!”
“Total, yes,” said Lou, “If you’re willing to work every day and weekends as well.”
“Of course, if we keep you on payroll through the end of the year, there’s an annual five-grand Christmas bonus,” Sandy added, to Heather’s visible amazement.
“WHOA!” said Heather, about two hundred percent more excited than she was setting foot on Lou and Sandy’s doorstep. “Is there really that much money in modeling??”
“Heather, if we decide to hire and keep you on staff, this could just be the beginning,” Sandy told her, drawing her in further. “Remember, that daily $1,400 is only starting salary. Furthermore, traditional modeling often lasts only a few years. But here in our little academy, if you take excellent care of yourself…who knows how far this could go.”
Heather was becoming truly exhilarated. Sandy took another carrot from the vegetable tray, dipped and handed it to her. “Here, hon.”
“OH my GOD!” repeated Heather. “Just for taking my clothes off? What am I gonna be doing? Modeling lingerie or something like that?”
“Well, not exactly,” said Lou. “Heather, let me ask you this: how do you feel about performing in front of a live audience?”
Heather thought. If she did this, it appeared her thirst for attention may be quenched—if only temporarily. The source did not matter quite as much as the attention itself; she found it hard to care if applauded for her mind or for her body. Maybe she could be a “smart” model, and earn applause for both. She was getting more eager by the moment.
“I think I might like that,” she said, starting to smile.
“Okay then, good. Next question,” Sandy asked her. “How do you feel about being…touched, on camera?”
Her hint of a smile retreated. “Touched?”
“Well, we won’t lie to you, Heather,” Lou took over. “Touched in a rather intimate manner. Our material deals in very, shall we say, familiar, and…friendly subject matter.”
Hmm, thought Heather. With those high monetary figures, she anticipated something on the demanding side was involved. “So…” she hesitated, “You’re saying I might be, like, in my underwear, with a guy, pretending to…make out, something like that?”
Lou and Sandra nodded to each other. “Well…yes,” said Sandra. “Content may shift in terms of intimacy and intensity, but, yeah, you’ve got a decent idea.”
She processed. “Okay…” she discreetly commented.
“Well, Heather, we’ve got a few more details to lay out, but how do you feel about this opportunity so far?” asked Lou.
How did she feel…well, on one hand, she felt nervous about taking her clothes off in front of a bunch of strangers. But, she reasoned, they probably wouldn’t ask her to be completely naked…or would they? On the other hand, first of all, $1,400 a day—just to start, no less—and she reminded herself she never knew how it felt to be visibly attractive. This sounded like a good way to find out.
“Well, it…definitely sounds interesting,” was all she could think to say.
“Good!” said Lou. “So let me tell you a little bit about the whole process. Basically, as you’re center stage, and the audience is watching, Sandy’ll give you cues and direction. The two of us do also participate and do some performing ourselves. Mostly Sandy.”
“Oh…’kay, I see…”
“And also,” Sandy chimed in, “We’re always looking for new ideas and crowd-pleasers. We’re very timely with the holiday schedule. This Sunday, for example, the first project in which we’d like to use you—if you’re interested—is our Easter greetings show. It’ll take place on the holiday itself, Easter Sunday, and start at 9:00 p.m. It essentially entails playing the Easter Bunny.”
“Yes, but we must tell you a few things at this point,” Lou stepped in. “For one, Heather, there’s no rehearsal. One of the twists of our material is, everything’s done impromptu. Rehearsing a shoot of this nature can result in losing the natural spontaneity. We strive to make our productions as real and natural as possible. Make sense?”
“Excellent. The next thing you need to know is, there is no questioning our direction. Pardon me for being firm, but I remind you that as you’re working for us, you’ll need to do everything we say, exactly as we say.”
Heather nodded, in complete agreement with that.
“That’s right,” added Sandy. “The secret to our success is just those ingredients: spontaneity, impulsiveness and compliance.”
“So, Heather,” said Lou, “All this in mind…think you might like to be our Easter Bunny?”
Heather tried to see the cons to weigh things out, but the money and attention kept impeding her vision. All she could see were pros. Much as she attempted, she could not bring many negatives to mind. However, one thought that made her anxious lingered.
“Uh…would I have to…” She cleared her throat. “…Would I have to be naked?”
They took a second, and Sandy fielded this question. “Well, Heather, circumstances vary. Like I told you, the line moves back and forth. This is a very challenging business, and there’re lots of reasons most don’t make it. One reason is they don’t have what it takes. Some’ve opted out at this point. But I will be honest with you: the answer is yes.”
Heather widened her eyes and gulped.
“But not all the time,” Sandy went on. “It’ll depend on the particular scenario in play. Should we decide to use your talents in a particular shoot, and you decide to participate, you may or not be naked, depending upon what that scenario entails.”
“Right,” elaborated Lou. “Oftentimes, everyone is nude. But there will be some times when you would be nude and others clothed, and other times vice versa. You see?”
Heather thought it through. It was a startling thought, though she was a sensible person; she knew they weren’t paying her this handsomely for nothing. Still, at the same time she felt anxiety baring herself to all these strangers, a part of her found it somehow intriguing. Something thought of as genuinely good and appealing—and highly ego-boosting—about her. She liked that idea. And yet…it remained a tough decision.
Sandra broke into her consideration. “I will tell you this much, Heather—and we can’t go into much more detail at this point. But I can tell you one thing right now, and that is: the Easter Bunny will be brought on stage in her bra and panties.”
That seemed a little much right off the bat. “Oh, gosh,” said Heather.
“And—oh, actually, there’s one other thing we’ll tell you right now,” said Lou. “There’s no supporting cast. The Easter Bunny’s the only performer. So not only is it a starring role, it’s really the only role. Should you be interested, all the performance would be yours.”
Well, that sounded cool, she thought. Absolutely all the attention on her, and only her.
“Do I need to, like, memorize anything? Is there a script?” she asked.
“No,” Lou said. “’S like we said before, we’ll tell you what to do and say. Just leave the direction up to us.”
Heather thought some more. She had to admit, they were making it sound tempting.
“Do you need an answer right away?” she asked.
“Actually, I’m afraid we do,” said Sandy. “I know the timing’s a bit unfortunate, and I apologize for that. You can have a little time to think about it if you need some, but I’m sorry to say it’s a gamble. During that time, if we decide we’re interested in someone else who’s also interested, we would have to offer them the job.”
“Oh, gosh…” Heather went back and forth a few more moments, and made a decision.
