0 comments/ 14536 views/ 4 favorites The Bunnies of the Bay Area Ch. 01 By: LincolnAndSunset Abstract: Bunny Nathalie finds the Bay Area's Bunnies are proving to be a hard bunch to keep under her control. "My titties are just too too big for this costume!" said a buxom blonde, pinching and pulling the top edges of a strapless satin bathing suit's bra cups that, at best, could cover the undersides of her head-sized breasts. Her silver dollar sized areoles and plump nipples were left exposed as her tiny fingers squeezed and tugged more on the satin platform underneath. With a strong upward draw, her elbows pointed up to the ceiling matching the points of her satin bunny ears mounted on her head. The tension in the suit's front material reached down beyond her cinched waist to the suit's gusset, sliding it forward over her shear nylon tights. The tiny forward movement was not from any stretch in the rigid satin, it only came from the costume's high leg cut in the back temporarily squeezing down and pulling between her bubble butt cheeks. The constant tugging jiggled a large white cottontail, yet another well rounded bubble behind her. "Don't worry Vivian," said Bunny Nathalie, a tall regal Bunny in total control. "The costume will hopefully change soon - I'm sorry. I meant Bunny Candie - you're new name." Nathalie was dressed in a perfectly tailored blue Bunny costume, the type of costume originating from the Playboy Bunny gentlemen's club of the 1960's. Her waist was cinched in a heavily boned satin shell cut like a strapless bathing suit that elegantly and provocatively held her breasts in check, unlike her slutty semi-nude blonde counter part, who almost threw herself onto the floor in another attempt to stretch her ill-fitting costume. The distraught blonde paused, maybe thinking about the name mentioned. "Candie?" she said looking confused. Nathalie signaled by leering at the blonde's nametag hanging on Vivian's - that is Candie's - right hip. They had just talked about this, but the bare breasted blonde bimbo had forgotten it again. After receiving a series of further confused looks, Nathalie pointed directly at the nametag. Was it really that tough for these bimbettes to think? Once the zipper went up, the woman inside the Bimbo Bunny Costume really did go stupid. Nathalie watched the dumb blonde rotate her shoulders left and right twisting at her waist to look at her nametag. The Bunny nametag looked like a county fair first prize ribbon. Any normal person would find it hard to miss, but the blondie still struggled to see it. Maybe the girl needed a little sympathy because her new enhanced bosom's heft, proudly pushing out in front, could actually block her view. But any understanding was discarded completely when the blonde disappointed Nathalie by spinning in place to chase down a glimpse of the "Candie" nametag on her hip. It was like watching a pet chasing its tail. Just before the brainless Bunny in high-heeled pumps almost fell over, she stopped, dizzy and dazed, staring off into space recovering from her little tornado spin. She released the bra cups, adding a bounce to her boobs, and covered her eyes. "Woooh!" she said, like a sister of Keanu Reeves. Nathalie prayed that Candie didn't start to play peek-a-boo. Regardless, the experiment had failed. "Crap!" said Nathalie, heading towards the door until she noticed one thing she had not seen before. This bimbo was looking at something - and, could it be? The dumb-dumb was actually thinking. Maybe the experimental orange suit hadn't completely sucked-out all the intelligence. Nathalie decided to wait a bit longer. "That orange costume there," said the bimbo, acting more like her old Vivian-self as her hands returned to tugging the bra cups. "That costume," she said, adding a nose pointing gesture towards a matching orange satin Bunny shell lying on a metal lab table. The deflated costume had huge breast cups guaranteed to lower any wearer's IQ. The experimental orange worn by the blonde dits, had normal sized D-cups. "Don't worry about that costume," said Nathalie. "Let the one you're wearing finish changing your body, but focus. Don't let it suck away your mind." "Yes," said Vivian-Candie, "that costume would fit my new humongous melon boobies." She paused. It was clear she was now noticing her new high-pitched yet very breathy and sexy voice. "Do I sound, stoooo-pid?" She puckered her lips and tested her voice again while lowering her elbows and relaxing her arms. "Stooo, stooo, stooopid. Pid. Pid. Piiiiii, di, di, di." Her fingers still pinched the satin just under her boobs leaving her arms hang like chicken wings. Her eyes flew open wide in shock as she realized she had stopped tugging. "Oh, no!" She thrust her elbows up to pull hard and not lose any gains from previous attempts. Four other Bunnies had also been watching this. They stood to the side muffling their snickers and giggles. "Shhh," scolded Nathalie then turning to Candie. "Yes darling, you sound very dumb. But you still know who you are, right?" She waved at one of the four Bunnies, a purple satin costumed Bunny, who promptly began packing away the orange costume. The assistant ignored the confused bimbo's babblings and took the orange suit from the table, placing it into a long deep silver suitcase. The metallic case sat open with its two dark foam interior halves facing the ceiling. One side waited for an hourglass silhouette satin suit to nestle into its customized curved insets. The Purple Bunny gently positioned the orange costume. While wearing cotton gloves to avoid direct contact with the suit, she set the shell inside the foam form positioning its bra cups over large foam breasts shaped with perky foam tits. The opposing side of the case had foam insets cut for accessories: a circular deep foam sinkhole held a white bunny tail, a foam cut-out of an arch with two large triangles held a satin headband with ears, and two more insets held high-heeled pumps pressed in sideways. A shallow cutout shaped like a first-prize ribbon was empty. "I. Me thinks - I'm be - me! Yes!" The former Vivian glowed with a smile of victory. Nathalie thought the glowing pride came from the girl realizing a complete thought had formed somewhere in her mind. "Not very convincing," said the Purple Bunny, closing the silver case. "Silence!" glared Nathalie. "It's amazing we've gotten this far with the costumes. Meredith what do you think?" A petit woman in a green satin Bunny shrugged her shoulders. "We'll need more data." Nathalie turned to the bimbo-altered Vivian, "Bunny Candie, just stand there. No spinning." The head Bunny then ignored the Purple Bunny holding the silver case and turned to the other girls, including Meredith. "Go-on. You know what you're doing to prep for this weekend. Shoo. Shoo." She waved them out. "Bunny Nathalie," said Vivian still sounding and looking like Bunny Candie. "I," she paused while still tugging as if it helped to form thoughts, "my boobs are fitting a bit better." She added a squeak to celebrate her success in getting a single verbal thought out of her head. Then she tilted her face down to her large bouncing globes of flesh, hopelessly trying to peer over their perimeter to her costume's meager containers underneath. As she faced down into her cleavage, she tugged harder unintentionally squeezing her boobs together, aiming her tits up and inwards, poking them into her eyes. She pulled her face back to recover with several squints and hard blinks. Nathalie shook her head, but then focused on the satin bra cups of the experimental orange bunny shell. The dumb blonde might actually be right. The cups did appear to be magically growing. This might actually work- at least the costume side that is. As for intelligence, well, the airhead was at least talking. Other girls couldn't even form words beyond the one phrase, "Do you have a member's key?" Nathalie tried to encourage the bunny boffin, "Keep tugging like that, Candie darling. Yeah just like that." It was a task that would hopefully keep the bimbette busy. Nathalie thought how just an hour ago, Vivian, a smart second year law school student, stood there desperately agreeing to a faux-Faust deal, not for gaining wealth and certainly not unlimited knowledge like the original Faust, but to simply save her life. Hopefully her present stupid stance was just a naive girl being a little overwhelmed by her new taller, unbelievably fuller figured body wrapped in a costume that had just transformed every cell of her body and mind. Time was running out though. The plan was going to need a smart but bimbo-looking Bunny this weekend and not just any bimbo. She would have to be a Xerox-copy of the real Bunny Candie. Vivian now had the cloned body, but the mind - could this new girl still think? ***** Bunny Darby checked through a rack of Bunny costumes hanging by tiny straps anchored from their inner linings. She flipped through hangers of orange satin bathing suit shells like a shopper at a sale. "Eighteen, nineteen," she mumbled. "Twenty-four, twenty-five. Come-on. Where are you?" She looked at the rack behind her: all satins of reds, greens and blues. One orange costume was missing. Her heels hit the steel floor plates as she walked out of the costume storage area, through a huge circular bank vault doorway with its two-foot think steal door pivoted open against the wall. She clicked and clacked down a steal ramp to a guard's table. The guard was a Bunny with a badge on her right breast and a utility belt holding a stun gun. She had jumped to attention on hearing Darby's exit from the vault. "Show me the log book again," said Bunny Darby, dressed in her yellow Bunny costume. As the guard pulled a ledger from a desk drawer, another badged Bunny began pulling on the steal vault door. It took effort to overcome the steel door's stationary weight. The guard leaned back on her heels using all of her own weight to overcome the door's resistance. With a pop and a creak, it started into motion. She quickly switched to the other side before any momentum was lost and leaned-in to push. Darby ignored the guards. She flipped pages in the ledger giving each subsequent page an angrier more vicious swipe to see the preceding page. She was petit, but made-up for that with a strong attitude that made even huge professional football and basketball players at crowded parties keep track of her just so they could stay out of her way. Of course, she was so worth looking at. You could tell the men were thinking of her as a little hottie that in their sexual fantasies could be lifted effortlessly up and down again and again - maybe even spun around while "mounted." Men secretly called her a "little spinner." The fantasy had been independently developed in each of their minds when watching her in her tight business skirts. No explanation was needed when the men gathered privately and one of them first blurted-out the sexist name: "little spinner." Maybe they didn't like her hardheaded business tone and thought she needed to be mocked. Maybe they were jealous of her tenacity for details. Regardless of the motivation, the name painted a picture and all the men nodded in agreement when it was first uttered. To them, that was now Darby: their little spinner. ***** Upstairs from the vault, a black satin dressed Bunny held a golf putter and positioned her high heels to straddle a golf ball. Her tail jiggled when her putter tapped the ball, slowly sending it down an Astroturf runner, crossing the floor of her executive office. The ball rolled up a tiny hill then plopped into a hole. She lined-up another ball. "Bunny Maria," said Darby entering with a leather-bound logbook. "Why did you check-out orange-five last August? I can't find-it." "Don't worry about it." "But it's a Bimbo Bunny Costume. It's dangerous. Where is it?" Bunny Maria set her putter aside, dismissively walked to her executive desk chair and sat. Darby could be so vexing. Of course the cute little scientist would be the type to trace through all the R&D check-ins and check-outs to find the one line without a match. "Darby," said Maria, "I had another use for the costume." "Oh, who did you punish? Of the two dozen idiots we made and then disposed of, I think they were all counted. I don't know of any others left besides Bunny Candie herself, of course." Darby flipped pages in the logbook. No, there was no twenty-seventh at all. "I sent it to Nathalie," said Maria. "What! Why! We spent years breading these things. Why would - wait, did you convert her? I haven't kept up with the Bunny Hutch intelligence reports, but is she out of the way now? Oh my god, that would be so amazing. Wow! Nathalie's a bimbo." She paused, the idea turned her on. She sat in one of the guest chairs thinking it all out, her perfect upright posture prevented her tail from being popped off with an improper leaning back against the cushions. "But wait, you said you sent it to her. As a trap? Did it work?" "I sent it as a taunt." "We should have talked about this." Maria approached and leaned over her strong willed employee to give the yellow Bunny a deep view of cleavage. "Kiss me." Darby almost fell into a trance, but it didn't grab her mind like it used to. "No," she said, pushing her mistress away as she stood. "You did this to show how smart you are: how you could manipulate the costume. I can't believe it. We did what Nathalie only dreamt of doing for decades and we - actually me - I did it and I did it in just four years. I bet you wrote some note on your fancy letterhead with your fancy Monte Blanc pen." "We don't live in a clear-cut black-and-white world with a rainbow of satin Bunnies and dreams of unicorns. There's more to things than I can tell you." "That's a pretty vague excuse and an insulting metaphor. No one's dreaming here. Damn it." She read a logbook page again and slammed it shut. "It's been missing a whole year now. She might have done something with it. Figured something out." Darby pressed the logbook against her breasts and touched her plump lower lip against its hard cover. She looked at her mistress and lifted her head away from the book. "They might be able to defeat it now. They might have made a version look normal instead of a bright orange costume tailored obviously for a huge boobed idiot." "Stop worrying so much. I want Nathalie on edge and seeing someone turn into a complete bimbo was just the thing to freak her out. She would have tried it on someone she knew." "We should have talked about this." Darby stormed off throwing the logbook onto a Bunny assistant's desk just outside Maria's office. She yelled at the girl, "File it!" ***** It was dusk, a few hours after Vivian had said her good-byes - just in case the worst happened - and put her fate into the hands of Bunnies wearing lab coats; Bunnies who had bred a new modified bimbo-izing Bunny costume. There was a hope that Vivian zipping-up into the experimental costume would find a new beginning, not an end. She obviously had hoped that it wouldn't suck her mind away. Nathalie sat alone in her study thinking of that moment when she watched Vivian accept her fate and step her nylon covered legs into the standard double D-cupped orange Bunny shell bred from a triple F-cupped Bunny suit abomination. The surrounding built-in dark oak wood shelves of the study and the endless selection of ancient leather bound tomes normally relaxed Nathalie. It wasn't helping tonight. The room felt like an old manor except for a large window revealing its high-rise penthouse view of San Francisco. An hour's drive north, across the Golden Gate Bridge in the forests of Marin County; the science nerdy Bunnies continued to study Vivian, the newest Bimbo Bunny. The look on Vivian's face had showed the desperation and frustration. She had so obviously wanted the eternal youth the Bunny costumes gave, but a normal costume was not being offered to her. Nathalie remembered the conversation - the one that clinched the deal: "Just focus on what you want," said Nathalie to Vivian, who stood there wearing her typical law school student clothes of jeans and a tight sweater. The timid student held her wig in one hand while the other felt her shiny perfectly shaped baldhead. Her hair had fallen off in clumps after months of chemotherapy. "So you've been a Bunny for how many decades?" asked Vivian, leaning in to see if there were any wrinkles at all in the Bunny's flawless face. Her eyes darted to the Bunny's perfect dainty hands. No wrinkles there either. The eyes looked back up for reassurance. "I won't lie. It comes with a price," said Nathalie walking around a steal lab table with a special orange Bimbo Bunny costume with smaller more normal D-sized bra cups. "You can live forever and stay youthful, but you need to be truthful about what you want - and, most important, you need to have an open mind to new experiences. For this costume, I want you to tease it. It's your only chance to preserve yourself. You have to play a dangerous game. Bait-and-switch constantly." "Tease a costume?" said Vivian trying to understand. "You make it sound like it thinks." "It does. It has wants and needs. It even looks out for itself and its family. We're all family through these costumes. I could never hurt or damage one. It's unthinkable for me. I would rather die first before hurting one of these costumes. In fact, I'd have to die first." "So, I put this on and then deny it access to my mind?" "That's going in the right direction, but not quite. You'll have to offer your mind and body - like a promise and then as you feel it take you over, you must shutdown and focus on something knowledgeable, academic. You studied law. You debated. Torture it with a lot of bookish ideas. Taunt it and then get it by surprise and order it, but then become compliant and submissive. It's a tango dance with a partner that wants everything right there in public." "You want me to be like a naughty librarian punishing someone for having too many late fines?" "My, my, someone does have some secret fantasies after all. Yes, I want you to make your costume think you'll spank it with a ruler. Are you ready?" "I don't have a choice do I? I either loose my mind this way or loose it when those damn doctors cut into my head tomorrow morning." "You won't need surgery with this and we'll all be right here with you. All your new Bunny family will be present to help." That last part, Nathalie thought didn't quite come-out well. It was a little over done, but the girl was probably too preoccupied to evaluate the sales pitch. "You have to really want it though." That part was true. Bunny costumes could reject those who didn't "get it," the fetish, the fantasy. "Oh, I do. Honest. I just wish I could have a normal costume, like Reddie or Meredith or your assistant. They've all been so nice." "Sorry sweetie. This is the offer." Nathalie gave a quick shoulder shrug as if the offer could be rescinded at any moment - as if Vivian wasn't a perfect match, but they were accepting her anyway. Of course, Vivian was a perfect match, but Nathalie would not ruin a good negotiation position by mentioning that. "OK. I'll do it," said Vivian suddenly feeling relief. She popped open the top button to her jeans and began pulling them off. "Where are the tights?" Nathalie stopped thinking