Y’know what? Fuck it. What the hell. Maybe it’s about time I did something wild. It sounds scary, but also like it could be really fun! And maybe doing something crazy’ll help take my mind off the stupid stuff I’ve done recently. Just maybe…what the hell!
“Okay…” She took a breath. “So then…are you guys definitely offering me the job right now?” she asked eagerly.
They both nodded. Sandra said, “If you want it right now, it’s yours.”
Heather accepted before she could talk herself out of it. “I’ll take it!”
“Oh, wonderful! That’s great!” they said. Sitting nearer her, Sandy took another carrot stick, dipped, and fed her. “Here you go…bunny.”
Easter Sunday, March 31st, 2013, 8:33 p.m.
The sun arc’d down, waving goodbye to the moon. The baskets were given out. The families were back from church. The stores’ candy shelves were reduced to barely a single M&M, Peep or jelly bean. The dairy sections hadn’t a single case of eggs left. Those that were not eaten were dyed, painted and decorated, hidden and found.
Lou and Sandy asked Heather to show up half an hour before show time, which would have been 8:30, and to wait upstairs while the guests were ushered down into the basement. She was in the bedroom, wearing only a translucent lace bra and panties. Sandra kept her company upstairs while Lou greeted the visitors who would collectively form Heather’s audience.
“So, how you feeling?” asked Sandy.
She took a breath. “Uh…not too bad…few butterflies, but…I’m excited!” she smiled. The enthusiastic part of her tried to convince the anxious part to relax and have fun.
Sandra smiled too. “Excellent. Would you like a little snack or drink before we start?”
“Ooh, ummm, I probably shouldn’t,” Heather said. “If I get nervous in front of everybody, I might do something…bad.”
Sandra nodded. Her mouth said, “Oh, hon, completely understood.”
Her mind said, Oh, hon, if you only knew.
She explained that Lou would be introducing the show, and she’d escort Heather out on stage later. And that she was not to go near the stage until then. Lou, meanwhile, checked the guest list. He’d asked everyone who wished to attend to show no later than 8:45. At 8:52, after a final confirmation that everybody’d indeed arrived, he went upstairs to check on Heather.
“How’s our new little bunny?” he asked with a grin.
“Oh, just a teeny bit nervous,” said Sandy. Turning back to Heather, she said, “Don’t worry, you’re gonna do great. Just remember, you don’t have to come up with anything yourself; I’ll feed you all your direction. And remember too, you must do absolutely everything I tell you, and only what I tell you.”
It was almost 9:00. Lou checked himself in the mirror, glanced to the clock, threw the girls a thumbs-up, and headed downstairs for the intro.
They heard the door open, a mild wave of applause, then the door shut. Heather couldn’t hear anything once it closed again.
“Good evening!” Lou called, stepping into the studio. It was a large rectangular room, on three sides of which sat dozens of the Burtons’ friends, colleagues and other guests. This left only vacant the side bearing the door and curtain. The curtain concealed the “backstage” area, where props, toys, other aids and recording equipment were kept.
When they bought this house, they’d had the room specially built with a stepping rise around these three sides, so they could set up chairs on it. They knew they’d need a vast open area. Fortunately, maximum room capacity was just upwards of a hundred, and there was still plenty of space left for the entertainment. They’d also had the forethought to have a carpet expert craft them a rug made of impossibly soft sheepskin fibers, thick enough to perform stunts without any serious injuries. It was soft as a cloud.
Sometimes, like this evening, a few additional touches were made. For example, in front of the audience chairs, about every three or four seats apart, sat big Easter baskets filled with grass, eggs, candy and other goodies.
“Welcome to our Easter spectacular!” said Lou. “As you know, we’ve got a special performance in store for you tonight, presenting a brand-new bunny in her Burton Productions debut!”
He continued. At 9:01, Sandra took Heather downstairs to wait for her cue.
“Ready, hon?” whispered Sandy.
She gave a few excited nods. “I, uh…I think so, yeah.”
Finally, they heard Lou say, “And now, without further ado…”
Sandra turned the knob and quietly slid the door open.
“…I give you…our Easter Bunny for this evening: the lovely…Heather!”
Sandra led her in by the hand. When Heather walked in to generous applause and gazed around, her tummy did a flip. Her feet suddenly felt very cold. She flushed in the cheeks. She was quite nervous now. There must have been eighty people in the room!
She abruptly felt very self-conscious. She had no idea the audience would be this large on her first shoot. But she forced herself to keep cool and remember what led her to the decision. Just go with it, Heth, she kept repeating to her timid self. Just go with it. Behind them, Lou shut the door. Having readied the camera, he began rolling. There were a couple other stationary cameras placed strategically about, zoomed to capture just the optimum footage. This way, when Lou compiled film, he could use the preferred angle for any shot, cut and splice, and produce a quality video.
Sandy was smiling big and waving to the audience, Heather noticed as the applause finally started to die down. She did her best to smile big and wave along.
Placed a few feet in front of them was another basket, extra-sized to hold props for the occasion. Not letting Heather see what was in it yet, Sandra took it in her other hand.
“Good evening and welcome once more, everyone!” she said. “We’d like you to meet our brand-new, pure-as-silk virgin, Heather.” She of course meant “virgin” only in terms of never having participated in their activities before. “Tonight is her first shoot, so, eh…” She tossed out a shrug. “…Go easy on her.”
She flashed the audience a wink. Heather stared at her, a bit alarmed, wondering what exactly she meant by that. Sandy gave her a benevolent smile that seemed to say, Don’t fret, I’m just teasing you. The audience threw her back a few knowing laughs.
“Well, guess we better go ahead and get started, huh?” Sandra asked. “You wanted a bunny rabbit, you got one.” She retrieved the first item from the basket, a hair band with a pair of bunny ears attached, which she handed to Heather.
“I presume you know what to do with this.”
As she did what she knew what to do, Sandy slid the basket down her arm and retrieved the next two items: a capped black watercolor and a thin paintbrush. “Okay, bunny, this way, please.”
This would be Lou’s cue to bring her a glass of water. Sandra dipped the brush. “This isn’t going to harm you. You might want to close your eyes, though. Now don’t move…” She painted the tip of Heather’s nose black.
Heather shut her eyes with a stifled giggle. “That tickles.”
“Does it now…” Sandy smirked, dipping a few more times and painting whiskers on her cheeks. Once finished, she stepped back with a smile. “Adorable.” She deposited the brush in the glass, snapped the watercolor, dropped it in the basket and gave Heather a rotating finger gesture. “A’right, turn around, bright eyes.”