about that talk. Over the past few months, so many girls before Vivian had been lost to previous variants of the bimbo costume. Now it might take days to know if Vivian's mind even survived - or at least know if there was enough intelligence left for the mission. Nathalie reclined in her office chair and opened the silver case of the original Bimbo Bunny Costume. She gently stroked the orange stain shell as it sat lifeless and limp in its open silver case. She should have been wearing gloves to avoid any contact, but each touch gave off such an alluring magical call to wear it: a dare with a thrill in resisting it. She leaned back in her chair and reread a note on a stiff high quality paper. The Bunnies of the Bay Area Ch. 01 The note's perfect cursive handwriting was brief: "Nathalie, I made this just for you. Wear it and come work for me - forever. Love, Maria." The paper had a fold in the corner where a pair of lips pinched the paper leaving red lipstick marks outlining Maria's perfect mouth. A knock at the study's door prompted Bunny Nathalie to look-up from her desk. The Purple Bunny assistant meekly peered her Bunny-eared head inside from behind the heavy oak door. Nathalie had hoped for more assertiveness from this assistant. The woman was a redhead and they were supposed to make good feisty Bunnies. The shy girl announced, "An elderly lady insists on seeing you - she used your title of 'Bunny,' mistress. I had the lobby guard on the ground floor send her and her dog upstairs. She's in our front hall now." "Name please." "Oh yes, the lady said to say: Electra. Just Electra." "Damn it." Nathalie stood and closed the silver case. She thought for a second. "Bring her up. Wait, get Meredith to put this away, then go see Electra." The Purple Bunny carried off the silver case as Nathalie began locking away papers. Putting away some more things, Nathalie gave another look over her office, locked another drawer, and stuffed the key down her cleavage. Through the wall, she heard the private elevator motor start-up from the main hall. Some people took the grand marble stairs. Oddly Electra took the private elevator. Nathalie had to move faster and check everything. After another quick inspection, she double checked a painting that hid a safe. She moved around the room and gathered some half empty glasses of water and set them behind a built-in cabinet door. The sound of steps and some metal banging from down the hallway grew louder. The purple costumed assistant guided in a decrepit lady of at least eighty years of age hunched over a walker that took the weight off her scuffing pair of orthopedic shoes. The walker's rubber feet marked the white marble floor. A leash attached to the walker tethered a German Sheppard in tow. A simple glare from Nathalie sent the assistant off closing the door leaving the two women alone. "Cut the crap, Electra. I can see you clearly." Nathalie could chose to experience either the false sight of a grandma near death covered in a odor of "nursing home" or the reality of a tall sexy lanky body of a bikinied showgirl with yard long feathers sprouting from a tail and headpiece. Bunny Nathalie, being out of practice, squinted at the dog to see through its mental camouflage too. There actually was no dog there. Instead there was a shiny black latex coated woman standing tall but tied to the end of a leash. She was a fetish puppy girl, who dropped to her knees and held her front hands up like paws. She wiggled her hips as a sign of greeting. An all black dog-masked obscured her identity. Electra stopped projecting the old bitty and dog illusions. Not many could see through her creations. Nathalie knew that the front door man and the other Bunnies would always be oblivious to Electra's camouflaging powers. The head Bunny looked again at the puppy girl. "That better not be what I'm sensing it is." She walked over and with her fingertips gave the latex girl's chin a slight lift to examine the eyes framed in a latex canine mask with a protruding doggy snout. "Do you want a war? We burned down San Francisco the last time." "She was licking-out one of my showgirls in my own house in the Presidio. That's an automatic imprisonment just for invading my territory, let alone the attempted seduction of my secretary - let alone, it's my fucking house!" "I don't know this girl." Nathalie walked away dismissively. "She's not one of mine - that is if she ever was a Bunny at all." "It's San Francisco. She's a Bunny - or used to be. That makes her yours, period. I know you sense she's a Bunny. Don't try to deny it." The puppy girl's head looked up, turning left and right to follow the discussion like a tennis match. She appeared a bit lost. Maybe the poor thing no longer even understood human languages. Nathalie tried not to care. Electra straddled the puppy girl from behind and played with the floppy latex doggy ears. She lifted one of the earflaps and bowed to get her lips next to a human ear smoothed over in latex. "Little puppy-wuppy. Now that you are at your new home I want you to know, you'll never speak again. Never." She laughed and straightened the poor girl's floppy beagle ears. "Puppy girl suits are a prison for a human mind." The tall showgirl gave a little smack to the back of the submissive's head. Nathalie saw the girl's fearful eyes. It seemed as if the girl could follow English after all. The puppy girl glanced at Nathalie, a sister Bunny for confirmation. Nathalie stood motionless, her arms crossed, her butt pressed against her desk's edge. Her tail had pushed over a pencil holder. This liquid smooth fetish popsicle really was a Bunny after all. Electra was now pissing her off. Electra exaggerated her enjoyment of caressing the latex surfaces from the girl's head down to the butt. The action forced an instinctive doggy move of raising the butt into the air as the elbows were pressed to the floor. Electra continued to torment the creature. "You can't sign, wink, speak, write - nothing - not ever. No human communication. Enjoy it bitch." The girl received a spank on the ass from the showgirl and responded involuntarily with a happy looking butt wiggle. Her eyes contradicted the happiness with a flash of helpless pleading aimed at Nathalie. "I'm afraid it's true darling," acknowledged Nathalie. "You are in for a maddening experience of eternal isolation. We haven't found the way out yet. Sorry." "What Nathalie is saying is that ever since the first woman in the 1600's was burnt naked with hot tar poured over her body and then feathered, no one has ever escaped this branch of the costume family. No one." Electra threw the end of the leash towards Nathalie's feet. "Your Bunnies are also hanging around too long in the Cow Hollow District - that's neutral territory, but only for safe passage - brief safety, which they are abusing by obviously setting-up shop." "Watch yourself," warned Nathalie, referring to any further latex fetishing. "I will take care of any Bunnies." Electra arched a long nylon covered leg above the puppy girl's head as she stepped over the poor girl. Tail feathers dragged across the sad black latex creature as the showgirl took a few steps towards her foe Bunny in a face-to-face stand-off of egos. The showgirl strengthened her tone adding, "The Presidio and the Marina are mine. Control your rogue apprentice, what's her name," she acted like she had to remember, "Bunny Maria. After all, us Saloon Girls and you aristocratic fancy peacocks don't mix." Nathalie let her anger - or maybe angry lust - show. She felt intoxicated by Electra's smoky shaded eyes with speckles of glitter. "I'd love to feather you and silence you forever with a bird's beak. Besides, who is the strutting peacock now?" She gave one of the yard-long showgirl feathers a flick to the side. Electra put her hands on her hips just above her glittering rhinestone covered bikini panties. "I so want to strap you up in leather and buckles, stick a ponytail-plug up your ass, and jam a metal bit in your mouth." She licked her wet lipstick lips, "I'd whip you everyday. Really. I promise." Her opera gloved hand did a motion over her breasts to cross her heart. "I would." She posed with a pout and completed the hand gesture by patting her chest just above her left boob, signaling a little pitter-patter heartbeat. "Would you like a lizard tail that you can wag or," said Nathalie pausing to relish another idea, "a mermaid tail maybe?" "Ooo, a Selki seal!" They both stood nose to nose, each taking deep breaths that lifted their breasts almost to the point of touching each other. They exhaled into each other's faces. It was too much for them and they leaned in the tiny distance remaining and pressed their lips together careful not to touch elsewhere. The ground began to rumble. The penthouse began to shake. Dust fell from the ceiling as the light fixtures began to swing. The clamor stopped when they pulled away. Electra stepped back regaining her composure. Her wide spreading tail feathers slapped around the puppy girl's face and a nearby side table as she pretended to inspect the selection of books on display. She strutted around the perimeter of the office doing a bad job of trying to hide that her real need was to calm her sexual urges. She noticed the executive swivel chair behind the huge oak desk. She caressed the leather chair and noticed its cut-out opening at the lower back perfectly designed for a Bunny tail to protrude through. She also paused at another feature strange for an office chair: the right armrest had been rotated up creating an open gap on the slide, a perfect pathway for a costume tail to slide in and out from the side. The missing Lumbar support was an invitation to her. "Hm, I like the chair," Electra said. "I should get one." She swung her feathered tailed ass around, sat her bikini butt on the right edge of the chair and slid into place. Her huge radiating feathers mounted at her tailbone slid right into the gap. The front of her bikini was covered in sharp rhinestones, but the back was satin. "Don't worry my costume won't hurt the leather." She adjusted herself, checking that her feathers were safe. She popped the armrest back into position and smiled smugly back at Nathalie. Enjoying the chair, she kicked her heels up and rested the backs of her nylon covered feet on top Nathalie's desk. Her tiny feet had the thinnest strappy stiletto shoes Nathalie had ever seen. The showgirl's tail feathers pressed up the chair's back and were long enough to peer over the top like a supportive chorus line. Nathalie knew the showgirl probably never sat and relaxed in full costume like that. Showgirls typically had to take their tails off to really sit. Such disrobing in front of other costumed girls, especially of different types, would be too submissive for Electra. 'Costumes,' that is the girls trapped in costumes, all had their unique hang-ups. This showgirl was a tough one to get along with, going completely Joe Pesci if she felt disrespected. "I miss the old days," the showgirl said. "When did we last talk? Kennedy was still alive I think?" She checked Nathalie out: the dark nylons, the blue Bunny costume, the bare shoulders. "Why did you switch to being a Bunny anyway? I liked your feathered tail." "Same reason you became a Showgirl," said Nathalie walking around the desk to join her feathered foe. She stood facing the reclined chair, taking a second to see Electra's midriff, the tight abs, and the diamond mounted in the bellybutton. Nathalie leaned back against her desk with her arms crossed in front. She crossed her ankles and leered down at the showgirl's body on display. The Bunny went through a mental list of options. She queried her costume for ideas. It had been so long since Electra and her conversed. The chance shouldn't be wasted. Her costume thought otherwise. Electra didn't know it, but the chair had left her at a disadvantage. Nathalie listened to her costume's hesitant feelings. Maybe, in this case, she should let the moment pass. "Ah, I was in Vegas then," said Electra, stretching her arms out trying to look in control and relaxed. When she let her head fall back against the chair, her headpiece feathers dusted the bookshelves behind her. "It was the 60's - women's rights, bra burning." She grabbed her glittering crystal covered bikini top and gave her jugs a firm squeeze. "And, of course, for you, the Bunny Clubs." She then popped the right armrest up, slid out sideways, and stood. Nathalie hoped her Bunny costume was right. The chance to trap Electra was gone, but Nathalie decided that this conversation could be a starting point to something more. "The costumes wanted change," said Nathalie. She liked keeping Electra on edge and was trying to think of a lever to pull. "Personally, I liked you in a slutty corset better. All though, that little diamond in your belly button is cute." Maybe that remark would seem both a little cold and hot. Electra pouted her lips and rubbed her opera gloved fingertips over her flat tummy. She actually looked appreciative. She took a breath. Nathalie could read her old friend. Electra was probably thinking sexually and trying to hold back. The showgirl most likely worried that if she got wet now, she would have to hide it. Being caught so sexually aroused was something she wouldn't dare do for fear of looking weak. The showgirl walked around the study stepping with a crossing action in her legs to give her thighs a squeeze against each other. She projected a more confident walk forgetting that Nathalie could see through the illusion to the reality of a slower less settled gait. "Get them out of Cow Hollow," warned Electra, opening the oak door to the hallway and projecting the old bitty image all around her body like a blazing mental fireball for all to see. Nathalie squinted to see the real Electra again. It was like the tips of the feathers were electrified, but Nathalie could still catch a glimpse from the side of the showgirl's cute ass and bare hips before the lanky creature scuffed her high heels down the hallway all while playing her role of a harmless old hag. The Purple Bunny, sitting across the hallway, stood to attention. She let a magazine she was reading drop to the floor as she scurried with quick short stiletto-heeled clicks to get a look at her mistress. Seeing a quick curt hand wave from her Bunny boss, she turned to escort the old biddy down the stone hallway to the private elevator. Once the elevator lowered down one level, the two women slowly stepped short paces towards the front door. Nathalie could hear the Purple Bunny awkwardly try to small talk as she helped grandma out to a public hallway that offered a half-dozen elevators down to the lobby, thirty floors below. Nathalie watched from the marble railing just outside her office upstairs. Electra hadn't bothered to look back; a little act of defiance. It worked actually. Nathalie had wanted to see her lover's face for another second. She sighed having hoped that the showgirl would look back. The Purple Bunny opened the penthouse front door to the public elevators. Electra wasn't going to look. No glance or goodbye. It wasn't fair that a curse kept them apart. The Bunnies of the Bay Area Ch. 02 Abstract: Bunny Nathalie finds the Bay Area's Bunnies are proving to be a hard bunch to keep under her control. Wearing a business suit with the shortest tightest jacket and skirt combination possible to intentionally traverse the edges of acceptable office attire, Bunny Darbie kissed a bare chested blonde and pushed her back onto the floor. The blonde was too shocked to speak or fight back against the straddling petit interloper, who was a foot shorter, but very determined and confident. "We should close the door," whispered Darby. A quick leaning reach followed and the office door slammed shut. "Now we're alone." "But, but..." said the blonde, holding her naked breasts with one forearm while trying to push Darby away with other hand, "I'm not gay." Her black high heels dug into the carpet as she pushed back away from Darby's body. "You're so cute. But remember. You called me for help. Right?" The blonde reflected for a moment in confusion with a look that said she didn't know where to start. "No one will believe me." She needed help so badly. Shame filled her soul. "I put on the Bunny costume, like the one you had. God it was good. So so so yummy. I wore it all weekend, but now since last night, if I take it off, another grows in its place. I have a stack of 'em at home - all different colors. It electrocutes me each time it grows back. It's like a punishment for not following its will." Her head nodded frantically as she remembered a solution she found. "Oh yeah! I made a deal with it. It doesn't talk, but I think I made a deal with it." "Ooo," coed Darby, not really interested. "What did you promise it? Did you beg?" She smiled now, somehow enjoying a secret she wasn't about to share. A startled look flashed on the blonde's face. She skipped the taunting questions. "I barely got to work on time this morning. It allowed me to wear a dress. It's like it's got'ta personality of its own. I had to leave on the undergarments though, but then somehow my dress started falling apart by noon. The pieces just fell to the floor. Thank god you came here so quickly. I have no clothes here. Only my shoes are left. I'll be fired. The board meeting's in a few hours. And now it, it..." She looked down at her half naked body, letting her arm fall away, revealing her boobs. A waist cincher covered her midriff stopping just under her breasts. Tucked beneath the laced boning, two layers of pantyhose shimmered in Moiré patterns as her legs were forced open while Darby pushed herself between. The outer shear tights added a dark smoky tint. The inner shear hose added a barely noticeable nude color. Under the cooling silky slipping hosiery that Darby's hand stroked, two intruding plugs held deep inside. The blonde didn't seem to notice Darby kissing her bare shoulders or Darby's long light brown hair cascading down brushing over the goose bumps - the office AC was on, or the fingers pinching the nipples. The blonde skipped all that. She focused on a bigger issue. "Dildos grew inside me," confessed the blonde. "Look - I mean, you can't see them, but..." The blonde extended her neck to stare over her chest. She viewed her own crotch while she pressed a thumb against the pantyhose, stretching them down and inside. "If you press here, you can feel the end of a dildo just under my clit." "Don't worry, I'll touch there too. Hm, yes there is something in there. Hm. Wait a sec. Hm. Yes. Do like when I do that? Is it big?" "And there's one in the rear. I couldn't remove 'em." The blonde paused. "Oh no. It's happening again." "Shhh," said Darby. "This is what I've been craving. I've had a bad day. Mmmm. I can feel the energy around you." She took in a deep breath. "Isn't it wonderful?" "Watch," said the panicked blonde. She squeezed her eyes shut in preparation. "It's happening. Rrrrr. It hurts." Her hands flew to grab her head, but then hesitated with only a light touch near the hair. She wanted to firmly grab at her scalp, but previous experience taught her avoid interfering. She didn't want to anger the costume. A baby blue satin covered headband suddenly grew from nothing, pinning down a part of the blonde's trusses. Satin ears grew upwards and curled forward slightly. The blonde moaned as electrical shocks covered her body. Darby closed her eyes and happily sighed. In fact, she hummed. "I love feeling it happen to someone. It's best if they're new. Maybe..." She looked at the ceiling thinking. "I get off on the fear and desperation. I'd rather think it's because I can mentor them - help their eager to learn souls." She looked back down and smiled. "Nope. Desperation and panic gets it for me." The blonde breathed as if in labor. "It's. Like. It's. Punishing. Me," moaned the blonde, with a plosive push on each word while trying to whisper in a confidential office voice, but the pain was too much. A matching colored satin shell grew across the cincher and covered the blonde in a strapless bathing suit. "Not again." Darby showed a caring pity as she gently stroked the blonde's face. "This light blue is pretty on you. I like it. Wear it tonight - you're place. Unless you want to play maid, then mine. I've been busy." "See?" said the blonde, waving her hands over her satin covered body. "Oh no, the necktie really hurts." A white shirt collar with a black bowtie magically appeared around her throat. Her wrists suddenly had white French cuffs and cufflinks. Her feet now had matching faint blue colored high heels. The black shoes were gone now. With a lift of her rear, she pulled out a large cottontail from underneath. She looked terrified, not because of the sudden magical exhibition, but because she probably shouldn't have pulled off the tail she found herself sitting on. "Oh god," exhaled the blonde. "I'm going to be punished for doing that." She looked away from the plush white ball and gave a wide-eyed plea to the woman on top. "Help me." Darby silently kissed and then sniffed down the neck and across the two mounds of flesh pressed up front and center by the pastel azure satin Bunny costume. "But, but, I told you, I'm not gay." Darby smirked. "You don't have to be silly girl. It just helps to periodically scissor a woman now and then - ok, every two days is best. That's all." The blonde's breasts heaved as she struggled to breathe. "What's happening?" "You need sexual energy. I brought you a dress, by the way - for you to use this afternoon during your big boring board meeting sales pitch whatever. Wouldn't want you to lose your cute little executive jobbie now, huh? Shh." An index finger pressed on the blonde's lips. "You just need some tender loving and then you can strip down to the cincher again. I'm certain the dress will fit. A little affection gets you a few hours time-off from being imprisoned in an internationally famous, degrading, objectifying sex-symbol. I still love it though." She shrugged her shoulders like it was all so trivial. "It'll be decades before you'll every take off the cincher and hose. Unless you're really slutty. Tell me you are one of those. You know what I mean. Mmmm. Say it - even if not true." "But how will I. You know. Ew." "Shhh," said Darby, kissing again. "Too many questions. No worries about the bathroom. We don't eat food anyway. Now relax. Just feel." She rolled to the blonde's side and with one hand reached under to the zipper. With a long draw down towards the hips, she unzipped the blonde's Bunny suit. That hand then pressed up on the back, lifting the blonde's rear an inch of the floor. The other hand pushed down between the legs, the forearm rubbing, as the fingers found the zipper tab. She finished opening the satin shell. With a firm grip on the satin running between the legs, Darby pulled it like a handle. She stared at the woman's body while slowly sliding the heavily boned corseted shell down the legs and over the baby-blue closed-toe high heels. She loved how during the first tugs, the edges of the bra cups tried to hold the erect nipples inside for a second of dignity until the flesh popped free. "I love your Alice blues," said Darby, talking about the satin costume being set aside. "Aw. Are we lost down the rabbit hole?" The blonde's brow furrowed. "What have you done to me?" "Made you my little slutty sex slave quickie afternoon delight, of course." Darby hiked up her skirt and straddled a thigh. She slid up the leg until both women's buried intruders met. "We're going to help each other now and then. Eventually, you'll manage on your own, making your own network of fuck buddies. But let's be clear. You're mine." ***** After escorting Electra to an elevator, the Purple Bunny assistant immediately returned to Nathalie's office and unexpectedly found a latex clad woman crawling on the Oriental rug. Nathalie handed over a leash. She felt perturbed by the situation and with visible agitation checked her dark brown 1960's style bouffant hair in a mirror, then her lipstick. "Mistress, um uh, who's this?" asked the assistant. "How did she get here?" The Bunny looked around thinking about Grandma and the German Shepherd. A realization showed on her face: is this the dog? "A former Bunny," answered Nathalie. "Electra knows we can't talk to her directly - probably thinks we can't even read the poor thing's mind either, but we have to try anyway. Rub her. Do it right here, right now." "Yes Ma'am." Without hesitation, the Purple Bunny closed the study's oak door and kneeled down in front of the confused upright sitting puppy girl. Pressing her satin covered breasts against the puppy girl's latex cast chest, the assistant concentrated in silence for a moment. The puppy girl awkwardly retracted her hands up against her shoulders to make room for the Bunny's contact. Pulling her rubber covered head back and aiming it to the side so her extended snout wouldn't hit the Bunny's face, the puppy made a baffled look up at Nathalie. "Stay. Heel," said Nathalie. The Purple Bunny began to grind their chests together in short up-down motions. Despite the added brisk series of breast rubbing, the costumes refused to talk to each other. "Nothing," said the Purple Bunny. "Rub her arse," ordered Nathalie. "Both of you, in line. Hurry up, girl. Move!" The latex girl allowed herself to be posed so her head, elbows and knees were pressed down to the floor. The action invoked a pet's instinct to raise her derriere up high, making her hindquarters more 'available.' The two obedient girls pressed their rear-ends together, sliding soft satin against shiny veneer. Nathalie watched, thinking of the intruding dildos worn under her own costume. She could feel both deep inside her body. The two girls on the floor dry-humping each other, almost tribbing really, would be forcing their dildos in deeper. Every Bunny had the intruders. Surely the former Bunny, now a puppy girl, still had hers too. Feelings of envy began to overwhelm Nathalie. Her costume wanted to join in. The thoughts and longings were pushed into the her mind. She expected that. Her costume loved this stuff. But she knew the importance of keeping her control. Regardless, holding back the rush of magical desires sapped her willpower. But no, there wasn't time for such pleasures. As the twerking continued, Nathalie started a mental teasing game between her mind and her costume's lustiness. The satin soul urged for participation. She denied it. Not fully satisfying to the supernatural wants, Nathalie's strong mettle forced a duel of wits to be the only redress for now. Joining in on the rubbing was so tempting though. An aura of danger surrounded the puppy's costume. Trepidation helped Nathalie suppress the flow of naughty desires. A few minutes passed. Twerking turned to desperation, shown in the wider more frantic moves of the Purple Bunny's derrière. For the mistress Bunny, holding back and just staying on the sidelines became excruciating. She so wanted to kneel down and play, go wild. She could have done so much better than her assistant. "I'm sorry my mistress," said the redheaded Bunny, "but her costume is silent. I see, that is, feel and hear absolutely nothing." "Lick her out," said Nathalie in a perfectly controlled tone that hid just how badly she wanted to push the assistant away and do it herself despite the dangers. "What?" protested the assistant. Nathalie's stern look meant the worst was true. The Purple Bunny turned and pressed her nose along the seamless crotch, right between the butt cheeks of the puppy girl. The silent fetish girl responded, quickly adding an exaggerated Cirque Du Soleil contortionist curve to her spine, pushing her shoulders even lower to the floor, and stretching her arms further along the carpet: all done to press her essential spot of ecstasy into the Bunny's face. The licking began. The latex suit eagerly cooperated, allowing the Bunny's tongue to sink deep inside. Nathalie watched closely, crossing her arms and leaning back against her desk -all to keep control of herself and her lustful costume. She knew exactly what the Bunny would experience. Hopefully the assistant had been practicing or else this could go so very wrong. The latex would want more. It would invade the mind. The Bunny would have to govern the magic. The assistant Bunny cringed her eyes when her tongue somehow passed through a new opening slit in the latex that wasn't there a second ago. She could now taste the puppy girl. But the redhead didn't hesitate. She continued to lap her tongue over the clit and around the borders, feeling the base of a dildo like those typically installed in all Bunnies. She started to steal images from the puppy girl's mind. With her tongue still fully involved, she awkwardly talked with the lisp of a dentist's patient shot-up with Novocain and a mouth stuffed with gauze. "I, um, see Wunny Maria." "Who is she - this puppy girl that is? And get in deeper. Really get her motor going." Nathalie moaned in her mind: mmm, yes get in there you dirty girl. She flinched at thinking such distractions. Control. She had to control herself. The assistant Bunny pressed her tongue in and stroked around the folds in what was hopefully the right spot. Her white Bunny shirted cuffed wrists raised up along the shimmering thighs. Her hands grabbed the gleaming hips to get a firmer position. The assistant struggled to talk. "Twisha, a Berkwalley wohst wrad woodent." "Trisha, a post-grad student from Berkeley," repeated Nathalie. "Good." "Wunny Waria. Wastoom." "Bunny Maria. Costume. Keep going. What is Bunny Maria doing? What costume?" "Whe wis." A few more licks were added and the Bunny's tongue seemed to get stuck. "She is - what?" A look of alarm and some hand waving followed. "Welp." One of her white French Cuffs flung to the floor. Its cufflink rattled about near-by. "No. No. Keep talking," said Nathalie, getting angry that the Purple Bunny was making so many mistakes. After all, why even bother to train if you aren't going to use the knowledge correctly? Nathalie huffed: the dumb dolt. So much teaching and coaching going to waste. Other Bunnies would have killed for such mentoring. "Wut the watex. I weel the watex!" "I know. I know. You can feel the latex. Your costume might change, but keep talking as long as you can." "I w-on't want woo wee a wuwwy wirl. Welp wee." "Hurry you fool or you will be a puppy girl. Tell me more. Focus. You can get back on track. Follow your training. Push her fetish away and keep yours." The Bunny pressed more of her tongue inside around the spot its glued tip stuck. Tears formed in her eyes. Nathalie calmly said, "I promise to have you mounted in the museum. I won't dare let you feel helpless and trapped. I promise. Now keep talking. You don't have much time. Describe Maria's house and where it is." "Wuppy wirl, a wawn wor Wunny Waria." Nathalie translated to confirm. "The puppy girl was just a pawn for Bunny Maria." She motioned for more information, especially when she noticed the purple satin costume turning to latex. The sheer smoky dark tights also turned liquid black. The Purple Bunny ears flopped down morphing into latex sheets hanging to the sides of the licking girl's head. The shiny sheets rounded in shape become oversized floppy beagle-shaped ears. The cottontail deflated and sank into a molten black tar that smoothed over the rear-end leaving a perfect mirrored car finish. The assistant's panic probably prevented her from noticing just how fast her transformation progressed. "Hurry," said Nathalie. "Give me some real details." The Bunny costume disappeared. The accessories were changing now as the liquid spread over the bare shoulders and down the arms. "You idiot. Think!" The morphing Bunny's bowtie fell to the floor and began to unwind its knot like a snake sliding its curves over itself. The girl honestly tried. She strained her mind. She focused her thoughts for a moment as her high heels merged with her latex covered legs, forming calve hugging boots. "Wait, Westhnuth weeth. Wu-whee-wour-wour Wes Wue-wee." "Did you say, 2-3-4-4 Chestnut Street?" "Wes. Wow welp wee, wrease!" "We could have found her Cow Hollow place soon enough. She hasn't been exactly hiding that. Try to picture any other place this girl was, with lots of women, or the first place she saw Maria. You have to focus." "Wrease! Wunny Wathawie," said the tongue-glued girl, trying to pronounce her mistress's name. The assistant's eyes implored. Latex surrounded the dark eye shadow. Her hair disappeared under a smoothed scalp, painted in a perfect reflecting finish. Desperately she pulled her face away stretching her tongue out to its limits from the magic converting her so fast. "Waiy!" She stopped pulling. She could see a single image. "Wirst Wank of Wankerwisko." She looked up for approval. Then searched hard for it. Then hoped beyond all hope for it. Did she do well? Then she concentrated and said as clearly as she could, "Preese - Wunny Watharie! Welp mwe!" Her face suddenly pulled free of the girl's behind. A smooth black leather dog snout grew, covering the center of the former Bunny's face. It hid her nose and mouth. It was built with a thick leather sheet rounded over into an upside-down box with metal rivets holding the folds to form a triangular doggy nose. Straps crawled the face, one growing between the eyes, others searching along the sides to reach around the head. One-inch in width, the belts held the floppy ears and doggy nose accessories tightly in place. Short stubby whiskers, three on each side of the nose, grew out to complete the caricature of a dog's face. The ex-Bunny rolled across the floor shaking her head fighting the transformation. Black liquid covered her body head to toe. Her gloved hands groped and grabbed at the head straps as she tried to peel them off. As the assistant writhed and turned, stretching, pulling, and bending her body; her neck extended just enough for Nathalie to see under the snout. The girl's red human lips showed underneath. No gag. Black liquid coated the chin and around the mouth, but left the lips untouched. Still the assistant wasn't speaking. Despite the terrified thrashes of her body, there were no screams of panic. She wasn't even grunting. The fetish prison denied her from uttering a single sound, as she rolled around on the floor in a bought of complete terror. The fetish had taken her over enough to isolate her in a world of puppy loving behavior. She silently struggled until she fell face down. She just stopped moving. Nathalie stepped forward, leaned over. Had the girl suffocated? Passed-out? Maybe the costume was too much. Shit. Now she'd have to train another assistant. That would be three in a hundred years. Unacceptable. Or was it four? She looked back down keeping a distance until the latex activity waned and stopped its want to transform women. Danger surrounded any contact. Nathalie gave a gentle touch with the tip of one of her high-heeled deep blue pumps. She stepped over the body. Another gentle kick followed with a disappointed huff. The Bunnies of the Bay Area Ch. 02 The original puppy girl cowered away from the ruckus, scooting herself across the carpet with her frictionless varnished body making the slide effortless like she was on ice. She slammed against a bookcase and curled-up into a ball, hiding her head under her hands. Her snout peered out from under the oversized floppy beagle ears. The new puppy girl did not move for a full minute and then jerked her head up with a deep breath. Her head searched to see where she was. The fetish activated. It took her. She calmly sat-up, posed her gloved hands in front of her perky breasts, and posed her body like a begging dog. She helplessly pulled her shoulders back pressing her perfect rubber coated breasts forward. The shape of her erect nipples added protruding bumps under the shiny black seamless surface wrapping her rounded mounds. She silently corrected her posture to rest her weight on the back of her new dark finished high-heeled boots. A brief lift of the rear for a second allowed her to wiggle her hips. Nathalie noticed no tail though, but the hip wiggled still looked cute. Her redhead assistant never look so fuckable. The thought startled the head Bunny, who felt a little guilty for thinking sex at that moment. No, Nathalie vowed: there would be no guilt for the assistant's transformation. Her assistant was the one who blew it. So much psychic coaching that other Bunnies could only dream to learn, an advantage almost guaranteeing eternal life, and now it all sat on the floor wrapped in a sheen of tar. "Blast it," said Nathalie. Anyone who knew the redhead could read her eyes. They would see just how badly the kneeling ex-Bunny wanted to speak, to plead, to beg for mercy; but each attempt was answered by her body motioning with a slight butt lift off the back of her heels and a brief cute sexy degrading little wiggle. This happened several times. The girl wanted to scream, but her body only had one answer for her: and then it happened again: she silently wiggled her butt once more. She was a puppy girl now and forever. She would never be fully human or pass as a normal human or speak or listen to humans. Soon English would fade from her mind. At least that was the theory. No one could confirm it though. Amateur mind-melds resulted in more puppy girls. The regret faded from Nathalie's thoughts. Tisk tisk. Her mentoring had helped the redhead to pull out some images. It should have provided protection too. Maybe studies on puppy girl thinking could have followed. Too bad. "You've been very, very good," said Nathalie, walking to a fireplace mantel and pulling an embroidered sash hanging from the ceiling. A faint electric bell rang in the background. She gave the first puppy girl, who was still curled-up on the floor, a swat in the rear and a directing finger-point that the creature should sit with the new latex girl. Through the door, sounds of high heel clicks could be heard ascending the large marble staircase. Bunny Nathalie took a deep breath and felt a little relief. It had been a tough week for her after all: very stressful in fact. She ignored the two puppy girls and sat in her executive swivel chair. Her cottontail protruded through the hole in the chair's lower back. She rotated the raised right armrest down into position, threw a long leg over it, and pondered the facts while she swung her dangling leg back and forth. What should she do? Which step first? The two puppy girls performed