The next Sandra took out was a case of petroleum jelly. “Now hold still,” she ordered, smearing her hand. She squatted, subtly slid down Heather’s panties and applied the jelly to her rear end.
Heather wasn’t expecting that. She twitched, curling her fingers. She was getting a little uncomfy and embarrassed, but the audience was already very amused. Once Sandra applied a liberal layer of jelly, she gave her ass a punctuating spank, and seized the next object. It was a plastic bag with a large ball of cotton.
“Theeeere we go,” said Sandy, fastening on her tail with just enough force to stick. “You are SO damn cute!” she chuckled, adoringly gliding a finger down her calf.
“’Kay, honey bunny, close your eyes, and turn back around.” She swapped the baggie for a sizable, thick, large carrot, as opposed to the veggie sticks they’d fed her at the interview. Heather turned around again.
“Now keep ’em closed…and open that bunny mouth nice and wide…
“Wider…” She affixed the carrot sideways between Heather’s teeth. It was large enough to keep her mouth open with her jaws relaxed. “…Aaaaand, close.”
Crunch. Heather heard the audience laugh. Popping open her eyes and looking down, she couldn’t see far past her black nose tip. But with a little discernment from her tongue, she determined that it was indeed a carrot.
This further embarrassed Heather, who now felt like a pig with an apple shoved in its mouth. But she left it there, knowing she’d probably get in trouble if she removed it.
“Now you’re starting to look like a bunny!” Sandra exclaimed with a clap of her hands. She turned to the audience. “Now, ladies and gents, Lou gave you a one-question poll before the show. I say we do this by applause. So how many vote for choice A?”
The crowd produced a mild round of applause.
A slightly milder cheer ensued.
The audience roared.
“Wow!” said Sandy, returning to the basket. “I think we’ve got our answer; cuffs it is!”
Heather whipped her gaze to her. “Wuhh?” she asked.
Sandy threw Heather her smile and rotating finger gesture again.
“W—…wuhh uh iu guhwuh oo?” an alarmed Heather demanded to know.
Sandra manually turned the bunny around herself. “Why, honor the voice of the people, of course,” she answered, fetching a set of leather-lined handcuffs from the basket. She took Heather’s wrists, and proceeded to cuff them behind her back, prompting a muffled squeal once Heather realized what was happening.
“You heard ’em, Heth,” Sandra told her in a no-nonsense tone. “The question was how to properly restrain you. You know bunnies; don’t catch ’em early on, they run away.”
Heather couldn’t believe it. She hadn’t been told this part. “Yoh guhwuh rie ee uhh??”
“That’s right, sweetie. Option A was rope, B was chains, C was cuffs. They picked C.”
An impulse was suddenly awoken in Heather. For one half-second, she tried to turn and bolt for the door. But Sandy had her by the arm and held her back.
“He—!” Sandy seized her elbow. She pushed Heather’s shoulders down, making her bend over, and gave her a disciplinary sharp smack on the side of her ass.
“Bad bunny!” she admonished, triggering another whimper from the bunny and chortle from the crowd. “You’re not going anywhere. Now be a good girl, and behave.”
The audience tittered. Some feigned sympathy with a giggly “awww.” Heather began to feel humiliated. She’d have tried to spit the carrot out, but it dug further back in her teeth. She tried to bite through it, but it was more than she could chew off. She whimpered again as she next felt her feet being cuffed.
“Almost all set, cinnamon bunny. Just one more slight adjustment to make…”
Heather felt her doing something to her back. And then a cold chill assaulted her spine as she realized what it was. Sandra was…yes…unhooking her bra.
The audience was starting to whoop and whistle. “Uhhhhhrr!” Heather protested.
“Silly rabbit, have you ever seen a bunny wearing clothes? Of course not!” Sandy came to Heather’s front and tugged on the straps, which Heather desperately tried to pin down with her arms. She gave Heather another, harder smack on the side of the ass. When Heather again yelped and her guard came down, Sandra yanked the bra off her.
The audience cheered. Her breasts were exposed. The bunny lass wasn’t bargaining for that. Heather knew she still couldn’t do anything, but reflexively jerked about, as if she thought she could wrench out of the shackles and cover herself.
“I khauk iu kheh I wukh guhwuh hwee ih hwy hraw auh hwahheekh!” she shouted.
“Ah, ah; I said I’d bring you out in your bra and panties. I never said you’d stay in them.”
With that, Sandra slipped her fingers into the sides of the panties and whipped them down her legs. Heather screamed, jerking and jumping again, but she was inaudible over the audience’s even bigger cheer. She knew it’d lead to more trouble, but she tried to hop and shuffle around to turn her back to the crowd. Of course, Sandra halted her.
“Sit…still, you naughty little hare whore,” scolded Sandra. Heather shut her eyes with a cringe, beginning to want to cry. She dropped her sad eyes to the floor, wishing she could sink and vanish into it. She didn’t notice Sandy taking another object from the basket, until it was put to work on her.
“Bend over,” Sandy ordered, pressing her down by the shoulders again. As Heather did so, Sandra uncapped the lipstick. And Heather felt a series of lines being scrawled across her back. Finally, Sandy capped the lipstick, put it away, pulled Heather back up and brought her hair over her shoulders to the front.
“Okay, now turn around.” Sandra spun her 180°, making her shift her feet around like a penguin. After another second Heather heard a mixture of cheers, laughter and mock-sympathetic “awww”s. She had no idea what Sandra’d scribbled or drawn on her back—all she could concentrate on was the nightmare this “model shoot” had become. She couldn’t believe she had allowed herself to be lured into this prison of shame.
Sandra turned her back around. “Now why don’t we address our little rabbit friend by her new pet name?”
Heather looked into the dozens of eyes in the audience to see them shout at her—
When that terrible name struck Heather’s brain, it pricked her in the eyes so hard she cried immediately. It was hard enough breathing already, but standing here, cold and naked, whiskers running down her cheeks, she had to work extra hard just to circulate oxygen. Sandy fetched a pair of scissors and snipped the panties to remove them from her ankles. Heather didn’t even notice. She was so mortified. Right now, this might just about be the worst night of her life; definitely top three. Sandy looked at her.
“What’s the matter, bunny? You look upset. Aren’t you having fun?”
In a moment of irrational ire, Heather croaked out a phrase she regretted instantly.
OH, no, she promptly thought. Tell me I didn’t just say that. Even though her voice was muffled, she was pretty certain Sandra would still comprehend it.