some more eager butt wiggles and each gave little doggy whimpers. Nathalie was surprised at the whines. They actually could make vocal noises after all. Interesting, but nothing under their own control probably. "Yes Mistress," said another taller, even prettier, redhead in a red satin Bunny costume standing at the door. "Bunny Reddie, have Meredith take these two down to the kennel cages in the basement. Oh, and call the museum. Have the librarian set-up a new trophy case. I want these two stuffed and mounted under glass before the weekend. It's just too cruel to leave them like this. The puppy girls wiggled happily, but inside they must have been panicking. Hearing "stuffed and mounted" probably didn't help, but Nathalie had more important issues than thinking of sympathetic or diplomatic statements for girls who would never participate in any human discourse ever again - short of sex. Hmm, sex. She reconsidered keeping them. But, no. The imprisoned misery they'd suffer in between giving and receiving orgasms would be far too cruel. Yes, frozen forever just seemed the right thing to do somehow. Bunny Reddie found a leash on the floor and clipped it onto a collar of a puppy girl. Reddie was oblivious to the fact that a short moment ago the leather strap had grown like a sprouting seed from a Bunny bowtie. A metal dog tag was the next item she picked-up. A Bunny cufflink had given itself over to the puppy costume to form the dog tag. Pressed into the metal plate were the words: "My name is: DUCHESS." Reddie saw the other girl already had a similar tag. She turned back to the untagged puppy girl, kneeled, and attached the metal to Duchess's collar. "Come-on Duchess," said Reddie, rubbing the floppy ears affectionately. She noticed a white Bunny cuff on the floor and almost reached for it. "Leave that," said Nathalie. "Odd that didn't change. Don't touch it." Reddie nodded. "Come-on you cute little rascal." She read the other dog tag: JET. "How cute. Come Jet. Come." Jet stood once she felt her leash tugged. Somehow the costume made that known to both girls that firm tugs from an owner gave permission to stand. Reddie gave the leashes another yank and sure enough the girls responded in unison by raising their hands in front like begging eager little pets. Reddie gently jerked a third time, signaling a forward march. She led the two girls out to the hallway. The new puppy girl, Duchess, gave a look back as she neared the doorway's threshold. Her eyes sadly pleaded. She paused for a second while her leash briefly went slack. The look touched Nathalie's heart - for a brief moment anyway. "Don't worry darling," Nathalie said. "Mommy will make certain you won't feel a thing when we pose you - not a single thought or feeling of time will pass. I won't allow it. You have my word." The pet waggled her butt repeatedly, obviously trying to talk. A yank on the leash pulled the latex girl away. Now at least, Nathalie knew where Bunny Maria met some of her Bunnies and possibly where her headquarters was too. Apparently home base was on Mission Street, the First Bank of San Francisco. It wasn't even a bank anymore. A clothing store for women had taken the space over. Nathalie felt encouraged by that fact. It was something Maria would do. But it was suspicious how this information was obtained. It cost a Bunny, but still, maybe Electra thought a puppy girl could never give away any knowledge - or did Electra know a Bunny mind meld might work? That bitch probably did know and also knew the cost to obtain the information too. She probably laughed knowing Nathalie would have to sacrifice not just any Bunny, but one with some psychic skills in melding with costumes. Electra hated Bunnies. There was also a possibility that Maria sent a Bunny to be caught in the first place. Nathalie took a moment to reminisce about her lost assistant, who had been adequate at best, mediocre really. Nathalie had scolded the girl for not studying harder. She had warned the girl to never think about another costume's fetish during a session. A single thought opens the doors to being taken over. Oh well, not her problem anymore. She thought about Electra again - now that bitch was a great fuck - that is before they caused that Earthquake and burned down the city so long ago. ***** Hours later, Jet pawed at her new doggy cage door. A steel water bowl sat inside the cage with her. It took a long silent elevator ride from the penthouse down to what must have been a basement and then down a second elevator to a sub-sub-basement. She pawed some more. She didn't know this building. The former Bunny, now transformed into Duchess, probably knew where they were. Could puppy girls talk, at least to each other? She had only known Bunny Maria's small Bunny-world and now she knew of another Bunny hutch existing. How many were there out there? She whined and whimpered. She wondered: had she done that or had the costume taken control again? And where was a clock? A windowless room and a mentally draining day, not knowing a simple thing like the day or time irked her. She crawled around in her cage barely high enough for her to stand on hands and knees. In her periphery vision she could see her black mask's edges cut open for eyeholes. She could feel the suit's tight slender waistline cinching her tummy. She hated the snug stiffness around the arms, legs, shoulders, and how it all made even crawling around inside her small cage difficult. She had to bend to pace around inside the cage. The suit's stiffness resisted that. Along with annoying crinkles and squeaks when the suit rubbed itself, the suit tormented her. It acted like a prison shrink-wrapped to her body. Her eyes crossed, looking at her snout. The damn thing blocked her view when she tried to press her eyes near the cage door. With each attempt, her head awkwardly rotated because of the nose. She wanted to see what was around her, to the left, to the right. Damn this nose. Her fists pounded into the blanket folded and laid flat on the floor. The suit made her crawl about, pacing. She wanted to hit the bars. Her hand swatted the door. She was surprised the suit allowed her to have any say in her movements. With another angry swat, her right glove snagged on a bent piece of metal. The latex ripped across the forearm. The bare skin showed underneath. No scratches, but the suit, once ripped, kept tearing so easily. Was this an out? She pawed at it. The suit fought her and then her arm burned. The suit punished her with electrical shocks to the point of almost knocking her out. It was clear that she should be more careful. She cringed and watched as the rip healed itself to a smooth finish. There was no out. This suit was a part of her now. Staring out through the bars, she could see an opposing wall of cage doors like a pet store might have. Every unit was empty, except for the one of holding Duchess, who slept silently inside. The mind meld must have burnt out the former Bunny. For Jet, the mind meld felt so good, better than sex. She whimpered and thought: please send another Bunny to read her mind. To the left of Duchess, a large metal door, large enough for a truck to drive through, slid open and crashed to its stopping position. The door, painted pristine white like the rest of the kennel room, contrasted greatly with the adjacent dark dirty furnace room revealed behind it. Jet strained to see off into the dark corners. Like a dessert mirage, she could see some Bunnies playing shuffleboard on the cement floor. Other Bunnies in silhouette against the furnace light, pranced about, stopping to massage each other, sometimes to make out. Two twin bunnies, entering the cage area, struggled with the weight of the door. They tried to close it, but gave up. Donning matching orange costumes, their giggles echoed as they turned and click-clacked their heels into the Seven-Eleven fluorescent light flooding the sterile kennel room. It seemed that the cages were tucked away in subbasement where no one would find them. It was like all hope was lost. Jet wondered if her life would pass in a cage watching the world go by as her costume eagerly forced her to into different sexual positions. Would she be whored out till the "stuffing" and "mounting" mentioned for the coming weekend? What did that even mean? Stuffing? "Hurry," said the first twin Bunny. "We've got to get back into our cages." "Nathalie thinks we're too, too dumb to live upstairs," said the second, pushing out her lower lip in a childish pout. Jet's costume took over as the twins approached. It wiggled her ass. It pawed the cage door with her hands. It whimpered, using her own vocal chords against her will. It went into full "puppy time mode" and took full control of her body. Her mind was disconnected from her physique and thrown into the back seat. The rubber drove now. She couldn't stop her puppy actions. Her body betrayed her even more and acted all excited and happy when one of the twins took a moment to bow with hands propped on the knees - putting her cleavage nicely into view. "Aw," coed the Bunny, "Bunny F! We've got a new friend!" "Shut-up, Bunny C! No way! It's a doggy girl," said the twin with a bow of her own, full cleavage displayed. Jet's body wiggled with the costume's own utter happiness. Jet, the person trapped inside, was so detached that she started to think of other things while her body performed all its puppy girl nonsense. Who were these Bunnies anyway? What was Nathalie up to? Will Bunny Maria do anything to save one of her own, even if a pet now? Was it too late to be saved? "She's so, so friendly," said the first Bunny, now opening the cage door to touch and caress. "So smoooooth." "Oh! Her cage door has a name on it too, just like our cage doors. Let's see - oh my - she has more letters than us." She pronounced each letter slowly with great concentration, "J. E. T." "Wait I got it, Jeh-something." "ET's a movie!" "Shh. Hush. No, it's Jay. Jeh?" "Yeah, that's it. Jeh. Jeee. Jey. Ji." "Jet!" "I was going to say that." She playfully hit at the other's bare shoulder. But maybe it was too hard. They stood on their knees facing each other in anger, then forgiveness, then a deep longing for love. Jet found her head surrounded by two sets of bullet bra'ed breasts aimed right at her. "Hug me," said the Bunnies in perfect unison. They reached their arms out, pressed their boobs together and squeezed Jet out of the sandwich. One Bunny cupped and patted the other's ass. The other squeezed a cottontail. Jet wanted back in, but then saw the first's nametag was labeled "F" - maybe it was something to do with her low IQ, F - as in failing grade. Jet then saw that the second tag had "C" for a name. Two more identical blonde orange bimbos entered the kennel room: Bunnies "E" and "A" - quadruplet blonde bimbettes! Wait. F meant sextuplets. Amazing! Jet's latex covered body went into a frenzy when Bunnies E, A, F and C joined together in petting her. With orange satin all a round, well-rounded breasts wonderfully strained the limits of their orange satin costumes. Jet watched her body being hugged and rubbed as the Bunnies tugged and spun the pet in place on the waxed floor as each took turns, some even kissed. The puppy costume posed the body it wrapped to ready itself for more petting - a butt wiggle got added periodically to the gleeful delight of the bimbo airheads. Another Xerox-copy blonde Bunny entered, nametag K. Another followed, Bunny M. Jet counted the alphabet letters out in her head up to M. There are 13 identical bimbos! Then a Bunny Y entered with a Bunny CC and Bunny BB. When the Bunnies stopped playing with the puppy girl, Jet got enough control to position her head to look around at all the animal cages built into the walls three levels high. Her ground floor cage had two more above it. So many stacked columns were to the left and right. She saw an orange Bunny climb into a second level cage, closing her own metal barred door with a locking click. "Come sleep with me," said one Bunny to another. Two clones quickly climbed into a cramped coop together. Jet wondered how they managed to fit. The idea of being spooned by one set of the pillowy breasts thrilled her. How could she get a Bunny to cram inside with her? She whimpered. "She's cute when she makes a puppy wuppy noisy woisies," said Bunny M. Jet felt an orgasm approaching. More petting please. The puppiness went into overdrive. Jet's eyes half closed as her body trembled. The Bunnies' hands stroked and one even started to rub the upper inner thighs, probably sensing the sexual build. The attention ended suddenly when the lights flickered. Bunny Meredith yelled from the doorway, flipping the light switches on and off as if ending intermission at a theater show. "Cages, girls. Cages. And get that dog back in her cell!" "Yes, Bunny Meredith," said the Bunnies in unison. Jet whimpered. No! I'm so so close to release - lovely release. Please! Bunny Meredith, whoever you are, order a Bunny to join me in my cage! Several hands slid Jet's body in a spin over the smooth floor. Her head got pushed down, her body pushed forward. No! Not the cage! The words stayed in her head. Nothing was spoken. Speech was hopeless. She tried to resist, but the Bunnies shoved her deep inside the kennel. A smack followed on her shiny rear as a Bunny giggled and locked the door closed. No! Her mind fought the latex prison. A hand raised, almost under her control. It tried to salvage the sex with just a quickie masturbation, but the suit refused to let the hand touch. No! The suit only wanted others to touch it. Now the hand only pawed at the cage door, as she watched the orange satin costumed idiots struggle to open their own prison doors and climb inside. One Bunny actually stared for several minutes at her lock and suddenly realized the door had already been left wide open. That realization further confused her. Another moment passed. She finally gave up and climbed inside. Bunny Meredith clicked the lights off, stepped out into the furnace room, and with all her weight, slammed the huge door shut. Chains rattled on the other side. In the darkness, a high pitch voice said, "Good night Bunny M." "Good night Bunny AA," said another helium airhead. "Good night Bunny" - "ARF! ARF!" interrupted Jet, protesting the choir of idiots. She surprised herself with pushing out a couple barks, until she realized it was her costume begging for love. "Arf!" It wasn't her at all. It was the carnal. ***** During the sunset, hours before any bimbo Bunnies caged themselves, a limousine cruised the highway passing through Oakland heading south towards San Jose. It would later travel up the peninsula towards San Francisco, stopping at Nathalie's penthouse. Normally the limousine would simply pass through the city, cross the Golden Gate Bridge, and complete the loop around the bay, returning the same night to the ranch in Marin County. Tonight, it would stop at the penthouse to leave a dumb bimbo passenger riding in back. Hidden from the world behind tinted windows, Bunny Chauffie, dressed in a pink satin uniform, including a pair of pink satin ears that brushed the car ceiling, navigated down the highway. She looked back at her cargo, Vivian - now transformed into another Bunny Candie. The chauffer hoped that maybe this bimbo might gossip and say what Nathalie's top secret project involved. At the ranch, the nerdy Bunny Meredith mentioned that it would be best that this mindless girl be near Bunny Nathalie, who could coach the clueless wit about restoring some IQ points. The lab Bunnies said they had concluded a barrage of tests, but that's all they would say. A day earlier, Chauffie had driven Vivian to the ranch. The resulting transformation now sitting in the backseat was scary. It was clearly wise to avoid any orange costumes. The driver pressed forward, entering the town of Fremont. She added a few more ganders in the mirror at Bunny Candie. With each glance, the dits waved madly back. The rapid arm movements jiggled her breasts. The bimbo then covered her eyes, quickly uncovered them, and covered them again. She snickered with few intermittent cute little snorts. She actually tried to play peek-a-boo. The Bunnies of the Bay Area Ch. 02 Chauffie shook her head. No, there was little hope that the once smart law student survived the orange costume. The driver pondered the mysterious event planned for the coming weekend that got Bunny Nathalie in such a fit. It was all so hush-hush. Staring ahead and ignoring the childish game being played behind her, the pink Bunny played her own game of stop and go. She liked rush-hour traffic. It moved slowly and allowed her to sense in more depth the other costumed girls around the Bay Area. She felt pride in her unique gift, sensing and knowing where every costumed woman resided. It took years to develop her gift. She fed off sensing others. She didn't need to eat or drink, as long as she drove the loop everyday and mentally sniffed down the magical sluts sexing it up in the Bay Area. Her costume required a daily fix. Otherwise it would loose contact. Before she knew it, she had become the chauffer: Bunny Chauffie. As she drove through Fremont, she felt several furries a few miles away. Normally, they stayed-up in wine country. She concentrated as she moved the limousine into the right most lane of the highway to slow down a bit more. Rush hour traffic started to open and speed up, but she wanted more time. As cars zoomed pass at 80 miles an hour, Chauffie stayed to a legal speed limit of 55. She sensed the furries to be deer girls with human forms altered with antlers and hooves. It was their look that could have become the Playboy Bunny costume had the magazine gone with the name Stag instead of Playboy. But why were the furries so far south? Strange. The seductive eyes of the chauffer looked into the rear mirror at Bunny Candie. Another happy zany wave came back. More jiggle followed. At least Candie was pleasing to look at, but the ditsyness was too much. Bunny Chauffie raised the motorized tinted glass separating her from the passenger section. She returned to scanning for costumed women as the car passed through the suburb of Milpitas, where a group of French Maids tended to the fantasies of Silicon Valley millionaires. Bunny Chauffie twitched her buttocks sensing the paddling some of the Maids were receiving somewhere a couple miles to the west. Some other Maids were riding some clients in another house further away. With an increased focus, she could narrow any costume's location down, especially with a map in hand. Her mind synchronized with the French Maids, but then the paddling sensation was becoming too much with every stinging slap. She broke contact. A month ago, she remembered sitting in a covert delivery truck driving around San Francisco. Nathalie had ordered her to sense for Bunny Maria's hutch. "Come on Chauffie," said Nathalie, as the truck took another cross road. "Feel the costumes call out to you. Take in their sexual energy." "I sense them, Mistress. I do," Chauffie had said. "I sense the lost Bunnies, but something is blocking their whereabouts - something dark. It's sucking the energy away when I breathe it in. I can't breathe." The truck had bounced around as it hit a rougher unmaintained roads in the packing district. Nathalie then rested her hands on Chauffie's bare shoulders. "Is it a furry blocking you?" It seemed like such an odd specific question. "I can't tell. It's powerful though." "Is it a goat - No. No. That would be impossible." Chauffie remembered the odd question. Then she slipped back to the memory of being in the truck and how her Mistress's hands calmed her by resting on her shoulders, the fingers clasping behind the neck. The touch made her costume crave for more. She still wanted more. It was a touch she leaving such strong longings. She still had not recovered from its soft caring loving caress. She'd do anything for Nathalie, so it hurt when she failed that night. What had blocked her powers? Switching her attentions back to driving the limousine, it was best to focus on the upcoming San Jose area, with its more traditional Saloon girls. Chauffie set the memories aside. She liked Saloon girls, they played it straight, no coquettish shyness, just honest sexuality. Once reaching San Francisco, the limousine took a narrow alley between high-rises. A garage fence slowly raised. A frantic fingernail patter danced on the glass separator behind Chauffie's head. The driver knew she'd regret it, but she lowered the window anyway. "Yes?" "Hi," said Bunny Vivian-Candie, peering over the ledge, her eyes wide with curiosity. "Is this my new home?" "I honestly have no idea," said Chauffie. Somehow the bimbo had placed her boobs on the ledge and managed to fit her head and Bunny ears into the front despite the low ceiling. "Oooo, this ramp really goes deep underground." The limousine headlights explored the darkness, made another corner. Outside an open elevator in the only area with real lighting, Nathalie stood stoically waiting. An entourage of Bunnies gabbed and played behind here. They went silent, almost standing to military attention, when the vehicle's tires squeaked against the painted cement floor. "Please sit back," said Chauffie, stopping the car by the crowd of Bunnies. "Wait, right there. I'm going to open the passenger door. Stay. Be a good girl. Stay." Stepping out quickly, Chauffie opened the passenger door. "Chauffie," said Nathalie, gently putting a hand on the driver's left shoulder, "stay here tonight. We'll need to go to the ranch early in the morning." "Yes Mistress." Chauffie looked at the round of her shoulder, touched by her Mistress. Inside the limousine, a pair of long legs thrashed about the passenger compartment. The tips of the shoes kicked backseats and a bright white cottontail wiggled, as an orange Bunny bimbette tried to climb through the inside window to the front seat. Nathalie peered inside. "Well, dad-sizzle it!" Chauffie winced at the odd phrase then switched back to her own worries. "I, I , don't know what to say. She was sitting proper a second ago." Bunny Meredith ran over. She watched in horror as her most important R&D project seemed to be nose-diving out of control. She looked at her Mistress, "I'll take care of this. I will." She climbed inside the car and grabbed at the flailing legs. "Canidie! You can't steer the car like that! Let go!" Nathalie noticed Chauffie's inquisitive face. "Don't try to figure out anything regarding this project. You don't want to be in on this. Trust me." The Bunnies of the Bay Area Ch. 03 Abstract: Bunny Nathalie finds the Bay Area's Bunnies are proving to be a hard bunch to keep under her control. "This museum always gives me the creeps," said Bunny Darby to her Mistress, Bunny Maria, as their high heels tapped out echoes on a stone staircase inside San Francisco's Fetish and Sex Museum. They ascended stairs from a secret backdoor entrance buried behind wood crates in a pit of basement shadows that bothered Darby even more. If a guard had sat at the front desk, the click clacks would have drawn his eyes across the floor to the stairwell where two sets of Bunny ears popped into view between marble balusters and newels. A pair of yellow ears struggled to move forward and the other set, blue rounded triangles of satin, kept turning back in annoyance. Sometimes the blue ears would seem to lecture the yellow ones. If he personally knew the yellow Bunny, he would have expected her ears to violently shake back with a retort. But that night, the ears seemed oddly unsure and tame. With more high-heeled click-clacks, a guard would start to see the two Bunnies as their bare shoulders and tightly cinched bodies joined the view. Any guard would have fallen out of his chair at that point, even before Maria stepped ahead, showing her long shear nylon covered legs. Darby carried a weighty office filing box, hence the struggling yellow Bunny ears pantomime. She knew Maria wasn't going to help, so she shifted her hands to get a better hold. She pressed it against the chest of her Bunny uniform. Somehow her ears hadn't pinned properly into her hair. She felt rushed and uneasy, blaming the museum and also a little – actually a lot -- Maria for suddenly changing the plans and joining in on the secret exchange. Something made Darby uneasy about her boss being present. No one had ever doubted Darby's work before. Then again, maybe it was actually better to have another Bunny present. In the past month, something had tainted the museum in an evil light, but Darby couldn't pin it down. She awkwardly held the box in one hand and grabbed at her listing ears with the other. A couple seconds later, she felt the headband slipping again. Looking even slightly disorganized irked her. Doing so in front of her boss just ticked her off. Pausing in the middle of a flight of stairs, she struggled to fix her yellow ears yet again. Clearly the museum should be blamed. It felt like something in the air, like a musky smell. It unsettled her confidence – and that really peeved her. Knowing they would be meeting the mysterious head curator, named Libby, who made dodgy trades in technology and magic, didn't help. But then again, Darby reconsidered her thinking because Libby was so nice, understanding, accommodating, and sexy. The list of positive adjectives rambled off in her head so quickly, like she had rehearsed them many times before. Darby struggled to start the last group of steps. Her uncontrolled thoughts switched to nightmarish irrational ideas of being turned into one of the museum exhibit pieces, maybe a living statue frozen forever, doomed to see the world transpire, unable to participate. Why did she think of all that? "Stop dillydallying," said Maria, waiting at the floor above. A gentlemen's club should have snapped a picture of her elegant pose, with a hand resting on the Yule marble railing and the other resting on a hip of her blue colored uniform. When Darby got close enough, Maria whispered, "You fidget too much. I need you focused." "You didn't have to come. I've been dealing with this creepy place since Summer." "Hush. I'm checking out what Libby is up to. Something's not right." The Bunny den mother checked something jammed down her cleavage. It looked like a lipstick tube. "You ready. You seemed a little frazzled." Darby didn't like not knowing the plan. Her eyes peered at Marie's cleavage – to see the lipstick tube – the cleavage was perfect though. "What's that?" "Shhh." Maria raised an eyebrow at her assistant, as if questioning Darby's competence. She turned away. Her Bunny tail bounced as she did a catwalk through the main exhibit floor. Pursing her lips, Darby didn't like seeing the doubting look on her Mistress's face. It hurt. Her hand adjusted her ears again. She squeezed the box against her body and trotted hurriedly to catch-up. The two Bunnies crossed the main atrium, the blue Bunny far ahead of the yellow. A skylight as wide as the atrium showed a view to the night's foggy skies. A century ago, stock traders filled the repurposed floor with their yelling and waving of colorful paper slips. Now the exchange had been converted to a sex museum. Display cases, decorating the outer perimeter of the main space, presented a comprehensive collection of strap-on dildos. A four story tall stone phallic took center stage. It aimed up to the glass panes over head, offering to penetrate the night sky. Darby paused to note its name: Rock Hard. She wondered if rock was used as a verb or noun. Her scattered mind shook her confused clouded head. Something bad was going to happen. "I can't believe this is a museum," said Darby, stretching her head back to see the phallic stone tip. She quickly grabbed at her ears that almost fell off. "I don't need this shit." She did another quickstep to catch up. "It's like this museum sucks IQ points from my head." She squinted to see inside a glass case. Maybe a weapon? A seppuku sword? Maybe it was another dildo with straps. It was too dark to see. She had been to the museum before, but somehow her memories had disappeared and only fear stayed behind. Her costume could feel evil swirl around her legs. "I don't care if the Plexiglas cases have lead in them. I swear I can still feel a possessed wickedness." "Some of these toys actually do suck out IQ." Deviously smiling, Maria added, "Or hammer in a tad of dumbness." Her eyes looked sideways to a display case with a plaster head looking up, mouth open, and a rubber rod aiming back down. "Mmm. Deep throating." "Ew. Yeah, there's that. Sure. Just fucking great." Maria gently smacked Darby's face. "Come on. Where's my detail oriented Bunny?" Her hand caressed and her eyes searched into Darby's soul. "There you are." The back of her curled fingers gently stroked the face. "I feel like you forgot to tell me something. When we get back, write up one of those droning reports of yours. It'll relax you. A calm mind always helps me remember things." Darby could feel her confidence return, regrettably it was only a façade surfacing just enough to please her Mistress. Forgotten voices whispered stolen memories. Dark dread still churned in her thoughts. Maria's gentle touch pulled away. "Good Bunny. Now, let's go." Her bright white Bunny tail disappeared into a hallway. The box-bearing Bunny dwelled at the entrance. Glistening granite contours defined a wide archway chiseled and smoothed into a giant vagina. "How do I not remember this?" She followed, muttering to herself. "A huge dick dungeon and it's like I never saw it before." Transitioning through an unlit hallway, they entered a gallery of sexual masks. Maria ventured into another gallery ahead. Darby slowed, fighting the falling cardboard box. She wanted a cart, but Maria wanted the stairs because the elevators were slow. The assistant looked at the overhead tracks of spotlights aimed at each display. The fixtures hung down dead, unlit, like lifeless bats somehow sucking radiance from their targets. Absent of light, the mannequin busts below, all wearing historical headgear, leered back like foes. The Bunny slowly ambled passed leather muzzles, zippered hoods, gilded Venetian guises surrounded in feathers, various blindfolds, and gasmasks. A ball gag nestled into a plaster head's mouth, customized in a stretch beyond any human limits. It caught Darby's attention. She peered at it. Her head tilted left and right. Her Bunny ears, always posed to curl forward in an obedient bow, brushed the glass box as her eyes tried to fight the darkness and see some details. It was too dark. She gave the box a heave up with a knee then pulled her shoulders back to find a balance, all while staring at the gag. "Oh my." She sidestepped to the next plaster head with a metal contraption pulling its jaw open. The mechanics intrigued the engineering part of her. Good design always comforted her. She mumbled to herself, "I have to get one of these." Enough light from the nearby gallery allowed her to read a tag: "Whitehead Gag, medical device." She winced. "Ouch." "Like it?" said a woman from behind. Darby jumped. Her ears fell off. And now she found herself hunched over, her arms crushing the sides of the filing box. "Shit, Libby." Libby bent down at the knees and retrieved the yellow Bunny ears. Her idea of a pleasant smile would confirm anyone's fears. "Here, my little cute rocket scientist." She reached over Darby's head and returned the ears. Her fingers ran through the hair. Her mind grabbed the last whiffs of confidence from the mind inside. "Come on," said the raven-haired museum curator in a well practiced sexy lilt. "I think Maria is over by the exhibit. I wish you hadn't brought her." The box slid. It took a second to regain a grip before Darby could turn and follow the tall sinuous model, who wore a snug skirt blouse combo. Libby teased with a backward come-hither glance. She sported a black pencil skirt, white blouse, dark nylons, and black high-heeled pumps. Darby watched the woman's walk and how the derrière wonderfully rolled left and right. The dark skirt silhouetted a perfect curved outline. When they entered the first gallery, skylight added contouring shadows that helped Darby enjoy the view. With Libby's dark rimmed glasses and hair pinned up by a couple of number two pencils, the curator presented a flawless sexy librarian fantasy. The naughty office wardrobe was the woman's magical costume, an alternative version of a Bunny uniform offering its own type of enchantments in unreserved sexuality. It screamed dark evil desires, yet somehow to Darby, it felt stifled somehow. Darby envied the few women who had the luxury to enjoy taunting their costumes in a repressive way by leaving accessories off, stored in a safe place to deny their costumes' full power. For some women, a controlling mistress cruelly withheld one of their accessories. Darby knew Libby fell into that group. The sexy curator always attempted to hide her bitterness regarding her one truant adornment. Oddly, Darby couldn't remember what it was. In an adjacent gallery, the two women found Bunny Maria standing before a floor to ceiling Plexiglas wall, exhibiting special masks mounted at various levels, floating like fish in an aquarium. One item's glass lenses blazed in white highlights from the few lights illuminating the room. Matching the bespectacled Libby, but obviously the original frame, it was a pair of dark rimmed eyeglasses. A pearl beaded spectacle strap dangled about the mounting rod protruding from a black back wall. Imprisoned behind bulletproof high security Plexiglas, Libby's most important accessory stared back. Bunny Nathalie had denied the librarian's most basic source of magic, like locking away a Selki's pelt, it left Libby to oblige Nathalie's every wish. Darby knew she had seen the display before, but it all felt new again. "Bunny Maria," greeted Libby. "I wasn't expecting you." A meaningless Hollywood hug followed, plus a couple air kisses too. The head Bunny crossed her arms, rubbing them to keep warm. "We thought it best that two Bunnies pick up the package. When Darby told me you had a peacock, I didn't want to chance it." "Good thinking," said Libby, stepping away and turning to the other Bunny. "You got the laser?" Darby saw a flash of anger in the curator's face. Confused memories resurfaced. Feelings of torn loyalties masked memories of trying to hide the night's adventure from Maria. Some loyalties were to Libby, but why have any obligations towards her? The R&D Bunny remembered the fear she had earlier when asked where she was going with a laser. She managed to fight a mental haze long enough to blurt out one big impromptu lie – regrettably mentioning the one thing that would surely intrigue Maria into coming: a captured peacock girl. On the ride over, she wanted to tell her Mistress it was all a lie, but she couldn't. That would anger Libby. The mental fighting continued. Darby let the box she carried carefully slide down her nylon legs and onto the tips of her shoes. She gave her feet a couple quick jerks to free her toes. "Yes. This system should work better." "Thank you for all the information," said Maria. "It proved accurate. The gentlemen's club, everything." "I try," said Libby, visibly getting nervous then faking a restored calm. "I'll set up," said Darby. She noticed her old laser and tripod powered and running in front of the huge Plexiglas wall. A red beam sparkled through the transparent barrier, hitting Libby's eyeglasses. The Plexi-material scattered a red glow onto the surrounding ritual masks. One bone white animal skull, with dark grey curling horns, adopted an angry burning color. The straight stroke of laser through the glass showed a wall thicker than a Sea World whale tank. Darby thought how a man would be proud to be so long. She did a Bunny bow down to her box to unpack. Maybe work would regain her bearings. It was like she had never been in this room, but she remembered surveying the wall and coming up with a solution that Libby would trade anything for. During the first visit, Libby's desperation gave Darby confidence. Now Libby seemed to have the upper hand. "I sense," said Maria to Libby, "that you are up to something." "I'm just a sexy librarian, so so in need of her glasses. I haven't made anyone disappear in years." Her hands slid down her skirt and pressed into a slight lap she made with a pose like Marilyn Monroe straddling a blowing subway grate. Contrary to the movie star's flouncy white dress, Libby's pencil skirt wrapped too tightly to billow even in a hurricane. "Oh, how the mafia loved to hire me. Yes! Those were good times." She popped up straight and jittered her hands in excitement. "So Darby dearest, do you have a stronger laser for me?" "Nathalie maintains a museum security staff," said Maria, pondering the surroundings and the suspicious choice of the most secure section of the museum. "I sent them home tonight." Maria approached. Libby stepped back bumping into a display case. With penetrating eyes, Maria added, "They are the scariest, fiercest costumes for a reason. There's no lock for this display. There's no door in the back walls, floor or ceiling – no access to the items inside. You have to tear it apart with heavy construction equipment – all for a reason. This wall houses the strongest most sinister magic." She looked at the dark rimmed glasses jailed inside. As an insult, she added, "plus there's your glasses too. Nathalie was probably just being a bitch on how she assured your servitude. Right there in view, yet impossible to touch." Libby actually looked rattled as Maria's body pressed forward, sandwiching the librarian between a full body press and a tall cabinet holding a slutty looking female Samaria suit. Maria's hands lingered on the sexy librarian's shoulder. Their eyes locked. The space between their faces narrowed. The Bunny used her lips to smear rouge lipstick over the stunned woman's face. It took a few seconds and Libby didn't move. Bunny seduction kept Libby in place. "You make my assistant nervous," said Maria so calmly. "I had to see how and why. Darby's such a good little scientist. You know, she trained at NASA's JPL." Her fingers caressed the side of the immobilized woman's face. "I'm sensing resistance. What did you do to the security staff?" The fingers stroked down the librarian's silk blouse, over the protruding chest, and then over to her Bunny suit's bullet bra. The fingers reached into the deep cleavage, pinched, and withdrew the hidden lipstick tube. Libby breathed heavily. "I don't believe this." It