And she did.
“Excuse me?…” she asked, placing an ominous hand on her shoulder. “…Just…what was that again??”
Heather started to shake, and feel a new stream of tears coming on.
“Uhkhiw. UHKHIW. I’ khahwee. I’ khahwee! I hwihwi hwee ih! I’ KHAHWEE!”
“Are you now…” Sandra hissed, squeezing her shoulder. “That’s funny. ’Cause for a moment there, it sounded like you said…”
She took Heather by the back of her hair.
Sandra didn’t have her by the hair hard enough to hurt her, just to frighten her. And frighten her she did. Heather emitted another muffled wail.
“Wihwih Khahhee, I’ khoh khahwee! Hweekh, I hwihwi wee ih!…”
Eventually, Sandy nodded, releasing her grip. “All right,” she said, “You didn’t mean it. I will choose to believe you.” She stalked back to the basket and grabbed the lipstick again. “But yet, nevertheless, when a bunny is bad, a bunny must be punished.”
Sandra started writing something else across her forehead. “And this bunny,” she continued, recapping the lipstick and fetching yet another object—
“Has just earned herself a new nickname.”
Sandy had grabbed a hand mirror to show her. Heather looked, and immediately regretted it. Staring back at her on her brow was a reflection of the letters “TNUC.”
Heather cringed her eyes shut and let a shamed whine pitifully drip out. She sank to the floor, a humbled heap of ignominy on her knees. The audience’s reactions were cruel and merciless. Oh my God…some things are worse than death, she thought to herself.
“All right, perk up,” she heard. Mrs. Sandra slowly pulled her back to her feet. “We’re not just gonna have you stand still all evening. It’s time for you to entertain our guests.”
Heather held off on sobbing long enough to turn her puffy red eyes to her. “Khahw?”
“Why, how else?” Sandra answered. “By bunny-hopping, of course!”
The audience applauded. It felt strange. On one hand, they seemed to really like her…well, really like seeing her humiliated, that was to say. On the other hand, they intimidated her. And yet, the shy meekness of her nudity was wearing off. She was getting used to being naked in front of all these strangers. After all, they had being staring at her entire body for several minutes now. The one bright spot was that there was nothing left to hide. They seemed to like her body…or did they? Were they just applauding and cheering out of what passed for support?
Well, she thought, maybe the worst was over. She’d been stripped, cuffed up, publicly disgraced and mocked, labeled a slut and a cunt, and her teeth were starting to ache. But if she tried to put it in perspective…at least this had all been done now…
Sandy’d removed all the items left in the basket. She returned to Heather and commanded, “Now hold still again, my little bunny-whore…”
Heather obeyed, looking at the carpet. Her feelings were still stung, but at least the sting was starting to dull. Sandra uncuffed her left hand. Heather raised her eyes.
“Nope,” Sandy said. “Don’t get used to it.” She slipped the basket around Heather’s free arm and recuffed her. “A’right, on your knees.” Heather again expressionlessly did as she said. Sandra scooted her ass up and forward, for another good look at those lovely soles. “Oh, look at your pink little bunny paws.” She stroked one of them with a nail.
Heather’s body jiggled at the sensation. Her teeth sank into the carrot as her face was forced into a smile. She felt the other one tickled, and twitched and giggled once more.
“Awww…sweet little bunny’s ticklish on her paws,” Sandra announced. “Isn’t that cute?”
Heather took an especially deep breath through the nose, having a feeling she’d be needing it. She started exhaling just in time to hear Sandy’s low, scary voice intone—
“Sweet little bunny’s gonna love this then.”
Uh-oh. Maybe the worst wasn’t over. The next thing she felt was unfamiliar. Something was being attached…to the bottoms of her feet. What was going on now?
After another moment, Sandra stood in front of her, concealing two objects in her other hand. She dangled one, a long, narrow, opaque scarf, in front of Heather’s eyes and nose. “What do you think, ladies and gents?” Sandra asked. “Blindfold her?”
The audience threw out a huge cheer. Heather panicked. She gaped at Sandy, wide-eyed, begging and shaking her head. “Auh-auh,” she cried. “Hweekh ohhh! Hweekhhweekhhweekh ohhh!”
Sandy clutched her chin, leering back into her sad-puppy eyes. “You heard ’em, bunny. Audience calls the shots here.”
Heather Hoffen had had LASIK done to her eyes a couple years ago, a big personal relief. Her life until then involved wearing glasses for extreme nearsightedness, which she hated. Not how they looked or being teased about them, but she did hate the total blindness that assaulted her once they came off. Being blind was one of her most mind-crippling fears. She wasn’t sure she’d be able to handle this.
Once Sandra tied it over her eyes, Heather began to judder, shake and whimper. The basket jumped and bounced on the side of her body. Sandra took her unoccupied arm.
“All right, bunny. ’S all right, I’ve got you. C’mon now, I’m gonna guide you down the bunny trail.” She nodded to the audience to bring their respective baskets into play.
“Because that’s the name of the first game we’re gonna play; it’s called Bunny Trail! And as you hop along, your guests are gonna fill up your bunny basket! Won’t that be fun??”
The only thing that sounded fun right now was yanking this infernal blindfold off.
“Take my word for it,” said Sandy, concealing the evil glee from her inflection. “All right, bunny, straightforward. Gets to hoppin’.”
Not many noticed the thin wire running from the bottoms of Heather’s feet up inside Sandra’s hand. But they did notice Sandra raise her hand, and press the button.
“I said now.”
“AAAHHHH!” Heather shrieked, as the jolt in her soles propelled her involuntarily upwards. She heard the big audience response, but couldn’t focus on it. Prickly agony stabbed her feet, just beneath the arches—Sandy’s favorite spot. It felt like being poked with a thousand tiny pins. It was a little unclear to Heather, but anyone else in the room could see there were electrodes on her tender soles, and Sandy’d just activated them.
“That’s more like it!” Sandy praised. “You see? Sometimes you have to goad a wild animal a bit to get it to cooperate!” She pressed the button a second time.
“EEEEKH!” Heather squeaked, performing another painful hop in the air.
“Now if you’ll just be a good little bunny-whore, and keep hippity-hopping for us, I won’t have to do that again,” Sandy informed her.
Heather got the picture. She stood on tippy-toe, bent her knees, leaned forward and started hopping. Her tits bobbled and bounced in all directions, delighting the audience. Sandra indeed guided her by the arm, and she soon felt bats and splats lightly pelting her, as the audience “tried” to land eggs in her basket. Some seemed to come harder than others. Some felt like they were trying to hit her instead of the basket. Oh my God, she thought. Are they trying to hit me instead of the basket?