got harder for her to talk. "You're, you're, going, to, actually..." "Yes. I am. Don't fight it," said Maria. "You didn't trust your Bunny charm? You brought a sexy secretary's lipstick? You'll use that on me too?" Maria shrugged. "You're up to something." She drew a red lipstick X on Libby's forehead. She tapped the tip of the nose in rouge. The cheeks followed with some more X's, a few O's, and a Tic Tac Toe diagonal of three in a row. Each strike of make-up attacked the mind. "Now. Did you have a nice long legged peahen girl for me or not? Or were you going to make Darby disappear tonight? Along with security maybe? Wherever they went. You see, I've been wanting a feathered costume girl for a year now. The royals have the best of guards. And suddenly you have a royal? Nonsense. But yet, Darby's been busy researching so very hardy hard hard for you. And you seem to be covertly plotting." The librarian's facial muscles flexed and contorted as she fought the strongest of mental suggestions. Maria compressed Libby harder against the display cabinet. The power reached the Samaria costume behind. It begged to be touched. The mannequin arms responded to the cerebral catfight outside. It moved and lurched forward. The hands reached out, until the fingertips bumped the glass -- thwarted. "Tell me," said the blue Bunny. "We'll still do the deal. It's fair. I'd love to fuck a peahen tonight. Talk." "Mmmmm, yes, no, wait," said Libby. Darby felt amused to see the librarian squirm. But somehow, this all happened before. Several weeks ago, Darby had the same questions and the same dominate pose over Libby. There was the same confidence in getting answers too. After all, Libby was just a sexy cataloger of souls. Was it déjà vu? Darby felt an increasing pure pounding of terror in her chest. Something was wrong here and it made her fidget and cower like an idiot. She pressed her knees together and twisted her hips left and right like a child after consuming too much soda and needing to rush off to find relief. If she could suck her thumb, she would. This wasn't her normal headstrong self. A few feet away, what was Maria experiencing? The head Bunny's costume pushed into Libby's mind. She shared memories, full clear images of sound and motion appeared. Maria felt everything Libby experienced. A month and half ago two Goth women, hung ropes from the ceiling of the security training room in the museum's basement. Both women had full eye contact lenses, covering the whites of their eyes with complete Area 51 blackness. The plastic covers impeded their vision just a bit with a tinted view on the world. To anyone looking back, the eyes looked SciFi zombie ink black dead. When the women wore full latex suits, the full lenses completed the feeling of total encasement. Hot sweaty, restrictive rubber became a part of their bodies. Even the eyes could feel warmly compressed and contained. That day, they wore more flexible clothing, letting the skin of their arms and legs breathe. Still they looked alien with their solid black eyes. Tattoos of skulls and ravens covered their arms. Metal rods pierced their noses and eyebrows. One of them pulled down on some ropes, pulleys squealed, and meat hooks that stuck in the back by the shoulder blades lifted the body of the second Goth, who rose to the ceiling like a rag doll. Suspended only by her hooked flesh, her frightening looking face hid the pleasure and thrill of hanging by cruel metal piercings. Maria's scan into Libby showed how the librarian casually strolled into the room, a tiger deciding dinner options. Examining the memories, she could feel how Libby speculated about the sexiness of two Goths, how Libby considered fucking them, and how the two Goths could have been such stunning women, if they had just removed all the metal garbage inserted into their faces. The Bunnies of the Bay Area Ch. 03 "Stop wasting my time," said Maria, still probing Libby's mind. "I don't care about the staff. Forget the Goths. Where are the real terrifying ones?" Maria's hand squeezed the librarian's soft long neck. The defiance was strong. "Show me the enforcers. Museum security has a pair of them chosen randomly each night. Given that, you couldn't have conspired with even one of them, let alone disappear them all – one or two at a time -- not without them figuring it out. It's full proof security." "Almost," whispered Libby, fighting Maria's psychic powers. "But they had one day this last Summer when they all got together. That's all I needed." "All of them? You mind fucked them all at once? Stop showing me Goth girls. Show me the scary ones. The security team." In the memory, a long parade of cheerleaders rushed into the same training room, passing Libby and the two Goths. Pom poms waved. Bright red and blue short-skirted uniforms rushed about. Sexy high energy blondes and brunettes and redheads and long straight raven haired girls, all covering the spectrum of every nationality, did cartwheels. They all chanted alphabetical-nonsense: "Give me a D – for death. Give me C – for carnage..." The dozen girls formed a circle and their pom poms aimed to the ceiling in one final building yell as they all rushed into a tight huddle in the center of the room. "That's more like it," said Maria, remembering the horrific method cheerleaders could kill a woman in a costume without ending the magic and therefore not violate the most sacred rule of protecting a costume from harm. Transformations were a loophole. She had seen a cheerleader kill only once before. A quick mental scan – and, yes -- Libby had seen the monstrous act too. They both knew the terror. Libby and Maria shuttered at sharing a memory of so many frightening, happy, pretty little bouncy cheerleaders -- pure leviathans. The snug sweater and short knife pleated skirted outfits could transform any costume. And worse, could disconnect a costume from its host, but only by killing the human. The technique violated no rules of protecting costumes since only the human died. Technically, the costumes thought of themselves as the host and the human as a mere parasite. A petit bubbly blonde took center stage. "Today we have to punish a French maid," said the captain of the deadliest cheerleader squad in the world. "I know. It's cruel. Try not to enjoy it too much, bitches!" Two cheerleaders dropped a girl in frills and puffy French maid fetishness onto the floor. "Please," begged the French maid. "It was a costume party. I promise never to wear another theme again. Never!" The captain smirked then turned with a skirt twirl. "Practice on her girls. Feed on fucking her over. Oops." She feigned shock covering her mouth in regret. "Pardon my French. I meant: let the cunt have it." The two guards repositioned the maid's broken and battered body. Giving up on perfecting a model pose, they rushed away from a pile of sobbing tears and frilly lacy white petticoats. Her hair hung down bedraggled, covering her face. She looked up, peering through her loose locks, as the cheerleaders lined up single file. Her costume knew life was over. The first wide smiling acrobat did a split. Holding her arms straight out, she turned like a gun turret, aiming her pom poms directly at the maid. "No!" screamed the naughty French tart. "Shoot!" said the captain. Both pom poms zipped across the room sticking to the chest of the target. The long plastic strands came to life, and the balls of bright school spirit colors crawled over the costumed woman's body. The maid swatted helplessly at them, gritting her teeth as she pleaded. "Help!" Her teeth clenched closed as her lips blurted, "Help!" "Just open your mouth," said the captain. "No!" said the victim with her teeth gritting harder. The captain raised a hand. "You're just making it worse." She swung her hand down, signaling a full barrage of pom pom firing. Colored strand clumps flashed across the room. When a cheerleader shot her ammunition off, two new pom poms magically appeared covering her hands. If fast enough, she shot again. Otherwise she ran or tumbled to the back of the line, making room for the next enthusiastic skirted storm trooper. The maid became doused in a living animated crawling cloud of color. Some Koosh balls lingered at her face. Many changed strategies and crawled under her skirts. The white petticoats, the black satin covering outer skirt, and the tiny white apron bubbled from the pom poms searching underneath. "No!" yelled the maid, accidentally opening her mouth. "Mmmm!" she murmured, suddenly gagged as a waiting pom pom push down her throat. Both Maria and Libby knew the pom poms had gotten under the panties. The living intruders had gone deep inside – all of them. The volume under the puff diminished. The costume's cinching corset layers burst open, ripping along the seams. The maid's belly began to inflate into pregnancy. Her costume lost the battle and it too change. It took only seconds before it all ended. The firing squad applauded. Their reloaded pom poms waved. Some girls flipped and kicked and dropped into splits. Except for the captain, the cheerleaders abandoned the firing line. They started a new round of cheering after a quick huddle and energetic teambuilding yell. Left behind, crying on the floor, sat a specimen of the worst primal fear of all costumes: a dowdy woman in brown tweeds. A flowery printed grandma blouse collared in wilted frills hid underneath a dull worn jacket. Clunky shoes replaced the sleek high heels. And worse, beyond any nightmare for any sexy magical costume, an adjustable waistband had been sewn into the tweed skirt. The alteration allowed a comfortable fit around the expanded belly. The Bunny and sexy librarian relived the events and shuttered simultaneously. Only a cheerleader's method of killing a costume's human host could be worse -- at least to the two women. Their costumes clearly instilled a feeling at that moment -- like a correcting teacher's slap of a ruler -- that a dowdy transformation was worse and completely unacceptable. For the costumes, death was preferred. Maria shook the horror off and dug deeper in the librarian's machinations. Before the firing squad, Libby had helped the second Goth suspend herself. Both hung from the ceiling as the pom pom volley started. A smell of musky perfume began to fill the air. Libby had concocted something and sprayed it like an air freshener. The Goths kicked and flailed at the ends of their ropes. Libby stood there immune to it all. The cheerleaders slowed and struggled. "Bull shit!" said Maria. "Those cheerful bitches are impervious to everything." "I researched it, you stupid Bunny. I found the source to our costumes' power." Maria pierced into Libby's memories. No hiding would be tolerated. At first, the cheerleader captain shook off the musk, ignoring the unknown feeling of vulnerability. She put her hands on her knees to condescendingly hover over the dowdy victim. "We don't change costumes, now do we?" The gagging pom poms had pushed down into the former French maid's stomach. "No," said the drab woman in shame. She looked down at her nine-month looking distended belly. She saw her unmoisturized hands, the unpolished nails, and worse: the deplorable bulky shoes. A mirror held by a glowering cheerleader confirmed the horror: a crooked nose. "My face!" Sobbing followed. She cried aloud to the ceiling in despair. She tried to fall forward onto the floor, but her large stomach blocked her. Her legs splayed around her extra weight. Her loose skirt provided no ridiculous puff so loved and played with. The skirt didn't even have the other variant of tight tautness designed into cheaper mail-order slutty maid uniforms. Waving the mirror away, the captain added, "Two years ago, the last girl – now she was made really ugly. No one wanted her. It took years before her water broke. Eventually she gave birth to a vuvuzela." The new Miss Dowdy looked confused. "Vuvuzela -- the horns played at the World Cup in Brazil. It must have hurt to push out. Before her, normally a twirling baton was birthed. Oh my god! One pregnancy – I saw a marching band bass drum crowning. It still blows my mind. If you just didn't fight it, you wouldn't be carrying all our pom poms inside you. All you had to do was welcome your deserved punishment – then you'd be ugly and ordinary for a while – your costume would be stuck forever though. It would hate you, but you should have ace[ted your fate." The woman rubbed her large belly. "How long? I can't go back to the Milpitas mansion. The other maids won't want me now. I'm useless to them." "Tisk tisk. Depending on how slutty you attempt to be, you'll be out in months. Then again, looking at you, more likely years. Go to San Jose. I hear the engineer guys down there are desperate." Maria began to choke the librarian. "How did you control them? No perfume could do it." In the memory showing the training room, a wafting scent created fear and panic, then obedience. The cheerleaders suddenly stopped in place. One realized the deception and, just before succumbing to domination, aimed a pom pom at Libby. The pom pom did not shoot. The process was too fast. To be safe, the curator threw a smoking canister back at them. Outside the memory, Libby laughed at Maria. "There's something older and more scary than any costume or furry has ever seen." The memory of hypnotized cheerleaders, brought Maria out of the mind meld. "But how?" Libby smirked now. Her independence caught Maria off guard. A hand moved. Something clicked and the librarian squirted Bunny Maria in the face with a perfume bottle Darby involuntarily handed over. Darby covered her mouth in horror. She remembered being spritzed too. She stepped back to the laser behind her. She couldn't speak or move, now or then. At that moment she realized she had helped the enemy. The perfume bottle was made by Libby, prescribed over a month ago and stuffed in the cleavage of the yellow Bunny costume. The scent ensured loyalty and needed to be applied when obedience to Libby waned and needed a recharge. Darby gasped. She had just betrayed her Mistress Maria. She watched as her Bunny Mother, her boss, her Mistress was being squirted in the face again by something in Libby's hand – something handed over so obediently: the perfume atomizer. Maria swiped at a strong scent and wetness on her face -- her shoulders. It stained her costume. Darby remembered how her own costume fought a mental attack, but lost. Regaining her composure, Libby pushed away from the display case. She mouthed a thank you to Darby. Now free and clear of the red lipstick marks drawn all over her face, Libby sashayed to a display box. Maria struggled to breathe. She dropped to one knee. "This, isn't, possible." "Yes it is," said the dominating curator. Removing a key from her cleavage, Libby used it to unlock a case. She lifted its clear box just a sliver enough to remove two Victorian leather bound novels hidden under an exhibited magician's top hat. "Here's two girls from security. You want to see them?" The books hit the floor. Libby polished her glasses as she passed both Bunnies. She dipped her glasses into the laser light. It connected with her original sexy spectacles, physically unreachable behind the glass. The new pair recharged. "I loved kissing those bitches. I left the Goths hang there for days before I did them. Oh how they screamed. Secretly, I think they liked hanging there helplessly. Thank the gods that the training room is sound proof. I seduced each statuette cheerleader, one a day, until I had a stack of books." Darby struggled to move. She knew what awaited her Mistress: the loss of control – the obedience. The two books on the floor began to dissolve into smoke. A pair of obedient cheerleaders rose from the cloud. One girl may have been the captain. The books were gone, replaced by the entranced cheerleaders. "What!" objected Maria, swatting at her shoulders at some mysterious fumes. "Darby run!" Darby watched intensely. Her body just stood there. Her obligations to her real Mistress, Bunny Maria, slipped away like so many times before. Each trip to the museum was a betrayal to Bunnies everywhere by helping Libby connect with the glasses. The memories of each trip were removed from her memories. The hand she had covering her mouth in shock dropped to her side. Her body froze. What was happening? Her mouth moved. "I must obey my Mistress Libby." The two cheerleaders rushed Maria. Each grabbed an arm and forced the Bunny to stay on her knees. "How dare you!" yelled Maria. "And how? You're just a librarian." Libby laughed and rubbed her face clear of the lipstick. She inspected her reflection in a glass display of vagina jewelry. "Silly rabbit. I'm no longer just a sexy librarian. Not now. For decades I wished I could grow back my accessories like you Bunnies. My outfit seemed so limited. Yes. I booked the entire cheerleader squad. I turned each one into a classic novel from Jane Austen to Hemingway. I've been alone in the museum for a month now. Well kind of alone. I serve a higher power now -- thanks to the laser." Libby gave Darby a spank below the cottontail. "I wasn't expecting you to bring Maria. Conquering your boss does feel yummy though. Thank you." She shook her head at Maria. "Sorry, I don't have a peahen. I don't know why Darby told you that. And yes, Darby was going to stay here forever. What would you do, war with Nathalie? Ha! But now, I sense you've been scheming on something too. Something really trully juicy. Darby told me how you are still trying to takeover that men's club. Why?" She hovered over the struggling Bunny, her skirt pressing taunt against the Bunny's face. Fingers played with the hair. "Set new territories maybe, but this is somehow personal. I feel I could use you. Lucky you. Otherwise, I'd kiss you into a comic book and burn your paper prison with you screaming inside." "You really would do that," said Maria, looking up, her arms twisted out in a crucifixion by the two cheerleaders. "But how? You can't hurt a costume. You're one of us." A perfume squirted onto Maria's face. Spurt after spurt accumulated until the make up began to run. The Bunny costume tried to rebuild the look, restoring the make-up and removing the black water tracks of eye shadow that ran down to the satin shell. Darby could see the facial stings across Maria's face, as her costume tried its magic in desperation. Suddenly the eye shadow would look perfect again. Then it ran down the face with more added perfume. It seemed silly, but the costume wanted to regain some control. "What's your interest in men?" asked the librarian, tugging up her pencil skirt. The inverting inner lining clung and rustled against the skin and stockings. The beautiful rounded pantied rear showed "Fuck you," said Maria. "You can't make me talk." "Fuck me? You got that right. Now, taste me." Maria could smell something in the air. Her nose twitched like a rabbit, sensing an animalistic mating scent. She didn't need a cheerleader to hold her head forward anymore. She clearly now wanted to face up into the raised skirt. Darby remembered the feeling too: the desire, the need. If she could, she'd drop to the floor and lick Libby herself. Her mouth actually watered. She wasted thoughts wondering if she was allowed to swallow. Maybe she was supposed to drool, standing there watching. The two cheerleaders let go. Maria struggled, watching her hands involuntarily raise to touch the nylon stockings and sense the smooth silk up to the thigh-high lace. Her face looked at the garter belts. She lifted her Bunny body, standing on her knees just enough to kiss between Libby's legs. Darby remembered the taste, when her will power melted away. They were now both somehow Libby's slaves. As Maria's greedily licked and tasted, her hands gently and carefully grasped Libby's hips. The librarian turned to Darby. She pointed back and forth between them and mouthed the words, "I did this to you a month ago." She shook her head in pity and gestured down to the bobbing Bunny ears. "Yes, I did." Libby pulled the ears off Maria, tossing the Bunny's perfect hair around. She threw the satin headband off into a dark corner. She tapped Maria's head. "Restore them. Now." She tossed trusses of Maria's brunette hair about, this time frizzing it. Maria gasped for air. "You're just a secondary costume with..." Pain painted her face as a new set of ears grew in. "I love that. Even if it does hurt, I wish I could have grown my glasses back." She pulled the new ears off. "Again!" Maria moaned. Her disheveled tresses pulled themselves back into a preened bouffant hairstyle. New satin ears appeared and curled forward in an artistic curtsey, perfect for a well groomed Bunny. Libby laughed and snapped her fingers at Darby. "Slave. Stop standing there. Work." Libby looked down. "Keep going Maria. Taste me. Become one of my minions. You're no longer Bunny Maria. You're Minion Maria – I love alliterations." She reveled in having the Bunny reach up under the raised skirt and pull down the panties. "Mmm. Now who's getting naughty? I've never been done by an experienced Bunny. Darby's work is a little mechanical." A mouthed sorry and pout shot out to Darby. Libby stroked the Bunny ear tips that tapped her silk blouse while Maria worked away. The fingers threatened to pull the headband accessory off again. "Faster my little slave. You're tongue is so angry with me. I like a hateful tongue too, but you might as well give in and enjoy making me orgasm. Be careful, because I might fill this room with so many copies of your Bunny ears." Darby remembered the pain and why she wished she could have left her ears at home. Instead, she subconsciously left them unpinned and loose. She subconsciously tricked Maria into coming – the whole peahen story a lore and hope that her more powerful boss would take control of Libby. And instead, the enemy took control. Libby pulled the ears off Maria yet again. Another set grew back. "I love that with you Bunnies. Of course, it doesn't hurt me one bit." She raised her hands into the air in victory and giggled. "Let's do it again." ***** Thirty floors above a ruckus of bimbos preparing for sleep, Bunny Nathalie sipped wine as she looked through her bulletproof glass windows. From her San Francisco penthouse overlooking the Bay Bridge, she could see across the Financial District and the Embarcadero. In terms of costumes -- a term designating women in magical outfits – she ruled the city. Like any kingdom, rebel groups conspired. But tonight she wanted to enjoy. She tasted a deep red Porte. Regrettably, her costume somehow disintegrated anything before it even hit her stomach. It left an endless hunger. She missed the buzz she used to get with saloon whiskies, the buzz her costume denied her. A few blocks over, Bunny Maria was probably rebelling away, making a new transformation outfit. Nathalie wondered what that woman was up to? A hallway grandfather clock chimed, echoing midnight throughout the main hall. Down in the subbasement the others would be sleeping. Nathalie thought how she should probably relax too. The next few days were going to be busy. "Bunny Nathalie?" came a voice. Nathalie smiled and returned a look of mischief over her shoulder. Reddie stood at the bedroom door. Her fiery hair hung down behind her shoulders. Her purple ears timidly peered from behind the door. The name 'Sekhet' came to Nathalie's mind, an Egyptian goddess with the mane of a lion and the body of a woman. Secretly, Nathalie loved furries more than costumes. Electra did too. Sekhet: it didn't sound sexy now, but it was once a very sexy name. The Bunnies of the Bay Area Ch. 03 "Come-in Reddie. Please, unzip." Across the room, still holding the door, Reddie felt nervous and wondered what to do. She had to enter now. A part of her wondered if she'd simply be dismissed for the night. But no. Certain things seemed expected, especially given that the previous assistant had been fired and sent away somewhere. To Reddie, the whole Bunny world seemed new and strange. Latex puppy girls and dimwitted Bunnies locked themselves into cages. Scientist Bunnies in lab coats visited and experimented – but on what exactly? In Reddie's mind, life as a Bunny only started a month ago. Before that, not a single memory called out. Only a void existed. Her previous experiences had somehow been erased. She entered the expansive bedroom. She didn't want to do anything wrong. She hurried now. Her new purple costume had provided some memories of the Bunnies that shared its lineage, but the details were scattered. She stopped near a corner of a massive four-post bed. Drapes defined a box tent. The bedframe lifted the mattress high above any typical Captain's bed. The elevation required stepping stools on either side of the bed, necessary to gracefully reach the plush open field of layered sheets inside. The plateau leveled at just below chest height. With legs straight, a standing maid making the bed could rest her Bunny boobs on the edge while pulling the sheets taunt. Grabbing a bedpost to steady herself, Reddie was visibly anxious. Her costume's cinching forced her breasts to raise and lower with each nervous breath. Her worries quickened her shallow gasps, making her soft full flesh heave faster. She regained her strength, let go of the carved wood pole, and promptly reached behind her back with both hands to pop her cottontail off. She set it on the bed, and then unzipped her costume down below her waistline, over her butt, to where the tail had covered the base of the zippered path. Reddie had been allowed in her mistress's bedroom before to help clean. She never thought she would be there to spend time socially – maybe sexually? The suit now slid down her legs – of course, sexually. Why have such a stupid thought? She was striping, not playing cards. Nathalie sat on an upholstered bench at the foot of the bed watching as Reddie bared her breasts and stood waiting in her waist cincher, shear nylons, and high heels. "I need a new assistant," said Nathalie. "You're it. Congratulations." "Yes, Bunny Nathalie. Thank you. I'll do my best." "Relax Reddie. Enjoy. You're a healthy human now – well, in a way you are. I guess none of us are normal anymore." "Yes, thank you Bunny Nathalie. I don't know what I would have done if you hadn't rescued me." It was odd how some memories came back and then disappeared. She paused and thought for a second, "Mistress?" "Yes," said Nathalie, unzipping her own costume. "Can I ask just one thing?" "Sweetie, ask what you want but climb-up under the sheets and keep me warm. San Fran is so cold at night." The Bunnies stood on either side of the bed, facing each other. They pulled their ears off then kicked-off their heels, leaving their cinchers and tights in place. Simultaneously, they stepped their stocking feet up on the stepping stools, mirroring opposite sides of the bed. They met in the middle under the covers. The room was dark except for the glow of foggy window light. "Mistress, I heard you found me back in the 1980's, but I don't remember anything till a month ago. What happened during those thirty years?" "Cursed objects, like the one that held your soul, are difficult to defeat. I didn't know a fast way to get you out without invoking dark magic. I wanted another method, a Bunny costume option. You were trapped, so we had you mentally frozen. You would have gone insane otherwise." Reddie kissed her mistress and then climbed on top pressing pelvis to pelvis, bosom against bosom. As she lifted her bare breasts away to better position herself, the sheets slipped down her back to her waist. "Yes, I can see that now. I would have lost it completely. Thank you mistress." She began gyrating her hips to grind against her mistress. Nathalie relaxed, feeling her clitoris getting some lovely manipulation. It was rare that her costume let her out of her cincher and tights. And tonight her cincher still didn't offer any laces in the back. They just didn't exist. On occasion they reappeared when her costume decided not to keep her body sewn in. Sometimes the magic allowed for a few hours away, but never longer -- and sex had to be involved. She remembered how overt sexual acts made the laces appear more often, how the perversions extended the allowed time to play. But she liked the company of Bunnies more than swallowing some guy's cum. She would be stronger if she stopped resisting. Not doing so kept her trapped in nylons, but she liked it. She could feel her costume's frustrations. It wanted deviant sex. It wanted a trip to Bolinas, California; where centuries of pirate smuggling created saloon girl costumes into the kinkiest fetishes. No, she thought. The swords and the vore were too much. She had her limits. The costume sitting at the foot of the bed burned with desire. It watched her and with its cincher and tights wrapping her body, it felt everything too. She suppressed its more drastic longings. As Reddie tribbed away, the costume finally submitted. Nathalie returned to enjoying the half naked Bunny scissoring her at the moment. She watched as Reddie reacted to the movement inside both their bodies. The redhead wasn't just trying to please; she was trying to enjoy. Desperation defined Maria's previous assistant, a failure now named Duchess and locked in a dog cage. Confident selfishness moderated with desires to please signaled the potential for a great sex partner. Nathalie liked this girl's attitude. Reddie twisted sideways to get her inserted dildo's end to rub against Nathalie's matching hidden plug. Despite the nylon layers between their rubber plugs, a magnetic feeling arose and a connection snapped between the intruders. Reddie pulled her hips up lifting Nathlie's plug a couple inches out, tenting the nylon tights. A push back down followed with a repeated pull up. This time the movement left Nathalie's plug in place as Reddie's body lifted, but now the other plug slid. Again and again the two alternated who squeezed their vaginal muscles so the other could feel the friction. Nathalie smiled looking-up at the redhead whose breasts jiggled, whose eyes squeezed shut, whose hips gyrated so assertively, and whose mind stayed lost in reaching happiness. Yes, Reddie would be a great carnal partner. The Bunnies of the Bay Area Ch. 04 Abstract: Bunny Nathalie finds the Bay Area's Bunnies are proving to be a hard bunch to keep under her control. In the small hours of the morning, deep below the museum atrium, Darby imitated a Geisha holding her body obediently stock-still in a seiza position as a metal grate dug into her nylon covered knees and ankles. Two staff Goth girls processed her like a victorious hunter's quarry. First, they pulled the yellow Bunny ears off. Under Libby's mysterious control, neither Darby nor her costume fought back. Her costume refused to restore itself. It did not sting her body to punish and grow back a new pair of ears. It did nothing. The costume's magic submitted to being stripped down. The Goth girls with their solid black eyes, face piercings, latex body suits and platform boots; stood tall, ominous. One girl squatted behind, the latex knees pinching the mute Bunny. She pulled back fast and hard on Darby's hair, arching the neck, exposing the throat, and aiming the hapless face to the ceiling. In silent isolation from any hope of escape, the Bunny felt her bowtie snap off, the collar fall away, the wrists cufflinks pop, the French cuffs release, and then the suit's zipper open. Darby's costume could have protested and slowed the strip down by quickly growing back the removed accessories. It could have magically removed the rear zipper, leaving only a sewn seam. Such actions would have stopped everything, since the Goths would not dare cut or rip into the satin. Among costumes, Bunny or Goth, willful damage was heresy. Any opposition surprisingly fled Darby's suit. She even found her costume accelerating the process, offering in its own way to help. With a jolting sting in the small of her back, she knew her hidden cincher appeased and offered the Goths removable laces threaded through grommets. Normally the costume left Darby stuck in a cincher sewn shut, no grommets, no strings. Escapable laces were almost always absent. At best she could take the outer shell off and sleep in tights protected by a boned under breast corset. Now strings, zigzagging between eyelets, made the Goths job so easy. Total submission left her body immobilized, unless ordered. Her costume betrayed her safety. Her mentor and mistress, Maria, was nowhere to be seen. Who knew what these Goths had in mind. "Oh my goddesses!" said Libby, entering the room. "That laser is beyond excellent. It is so much, much, much more powerful than the last lame-o one." She pressed her breasts and her entire pencil-skirted body against a brick wall and stroked her arms over the surface, imitating how she molested the upstairs gallery's Plexiglas display, set aglow by the laser. She breathed against the cold clay and mortar, risking her white silk blouse against the rough stone. She swiped her extended arms up and down from a tall stretch to a wide span, as if trying to make a snow-angel but face down in the white powder. "I could truly see it for the first time through the glass. I could make real contact with it even though the wall prevented my physical caress. For the first time, I could truly hear it talk to me -- so clearly -- so commanding." She kissed the wall, almost licking the frigid brick. "Loved it. Thank you Darby." Darby imagined the lipstick left behind on the glass upstairs. She wanted the rouge smeared onto her own lips. Shamefully, she still wanted Libby. The demonic librarian continued, "I pressed myself hard, right against the glass. Just like this. Yes!" She swiped her arms again. She paused to look to her Goth servants. "You may continue. Field dress the silly rabbit." She pushed herself away from the basement wall as she loomed over Darby. Her eyes peered down through her dark rimmed glasses to the captured pathetic creature. "I'm enlightened now. I don't need a scientist anymore. I know exactly what I need to do. Plans have changed. We are going to need something else and you're it – or will be, soon enough. The process won't be pleasant I'm afraid, my sweet little Bunny." Libby laughed. "It's sad you won't see Maria being altered. There's so much power in her costume. It's tantalizing to touch and control. As for you, well, all Bunnies have a certain zing to their flavor, but Maria is a Nathalie mentored Bunny. Yummy. It's like a fine wine in a vintage labeled bottle – you just want to shove it up your pussy and fuck it before popping the cork. How I'll handle Maria would make you shudder. Of course, it will be a tasteful lovely ceremony. A little cruel for a costume – sure – but you know, making an omelet, cracking eggs – blah, blah, all that nonsense." Darby spurted a single breath. The hair-tugging Goth wrenched harder, punishing the Bunny's attempted defiance. "We will proceed as you wish, Mistress." Both Goth bodies were clad in black shiny latex body suits, including hoods. Only the skin of their faces showed. Metal bolts glistened around their lips and noses. Their full black contact lenses covered the whites of their eyes, making it impossible to see where they were looking. Above their alien horror movie gazes, more metal perforated their brows. Darby feared how the Goths would probably transform her into one of them -- gruesome, cold creatures, yearning for abuse. She remembered scanning Libby's mind weeks ago and seeing memories showing the Goths dangling from the ceiling, their shoulders impaled on meat hooks. Would she too also start to love the sensation of being suspended? Would she desire to mutilate her own body? But she loved being a sexy glamorous Bunny. The kneeling Goth gripped tighter and whispered into Darby's ear, "I'm going to have fun doing this to you." "Bye-bye," said Libby, with her fingers twittling an insincere farewell. "I need my beauty rest before my early morning exercise. Today has been so! So! Exhausting. Oh my! Thanks again for the laser. It was perfect. Tootles!" The Goths and the captive Bunny all longed for Libby. Their hearts sank as their raven-haired Mistress click-clacked her heels out of the room. When the door closed, the Goths leered back at Bunny Darby as if it were her fault they couldn't follow their idol. The one pulling the hair whispered a dark order, "Use your magic. Let your hair go. Go bald like us. Under our hoods, we have no hair. None. Now, let yours fall out completely." "Huh?" huffed Darby in disbelief with the only word she could get passed her lips. She received another sharp jerk. Darby could feel her costume give in. "No!" shrieked Darby. Feeling a latex hand stroke over her long locks, several strands began dropping to the floor. More fast gloved strokes followed removing more hair. Seconds later, the final latex strokes slipped over a perfectly smooth scalp. Darby knew her hair was no more. "Why?" asked Darby. "Shhh. Now the eyelashes and eyebrows too." Each swipe of a rubber fingertip around the traumatized eyes removed the last bits of hair. The costume ejected every tiny follicle. The magic obeyed. Without her perfectly plucked brows and primed hair, even friends would have to look hard to recognize Darby. Her unique visual identity hadn't just diminished. It disappeared. She had dated a bald guy once. A head of hair proved to be a major visual cue. She once almost turned and kissed the wrong man in a crowded bar. Bald guys did all look alike. She quickly ended the relationship. She preferred women anyway, but these rubbered Goths were golems. She didn't want to be one of them. The first Goth smirked. "Open your mouth. I need to properly line you up." Darby's lips parted. A wood yardstick pushed down her throat. Her body gurgled and gagged as the flat rod went deep, hitting her stomach. "Don't you dare throw up, rabbit." The Bunny stared up at the florescent lights, so bright and lonely like Seven Eleven's at night, offices with no windows, and all the other many places not home. She thought of love – Meredith – and touching her lover's petite body, stroking her green satin costume, and playing with her light brown hair. They would never be together again. With the Bunny's back zipper teeth pulled apart, the fingers yanked its tab carelessly under the base of the large covering cottontail protecting the end of the zipper path. Some tail mounting hooks popped and left the fluffy white ball dangling on a thread. Causing a little damage didn't seem to bother the