It was hard for her to believe otherwise, as eggs whapped her in the arm, the side and the hip. But then the targets expanded to her stomach, shoulder, tit, leg, thigh, foot, ass cheek, even the side of her face. Someone popped her one on the temple, just missing her (human) ear. Besides which, these didn’t feel like gentle lobs. Some of them really stung. Merriment from the crowd generated and intensified at her expense.
Sandra noticed when she got smacked in the cheek. “Oh-ho!...Talk about having egg on your face!” she laughed.
The game also tortured her psychologically, having to pause just to take quick breaths through her nose, and hope to avoid more pedal electrocution. Eventually, they reached the far side, and Sandra turned Heather around to guide her back. As the audience continued literally egging her on, Heather could figuratively see she’d been wrong. The worst was far from over. This was too humiliating for words. Heather couldn’t remember when anyone had thrown such derision and ridicule upon her before. The trip back across the room was made even more precarious by the trail of cracked eggs left there in the first half. Heather broke and cracked a lot of the eggs when her feet came down on them. And did a certain amount of wincing and cringing on the way back.
The Bunny Trail felt endless. She was almost done, but when the worst thing possible happened. Just when she was beginning to think it couldn’t be any worse. She landed on a half-broken egg, in just such a way that her feet cracked it open, and slipped on it. She lost her balance. The egg squirted out from under her, and so did her feet. She slid out of Sandy’s grip, let out a yelp and dropped to the floor, on her (hands, which were behind her) back. The crowd gave a low “ohhhhh,” feeling her pain on that one. Incredibly, her basket landed right-side up, and none of the eggs inside tumbled out.
“Oh, no!” Sandy exclaimed to the empathetic audience. “Our bunny’s had a spill!”
Thank goodness the rug was soft; Heather wasn’t harmed, just dizzied. Sandra helped her back to her paws. When she finally got back to where she started, Sandy let go and gave her an enthusiastic “Yay!” leading the audience in applause. Heather knelt to catch her breath and give her feet a break. Sandra took her sticky arm, uncuffed her sticky hand, removed the sticky basket, and recuffed her.
“Now let’s see. You got…one, two, three, four, five, six, seven, eight, nine…ten eggs! Good girl! Well done!” Some were in pieces, but the contents added up to ten wholes.
“Well, ladies and gentlemen, I’d say that deserves a reward, wouldn’t you?” Sandra proclaimed. She lifted Heather’s chin to see her cheeks pleading for mercy.
“Open wide,” said Sandy. Heather did as told, and Sandy plucked out the carrot.
“Oh!” Heather heaved in relief.
Sandra patted her shoulder. “Breathe, breathe…” she advised. “Just take a little rest, bunny. We’re gonna let you relax a few minutes.”
“Oh…th—…tha—…thank you…” Heather puffed out.
They took a short intermission. Lou stopped rolling and emerged to sweep the eggshells up. Then later they’d of course vacuum and shampoo the rug.
About eight minutes later, the shoot resumed. Sandy took the electrodes off Heather’s feet, toweled her off, refilled the basket with different items and brought it back.
“We’ve two more games to play this evening, my friends. The next one…is called Funny Bunny. And for it I’m gonna need two volunteers.”
Several audience members raised their hands. “Okay, let’s not reveal who you are to our bunny,” explained Sandy. “We can’t have her being able to expect anything or anybody in particular.” She looked around. “Um, let’s see, how about…” She chose two eager young audience members, around Heather’s age. “…You, and…you. You two come with me…” The audience gave the volunteers a small ovation.
“Okay, bunny, why don’t you go ahead and lay down, on your back,” instructed Sandy, taking her arms and helping her to the floor. “Something tells me that might be a refreshing change for you.”
Even though her capabilities of speech were no longer impeded by a jumbo orange vegetable, Heather said nothing. She’d no idea how she felt anymore. This experience had taken a turn for the surreal. She just sank into the soft, inviting rug, on her back, feet pointed to the audience.
Once she was down, Sandy instructed, “Okay, you two, go ahead and sit on either side of our bunny, right about torso level, that’s good. I’ll be down here.” The volunteers perched where she asked. Sandy sat in front of Heather’s feet, the three of them forming a triangle around her body. “All right, bunny,” she said. “This is the reason you’re blindfolded. And the reason we took the carrot outta your mouth. Here’s how we play this one. My two accomplices here and I…are gonna be tickling you.”
Heather shut her eyes tight under the blindfold. “Oh no-o-o-o-ooo…” she moaned.
Sandra laughed. “Don’t worry. We won’t torture you.” She smiled and winked at the volunteers. “What we’re gonna do is simply tickle several areas of your body, with a few different tools. We’ll each be using the same item each time, for ten seconds. And when we finish, you’re gonna have to guess what the item was.”
That actually almost sounded like fun, but still a bit more not so.
Heather nodded slowly. She wanted to ask her to repeat the rules. And if she did, to ask her to repeat them again, and again and again, but that would only delay the inevitable. One of the volunteers stroked a finger along her ribcage, making her titter and wriggle.
“Hey. No jumping the gun,” smiled Sandy. “Ready for the first implement, bunny?”
Heather let out a little whine. “Ready as I’ll ever be…”
“Excellent. Audience, reaction kept to a minimum, please. Thank you very much. And volunteers, please tickle with nothing but the object currently in play.” Sandy put an obligatory finger to her lips and reached into the basket. Heather kept still to avoid conspicuity, but tried in vain to see if she could detect anything under the blindfold.
The first item of three Sandra produced was…coincidentally enough, carrots. She gave one to each, counted silently with her fingers—one, two, three—and off they went.
Heather broke out in wild laughter. Her head dropped back to the floor. The ever-active audience approved. Sandy held on to the footcuffs, while taking care of Heather’s feet—indeed finally getting to find out just how truly ticklish her lovely tootsies were. The volunteers covered every inch they could of her upper body. And not without reason; no one could look at these smiles and not want to smile themselves.
Sandra watched Lou for the cue. After ten seconds, he signaled her. “And…stop!”
Once this initial bout was over, Heather took a big breath, throwing her heaving breasts into the air and back down, prompting a few whoops from the crowd. All the action and contact was actually beginning to stiffen her nipples. She settled back down and exhaled. Her cotton-tail detached from her bottom.
“Oh, you rascally rabbit!” Sandy scolded with a finger. “You laughed your ass off!”
Heather blushed as the audience took another moment to chortle at her. “Okay, little slut-bunny,” teased Sandy. “What do you think those were?”
Heather was so worn out she could barely think. “Uhhhhhhhhh…no fucking idea.”
“Why, those were carrots!” exclaimed Sandy, prompting another laugh from the crowd. “Sad little bunny, you don’t even know a carrot when you feel it! Shame on you!” she chided, giving her a playful smack on the leg.
Yet another laugh. Embarrassing, yes, but no more so than a lot of what happened so far this eventful evening. “Okay, no points so far!” announced Sandra. “Next tickle tool!”
The next thing she gave them was a couple of ballpoint pens. These of course enabled them to give Heather some not-quite-tattoos, doodling letters and pictures on her. When they finished this round, Sandy asked again. “A’right, bunny, what were those?”
“Hee hee h—…” Heather was still finishing laughing. “They, uh…they felt like pens.”
“That’s correct!” shouted Sandy. A nice wave of applause followed. “Okay, one point!”
After the pens followed pencils. She guessed them correctly as well. But unfortunately for her, those were almost all the correct guesses she ended up with. In due course they went through forks, goose feathers, letter openers, hairbrushes, toothbrushes, and feather dusters. Some carried more severity than others, but all of them made Heather adorably surrender with laughter. Finally, not least but last, they went to town on her with just their fingers, which she was able to guess.
“Yay! And that’s Funny Bunny! Let’s have a hand for our volunteers!
“Okay, my girl, you got three right out of ten in Funny Bunny. Just be glad you got some of ’em right. Trust me: if you hadn’t gotten any of ’em, you don’t wanna know what we would’ve had to do to you,” she said, with a chuckle that made Heather very nervous. “Now for the last game, you get six minutes per correct answer. So we’re gonna give you eighteen minutes, plus ten, for the ten eggs you got in Bunny Trail. So that’s 28 minutes total you get for the third game.
“…Are ya ready to find out what it is?” she asked saucily after a moment.
Getting more anxious, Heather made herself answer. “I…I guess so.”
“All right, little hare friend…Easter Bunny game number three…” She paused for effect.
“Is called…Fatal Attraction.”
The audience’s reaction was as chilling as Sandra’s voice. They let loose a chorus of whistles, giggles, “uh-oh”s and “OH NO”s.
Heather squeaked like a mouse. She started quivering and trembling on the floor.
“Okay, now, first thing you need to know is that we are most certainly not about to kill you,” Sandra smiled. “Nor shall we throw you in a cauldron of boiling water. Would you like to know what our Fatal Attraction entails?”
Heather emitted a high-pitched moaning sound.
“Well, I’ll tell you.” Sandy stretched out cat-like and lowered to her side next to Heather, propping her head on her elbow, caressing Heather’s anxious body with her other hand. “In this Fatal Attraction, my dear, first of all…” She turned back to Lou. “Hon?”
Lou retrieved her a very specific device, which was plugged into the wall with the help of an extension cord. She held it up for the crowd to see.
Sandra started to ask, “How many people know what we’ve got here?” but she didn’t get past the word “know.” As soon as she showed it to them, the audience burst in cheers.
“We-ell!” a pleased Sandy called back to Lou. “Apparently they all do! Guess that just leaves our little virgin bunny then,” she said, leaning down to leer into Heather’s face.
“Lemme ask you something, Bugs…”
The audience chuckled. Heather realized Sandy meant her.
“If I say the word…Hitachi…does that mean anything to you?”
Heather’s eyes darted back and forth under the blindfold. Wasn’t that like a grill or something? “Ummm…” she stammered, stalling for time, “It…uh…sounds Japanese?...”
“That’s right, very good!” Sandy congratulated. “And now if I say the words ‘magic wand,’ does that tell you anything?”
“Uhh…” Her mind conjured something whimsical. ”…You’re gonna pull me out of a hat?”
This time everybody—the audience, Sandy and Lou—all laughed.
“Oh, you are a card! How can you not love this girl??” Sandra shouted.
That gave Heather her next guess. “…You’re gonna do a card trick?”
“Silly rabbit, tricks are for kids.” The audience laughed again. “Okay, no, but seriously,” Sandy continued. “I could tell you what this Hitachi magic wand is, but instead, I think it would be more fun to show you.”
Sandy sat up, grabbed the basket, dragged it back over near Heather and said, “A’right, bunny. Now allow me to explain about Fatal Attraction.”
Heather gulped. That name just frightened her. Heaven only knew why…
“It’s time to give our audience their entertainment’s worth.” Heather felt something between her knees which seemed to be pushing her thighs apart. Yet her feet remained cuffed tight together. Sandra flipped on the magic wand, and touched it to her.
Predictably, Heather reacted. Her nipples were already semi-erect from the tickling. And now with the juice flowing to her pussy, her reluctance to this point had transformed into arousal. She realized she was being turned on against her will. She gasped, relinquished resistance and willpower, gave in, and moaned in distressed passion. She’d thought up till now they only wanted to humble and humiliate her. But she now saw the other reason she was naked. After just another sec, the wand turned off again.
Wha—…hey. I was…liking that.
“Now, ladies and gentlemen, you may wish to come have a closer look,” Sandy encouraged. The audience got up from their seats and came to kneel, sit and lie closer.
“Okay, listen up, bunny. Fatal Attraction is going to test your powers of concentration,” Sandra explained to her. “Now before we go any further, I have a question for our lovely guests this evening…who here feels like they could use a little luck?”
A bit of tittering followed, a few audience members raising their hands.
“A’right, how about the two of you,” said Sandra, pointing to two others sitting down by Heather’s legs. “Since you want a little luck, you can rub the rabbit’s feet.”
Heather scrunched up her feet and curled her toes.
“Because just by tic—oh, see? Just by tickling them, I’m pretty positive this bunny has very sensitive little paws.” She turned back to Heather. “Don’t you, sweetie?” she asked, running her index finger hard up one of her soles. Heather laughed wildly and nodded.
Sandra alternatingly raked both soles with her fingernail, driving Heather crazy. “Huh? Don’tcha? Huh? Huh??” she continued teasing. “Okay, now for the rest of the game. Heather, you’ve got 28 minutes…to cum…to a nice little bunny-gasm.
“Our two volunteers are gonna help you. These two helpers of ours’ll rub your paws, and I’m gonna put the wand on you. We’ll also need a timekeeper. Would anyone like to volunteer to keep track of the time for us?”
A few more hands were raised. “How about…you, sir,” said Sandy to a young fellow wearing a digital watch. “Now listen here, bunny, ’cause here’re the twists of the game. Like I said, I’m gonna have the wand on your little bunny-pussy, but…
“It’ll be repeatedly turned on and off at random.”
Heather swallowed, not believing she liked the sound of that.
“You two, go ahead and regularly massage her paws,” she told the foot-rubbers. “We could mediate that too if we wanted to give her a little extra challenge, but this is her debut, so we’re gonna go easy with her. Not extremely easy, but a little.
“Last rule, bunny: the 28 minutes of Fatal Attraction will close our Easter spectacular. In the event you do not achieve orgasm in 28 minutes…not only will you not be allowed to cum at all…but your wages for the shoot will be equally divided amongst our guests.”
The crowd cheered loud once more, but not loud enough to drown out Heather’s shout.
“Ah—!” Sandra placed her finger to Heather’s lips. “The bunny is not allowed to speak during this game. Moans, giggles, gasps and screams are permitted. Words are not.”
“Is everybody ready??” Sandy called out. The crowd cheered and clapped. Sandra pointed to the gentleman with the watch. “Timekeeper, please count down ten seconds to the top of the next minute for us.”
“Okay,” he said. “You want me to give you a countdown when it’s over, or…?”
“No, that won’t be necessary. Just say, ‘Time’s up!’”
They waited another fifteen or twenty seconds, and he counted. When he reached zero, Sandy activated the Hitachi and put in on her, and the lucky volunteers rubbed her feet. Heather dropped her head again, and began moaning and squirming. The first couple of minutes stirred and swirled up intense pleasure inside her. She tilted her head back and just let it happen. God, this was getting good. Her limbs tingled and quivered. Around minute four, she still felt the tender loving rub on her paws, but the Hitachi switched off.
What th— She was starting to really enjoy that! She raised her head. “Hey! W—”
The audience responded with voyeuristic delight. Sandy chuckled. “Ah, ah, ah, ah; we warned you, bunny,” she reprimanded, tickling her under the chin. Heather again let her head drop with a whimper. But after another short while, she felt the wand turn back on. And degree by degree, she became sizzlingly turned on again.
Heather’s tits heaved. Her pussy burned and melted. Her muscles flexed and twitched. Around minute eight, the Hitachi intervals grew shorter. It started to click on and off every what felt like thirty seconds or so. It was agonizing, and unbearable, beginning to drive Heather utterly insane. She writhed desperately on the floor.
Minute twelve. The audience cheered her on.
Minute thirteen. The vibrator went on and off again, making her categorically crazy.
Minute fourteen. Heather’s hind paws trembled under their rubbers’ magic fingers.
Minute fifteen. The halfway mark had been passed. She squirmed and wriggled, praying the Hitachi would stay on. So far, it had sat on her clit without moving—though it had started and stopped pleasuring her about a dozen excruciating times. But would it stay there for the rest of this “game”? At least she had the constant comfort of the paw-rubbing. She really wasn’t giving these two enough credit; they were good at their job.
Minute eighteen, and Hitachi on or off, Heather was getting really turned on. Her head rolled, hands clenching into fists, back arching. Her toes recurled, and her heart rate accelerated. A few more random times, the Hitachi cut off. It was maddening. Heather didn’t know whether to blubber or scream. She took out her frustration on the floor, pounding it with her palms and heels, to the crowd’s ongoing elation. The pleasure radiating through her was heaven. Wondering when she’d lose it again was hell.
Minute twenty. The audience members were on the edges of their (figurative) seats. Many of them were getting pretty turned on as well. Had Sandy or the two massaging Heather’s peds looked up, they would’ve seen a couple dozen of them rubbing and fondling themselves to the display. Some were aroused by the nudity and exploitation thereof. Some were lit up by the bondage, some by the clit vibrating, and some by Heather’s submissive suffering and agony, begging and dying to cum already. Heather herself could barely have cared less what the crowd was doing. Hell, she couldn’t even remember they were there.
By minute twenty-two, she was mentally pleading for any sort of physical contact on her pussy whatsoever. Losing the feel of the Hitachi was making her downright pissed. She squeezed her eyes shut extra tight, grinding her teeth. Her nostrils flared. Saliva trickled out of the side of her mouth. Her hair tossed and flew all over her face and pasted to her sweaty spots, including the lipstuck “CUNT” on her forehead. She felt like she was on a stick over a fire, being rotated back to front to back again.
At minute twenty-four, Heather was flopping like a fish out of water, giving her lungs the workout of a lifetime with her caterwauling. And emitting highly displeased growls losing the good vibes. She could tell what made this game so challenging. But at the same time, she was determined. She knew she couldn’t have too much time left, but she’d made up her mind. She wasn’t going home without her orgasm. Not to mention her pay.
Finally, they reached minute twenty-seven. Heather Annie Hoffen’s cunt was red, soaked, and throbbing. And she had a forehead to match. The small region of the rug around her head was dampening with perspiration. Were her hands anywhere else, they’d be flailing helplessly or pounding the floor in a fit. The volunteers had trouble holding on to her feet, as she spastically whapped her heels. The audience was so fired up, they were about to fly into an orgy. The men were realizing perhaps they should’ve worn looser trousers. And the women were realizing that they could see the men should’ve worn looser trousers. But it only turned everyone on even more.
Less than thirty seconds to go. Heather wished she had a built-in stopwatch so she could know exactly when. But she was well on her way. She was more than determined now. No clock was going to beat her. She was lifting her ass to rub her clit harder and harder against the Hitachi. She’d tried to be subtle at first, not knowing if they’d deem this cheating and penalize her for it. But now was no longer the time for subtlety. Now was the time to focus, goddamn it, she told herself. Concentrate! CONCENTRATE!...
The Hitachi’d been steadily on, and sending her on her bountiful thrill ride for several consecutive minutes now. Heather howled, over and over and over again, echoing it inside with a mental, FUCK YES!! The audience felt the vibe emanating over into them. The timekeeper looked down at his watch.
Oh no! Ten seconds. Disappointed, he kept his eye on it to count the rest of the way.
Heather’d eliminated all other thoughts from her mind. She was going to do it. She was going to win. This game was hers. She knew it. There couldn’t have been much time left at all, but all she had to do was hit the big ‘o,’ and victory was hers. Nothing could stop her now. As long as that damn wand doesn’t shut off on me. Just focus. Just…oh, good fucking God…focus on our pussy. Just focus on Little Heather. Stay focused on her.
She gasped as it at last came within sight. Oh yes, she thought, feeling each sumptuous moment build to her triumph. OHGODYES…here it comes! HERE IT COMES! I’m gonna win! Just a little more time! Just a little, more, time! Juuuuuust…a little morrrrre…
“Awwww!” chorused the disappointed audience. The Hitachi was taken away.
Heather gasped, audibly this time. “NOOOOO!!” she shrieked tearfully. She was so close she could taste it! Two more seconds, and she’d have had it! It was gone. She was denied. “Oh nooo…” she groaned miserably. She lifted her feet and stamped them on the floor repetitively in complaint. “Nooooo…” she croaked one more time, dropping her head with a snivel, wanting to cry like an infant. “Oh, why-y-y-y…” she bawled.
She’d been broken. Broken like the bad little bunny she was.
The audience felt just as bad for her. They along with Heather had completely forgotten about the money. But they also felt a bit sorry for themselves. Their party was over now, and they’d have to leave…but oh well. No one said they had to go home. It seemed an ideal venue to meet a new playmate and go off somewhere, to let things happen. But…
Poor Heather Hoffen would have no playmates. She felt like everything good had been washed out of her life. She tried to collect some thoughts she’d kicked out in the throes of passion, but what was the use…she was miserable, and she’d just have to ride it out.
“Aw, isn’t that too bad,” said Sandy, patting and rubbing her tummy. “Looks like you don’t laid or paid. No money, bunny.”
Heather remembered, and started weeping all over again. Talk about adding insult to injury! On top of all this suffering torment and degradation…it had all been for nothing?
“Fuck me-e-e-eeeee…” she silently whined.
Some days it literally didn’t pay to get out of bed.
Easter Monday, April 1st, 2013, 1:23 a.m.
The Burtons’ guests departed. They waved them off, and returned to the basement.
Heather had stopped crying, but remained in a pretty grouchy, foul mood, and who could blame her. Most of the audience gave her a little goodbye as they headed off—a small kiss, a caress, a kind word or condolence…Heather hadn’t said anything in return. She knew it wasn’t very friendly, but she just wanted them to go.
When Sandy and Lou came back down into the studio, Heather lay still, motionless and naked, bunny ears on her head, a grumpy frown on her face. Sandy smiled down at her, then dropped the check on her still covered eyes.
“What’s that?” Heather asked in a monotone voice.
“Why, it’s your $1,400, of course.”
She turned in their direction. “But I thought you said you were giving it to, y’know, them.”
“April Fool.” They snickered. “Sorry,” Sandy said. “Couldn’t resist. You see, we said that, but we didn’t mean it. We just do and say things like that ’cause it’s kinky and spices things up for the crowd. Welcome to show biz, kiddo.”
Heather cheered up a little, realizing what they were saying. “So…I do get paid?”
“Sure!” said Sandra. “And, uh…well, we know it’s late, but…still want that orgasm?”
Heather pushed herself up on her hands, surprise rinsing over her face. “You mean it? Really? You’re not April Fooling me again?”
Her heartbeat picked back up, as the corners of her mouth curved upwards once more. Astonishing; so she was going to get to cum after all! Having the orgasm yanked away from her, like a rattle from a baby, was just a horrible feeling. But if now they were willing to give it back, she held no ill will against them for it.
Something made her smile up at them. Somehow, the whole experience seemed to have awakened and illuminated a side of Heather not even she knew existed. Having survived this humbling ordeal, having absorbed all the pain and malice inflicted upon her, she felt something had been put right. As though for all the pain and malice she herself caused those few months before, a suitable punishment had been administered. Things were even now, and she felt justifiably able to forgive herself. It may not have made things right with her ex, and he might’ve called her a whore once he found out what happened…but he didn’t totally mean it. He was angry, and had a right to be upset, but he didn’t totally mean it. He was a good man, Heather thought. He deserved to be happy. And if this other girl made him happy, Heather realized…then that’s all she wanted. That was all she wanted now: for her ex-boyfriend to be happy. With her or without her. She even found herself wanting the other woman to be happy. And the next time she found someone who really made her happy, she wouldn’t let go.
Furthermore, she then thought maybe her parents didn’t mean to yell or make her feel bad when she was little, either. They might’ve yelled, but it didn’t mean they didn’t care. Maybe they just wanted her to learn from her mistakes, and grow…into a better person. Again, that was it. A better person…I’m a better person! I can be a good woman now!! The thought made her so ecstatic she tingled. She felt a sudden desire to give her folks a call. Or better still, go visit, give them a hug and tell them she loved them.
Not least but last…she couldn’t deny, she now knew without doubt how it felt to be attractive to someone else. Apparently, to a lot of someone elses. To be wanted, attended to, and truly, sexually, lit on fire. The other man—with whom she’d messed around and lost her virginity—didn’t love her; he just wanted to sleep with her, and could not make her feel how she’d felt tonight. Though she wasn’t a virgin, she didn’t know the feeling of true, intimate passion…until tonight, somehow. She never could’ve guessed these kinky little nuances dwelled inside her, ignored and undiscovered for so long. Till their collective effect was released through her like a massive hormone and set her ablaze. Several things this evening she could’ve done without, yes. But on the whole, it became a deeply reviving night for her depressed soul and libido.
She was still staring up at the two of them with a hopeful smile, drumming her fingers on the floor, waggling her feet back and forth, just as Sandra’d noticed her doing outside her office a week and a half ago. Mrs. Sandy answered her.
“But this time, no audience, no embarrassment, no carrots, no beat the clock. Now why don’t we get’cha outta those cuffs…”
She crouched down to unshackle her. But…
Something in Heather’s mind wanted to intervene. She smirked.
“Uh…do we, eh…do we have to take me outta the cuffs?”
Lou and Sandy looked at each other in a bit of surprise, then back at their Easter bunny.
“Oh?…Starting to like the cuffs, are ya?” asked Lou.
Heather’s smile grew. She nodded.
“Do you want to keep the blindfold on?” asked Sandy.
“And…do you want us to torture you?” she added.
Heather grinned ear-to-ear, and nodded emphatically one last time. She heard them re-retrieving some of the toys they’d been playing with. And she obediently settled back down on the floor to enjoy it.
But, Mrs. Sandy, Mr. Lou, if you can hear what I’m thinking…this time, when you tell me I can cum…please mean it!