Goths. The weight of the opened costume's spiral metal boning began to pull the bra cups away, exposing Darby's breasts. The Bunny wanted to instinctively hug the satin against her chest, cover herself, but her arms stayed stuck to her sides as instructed. Decorating the tops of the leg holes, bow knotted yellow strings snugged the costume at the hips. Grubby hands released the strings from their grommets and dropped them to the metal grate. The second Goth ruthlessly clawed and batted the costume down to Darby's lap. The dressing down continued. The outer yellow satin flopped forward, laying limp across Darby's dark nyloned thighs. Her yellow Bunny costume had been peeled open like a banana revealing a white cotton inner lining of the shell. The cincher, revealed underneath, not original to outfit of the 1960's clubs, offered laces to the Goths' fingers. With more pulling, the strands went awry in wide wild loops. The jerking tugs loosened the torso hugging tube, expanding it away from Darby's flat athletic midriff and allowing the Goths to crush the boned garment down below the waistline. The 'Bunny Darby' nametag fell to the floor. "Don't forget that. All of her has to stay together." The tag was retrieved. "Darby," read the kneeling Goth in front. "No one's going to know your name now." She jammed the first prize ribbon against the Bunny's crotch. It slid down inside a crevasse between the opened costume and the double-layered pantyhose. When both layers of pantyhose rolled down, tucked under the collapsed cincher, the violent doffing ceased. "Keep your arms tight against your body. I don't want a gap anywhere." The lithe arms pin themselves to Darby sides. The stick shoved down her throat kept her head back, her eyes open to the blinding ceiling lights. She could only guess what was next. "So little jack rabbit, we're now going to spray you with a composite cement. I envy how fully enclosed you'll become." A bucket banged about. Liquids were mixed. "Instead of water, we use a latex in the blend. It makes it unperceivably flexible but much more durable, so no cracking. While it dries, you're not allowed to move. Don't even breathe. We're going to get a nice even coat over you. Keep your eyes open and hold your breath. Hold your breath forever. Let your costume's magic keep you alive." The second Goth girl took pity on Darby. "The cement is acidic. It'll sting. Here use my contacts." She squeezed her left eye and popped out a black hemisphere lens. She extracted the right contact too. Both eyes now felt the cool air for the first time in many years. With contact lenses in her gloved hands, her former alien gaze suddenly looked human. She had hazel sympathetic eyes, actually sweat and innocent. Her heart seemed pure -- just not enough to bother with rescuing Darby. Easing some guilt with a kind offer probably led to a need for alleviating the prisoner's minor discomfort. Darby's eyes pleaded. Then anger flashed. She didn't want either Goth to feel better for offering anything, especially some superficial sympathy. She looked straight to the steal I-beams above and stayed quiet as rubber fingers fidgeted around her eyes. It took effort to push the plastic in. Plastic covering the entire ball of the eye seemed worse than simply being maced with cement. "Come on," said the other Goth. "Hurry up already. Let me just paint her. She's going to be in agony anyway. I mean she isn't even aloud to inhale air." "I just need a second more." "Let her eyes burn for a few lousy minutes. What's the difference? We have to put her on display before opening. Hurry. Libby will get angry." Darby felt her eyelid pulled back and the full cover of a black alien contact pushed over the ball. The next lens compressed the other eye. The overhead lights tinted with a sunglass filter. She felt the plastic squeeze. She wanted it removed. She wanted to swirl her eyes about her sockets to get comfortable. The plastic firmness made her body beg for a forceful squint. None happened. She had never worn contacts, let alone encasements. Her thoughts quickly switched to a wet thick wash starting to cover her bare skin. Her shoulders didn't shudder or move – it took all her will to obey and stay still. A spraying sound moved side to side, up and down. The clammy wetness covered and ran down her torso in streaks. It sounded like rain on a tarp when it hit the costume, flayed open like a dead fish over her lap. The scream for needed air flooded all her thoughts. Still, Darby subserviently held her breath, ignoring the hunger to respire. Her muscles ached. Her body silently bawled. Her arms remained dutifully held tight against her body. Her breasts, with cold plump nipples, pointed forward. A bucket and handle clanked overhead. Pouring cement pounded on her costume below her waist. The muddy slosh piled higher entombing her legs and feet. Simultaneously, the spraying continued. Darby sat there like a mannequin, no movement allowed. The crude costumed creatures mixed more cement. More spray hit. Grey cement smoothed over the hairless head, finally coating across the open eyes. Her vision fogged, like watching a car wash through a windshield. Then everything went black when her pupils were painted over. She imagined the sting in the eyes without the plastic covers. The burning might have helped distract from the need to breathe. She begged to pass out. The mud slid down the rod protruding from the breathless lips. It hurt when she accidently flexed her throat. "Stay still. Do not move." Shocks of short sprays hit the perfect perky breasts and the flat tummy. The arms glued to her sides as it harden. Surely though, it couldn't have dried that fast. Maybe time was passing in a hurry. Maybe that was a blessing. Darby found no relief. She starved for air. Her costume fought her human limitations and kept her alive and conscious – fully alert and thinking. She begged harder for death, but she had nothing to offer her costume. Normally a promise of sexual deviancy could gain help from a costume, but what could an imprisoned soul possibly barter? What offerings did she have? Her costume refused to let her pass out. No sexual act offered in trade would ever have sufficed anyway, because the satins and cottons worried that an unconscious human body would not hold the pose desired by their new Mistress Libby. Every thought was wrong. Who cared about a statuesque pose? How did Libby get so much control? Time lost in agonizing torment slowly continued. Motorized buffing whirred outside somewhere. Darby's lungs blazed in the darkness. Air! Please! The pain always grew with no lulls or relief. Thoughts failed to find a way to achieve unconsciousness. How long had it been? Outside Darby's living hell, the Goths buffed and polished the dried surfaces above the waist. The solid cement pile below remained rough, neglected. Above the waistline, any imperfections covering Darby's exposed body, such as dried drips and streaks, quickly vanished under the spinning buffer wheel. The girls shaped the Bunny into a shiny statue depicting a woman emerging from a rock with a backward arching neck, arms pressed to the sides, and a face aimed up to swallow a yardstick. The stick had kept the mouth aimed just right, until the cement hardened. Once solidified, the girls carefully freed the stick from the cement dried in the mouth. They used tiny chisels to crack the resin behind the teeth, clearing a path to slowly extract the stick from its human sheath. As the last part of the wooden rod pulled free, a puff of dust exhaled from the stone lips. "Don't you dare breathe inside there," yelled a Goth. "I don't want any cracks. Your almost dry now." She gently tapped a stone human ear and spoke as she pushed filler into the passage to the eardrum. "I know you can still hear me. You probably sense me with your Bunny costume curse." She mixed more filler on a painter's palette. "I'm going to make certain you're all sealed up." She finished plastering over any possible openings in the ears and nose. The mouth she left open. Using a latex finger, the Goth pushed more plaster into Darby's nostrils, leaving a smooth concave round surface shaped like a perfect Michelangelo marble carved nose. She finished with a Dremel tool, sanding the face with a fine grain buff cone. The motoring vibrated inside. It scrubbed upwards and over the baldhead. It sanded across the round surface of the open eyes. A far off voice said, "Perfect. Nice and smooth." Below Darby's waistline, dried crinkled cement buried her costume. Her outfit stayed flopped, dejected, like a used towel draped over her legs. Her Bunny ears, cuffs and cottontail hid between her folded legs, in a cement pile below her rear, between her high-heeled feet. Coated in grey, her yellow high heel stilettos extended like horns out of the rocky mound. Nothing of yellow or human skin showed. She had been permanently joined to a metal grill and posed as if she could spew water like a Roman cherub fountain. A Goth dusted away the sanded powder, pushing some of the powder between the open lips. She didn't care. "I can't even imagine the pain you must feel in there, not being allowed to breathe. Mmm, so totally encased. I envy you. But, don't worry, it's almost over. We're going to put you into a vacuum chamber now. I need you to use your magic to stay alive. You can't move one bit. So I need you to understand what's about to happen to you. We're going to coat you in aluminum. We used to do this with cursed artifacts to shield their magic forever. We didn't want them to infect spectators. Unfortunately, the evil magic started to burn through the metal. Plating proved useless. We stopped aluminizing and gold electroplating. Instead we use leaded display cases that didn't make direct contact. But you – well -- you're alive. You want to obey. So don't fight it. Don't burn the metal off. Just let yourself be plated. Give in. It's so important to put cursed objects, like yourself, on display. It lets the magic feel sexy even without a host. Voyeurism keeps the enchantment inline." "I'm envying you so much," said the other Goth. "We've never aluminized a living person before. It'd kill 'em. I wish I could try this myself." "Bunnies have such power. I want it." Darby felt shifts in motion as the metal grate lifted. Her fate fell to some primitive tribal ritual, trying to appease a volcanic god. She was a sacrifice being carried on a raised platform to her doom. Her need for oxygen drummed in her mind like wild primitive fanatics dancing to a sacrifice ceremony. Through the polished stone layers, she could still sense beyond her body. She could actually see how she was being placed inside a steal container that looked like a huge 19th century iron furnace with an enormous steal door. The closing hatch banged. Bolts screwed into place. The Bunny senses struggled through the depravation of oxygen, through the metal walls. Darby could sense two Goths talking. "Be careful," said the first Goth, as if Darby were a collapsible soufflé about to be baked in an oven. A wheel cranked and air whistled as a vacuum pump chattered. Darby's costume struggled to fight the sudden drop in air pressure. The expired air inside her body had nowhere to go. It's pressure wanted to vent out and, if needed, rupture the organs, skin and cement shell. The magic held. It didn't let anything break, except Darby's spirit. The Bunnies of the Bay Area Ch. 04 Inside the chamber, the atmosphere dropped to nothing. Heating coils, wrapped in aluminum foil, glowed. The metal melted. Before the liquefied aluminum foil almost dripped to the floor, the lack of pressure forced the metallic fluid to vaporize. The gas aluminum atoms floated free to find either a contact surface on Darby or an inner chamber wall. Either way, an atom's touch caused its own condensation. Every passing second added more aluminum coatings over everything in the chamber, including the statuesque Darby. Layers of atoms built up a perfect glaze. Darby lost track of time. She held herself motionless and oxygen deprived. Primitive artifacts probably found the aluminum impenetrable to the senses, but her Bunny costume pushed out and searched the emptiness around her. She found her body had been removed from the deadly chamber and placed in the museum's main atrium. What day was it? What month? Had it been minutes or years? She searched the enormous hall. She sensed the details and distances of the surroundings. She was among the strap-on dildos and the display cases. The wood stick had been replaced with a sword. Her nude upper body served as an art piece. A display case built around her lower-half, covered the chunky rough pile of cement entombing her legs and crushed costume. Glowing glass, cut to hug her waist just below the belly button and her arms just above the wrists, created the illusion of a continuous tabletop. Only an upper body nude female form showed, a half statue, a nude bust, placed on top a glass lightbox. And now she knew what they had done to her. Her worst fears had been realized. She had been transformed into one of the museum pieces. She was one of the artworks, frozen, catalogued, and displayed -- probably named something derogatory. "She turned out perfectly," said a Goth, admiring their work. The other Goth with hazel eyes nodded her head in agreement. Then she flinched. New black full contacts magically grew in. She winced and then looked through her solid black eyes at the statue. "Yes. The mirror finish is perfect. I was worried she might move in the vacuum chamber causing micro-cracks, but she held herself perfectly. What a trooper." "It would have been a bitch if we had to resurface her." "Yeah. Bunnies must be tough to kill. Do you think I could survive that?" The Goths gushed at the idea of being tinned in metal. They held each other close. A hand slid down and patted a buttock. "I'd love to fuck you over like that, but you know we wouldn't survive it." "Mmm, but what a wonderful way to die." Their morbid thoughts grew. They kissed briefly and pealed their wet lips away to observe once more. They enjoyed their latest creation: a perfect mirror surfaced chrome statue of a woman swallowing a sword, the ultimate deep throat. Inside the museum's newest acquisition, the need for air grew endlessly. Physiologically, the hunger could reach infinity. Relief was impossible. Fighting hard enough, Darby could concentrate for a second or two. She could sense flashes of the world around her. Vague shadows of shapes moved about her. She sensed people readying the museum to open. Guards walked passed as if she wasn't there – as if she was no longer a person. The thundering sounds of a fountain started to vibrate the stone floor. Her Bunny senses heard splashing water. Agony periodically blocked her connection to the outside. Through short glimpses, she retargeted her senses and heard white noise from rushing water. An image flashed of her chrome body. Her contorted mannequin self had been given a periphery location to the large phallic art piece, the one called Rock Hard, that dominated the center of the atrium. White bubbling water shot up from the phallic's tip. The turbulent flow fell on itself. Excess slid down around the shaft crashing into a pond below that outlined two circular pools like an abstract scrotum. Large sperm white koi swam the rippling waters. Unable to flex her throat, she felt the impaling sword's sharp edges. It had been carelessly shoved inside her. Her body healed, but the edges still somehow cut. She sensed the uncaring metal around her, skintight chrome. She really was a museum piece -- a chromed commission frozen forever. The painful asphyxiation intensified. She tried to clear her mind. The pain refused to stop. Inside she screamed: focus on something else! She wondered about needless thoughts with answers that couldn't help her now. Still any distraction would help. And how the fuck did she forget about a huge squirting dick taking center stage in a museum? How had Libby flushed memories from her mind? More pain hit. How did Libby do this? How!? Darby wanted to madly laugh. Insanity might disconnect her from such a horrid fate. She wanted to go crazy, lose reality. Anything would be better than this. Anything. ***** Duchess woke to the sounds of high heels. Bunnies were leaving their kennels. The combined Bunny hutch and dog kennel had no clock or windows. Was it day or night? She concluded that it had to be morning. She saw Jet over in her cage still sleeping -- motionless, depressed maybe. The puppy costume had to be the cruelest imprisonment possible. What could be worse? "Don't worry," said Nathalie, bowing by the cage -- cleavage showing front and center. "By Friday, we'll pose you at the museum and then take a picture -- with our Civil War camera. The curator should have the film plate ready by then. That's our only hold-up. It takes time for her assistants to coat and prep a plate." Meredith's legs came into view. She hunched down and pushed her clipboard to the floor for support. "Taking a flash picture is like a light switch. Boom, you won't think at all after that. It's really the most humane tech we've found – for puppies and those cursed forever under tar and feathers." Both Bunnies awkwardly paused in silence not knowing what else to offer. Puppy girls never added to a conversation. No one ever knew what they really thought. Meredith stayed silent because of her own lack of words. Did Nathalie's silence mean the same? Duchess wondered if the maniacal Mistress bitch actually felt guilty. Her Mistress's silence probably meant she was starting a mental list, going through her day's calendar of chores and meetings. If Duchess could cross her arms and huff, she would. But the cage ceiling was too low to even sit up and her body ignored her thoughts anyway. With people around, the costume wanted her to role play with barks, begs, and bounces. The head Bunny added a half-hearted hope: "Who knows, maybe we can get you out someday." She turned to Meredith as if no one else was there. "I scanned a puppy girl once, a longtime ago." "But you didn't change." "It was dangerous, but I had to know if there was real life inside, real thoughts. I only found muddled confusion, insanity. Duchess, here, probably doesn't understand us anymore." "What if she does?" "That would be a terrible fate." Duchess so badly wanted to say, "Fuck you for doing this too me!" Instead she pawed at the cage door and wiggled her butt and looked happy and -- fuck -- she couldn't believe this nonsense, she wanted to be petted so badly. She had no control. Her body rushed off into an eager cloud of puppy imitating motions. Maybe this total darkness, frozen as a stuffed taxidermist hunting trophy, would in fact be better. What kind of choice was that?! Nathalie took a doggy biscuit from a steel bowl and sniffed it. She and Meredith rose out of view. Duchess could only see their nylon legs and shiny patent leather pumps. The puppy girl noted the black Bunny costume Nathalie wore. The color meant something official happening: a VIP visit. It contradicted with the empty calendar the former assistant had cleared for the week remaining. All meetings, except with R&D, were dropped until the weekend's deployment of the top secret Bunny Candie project. Duchess thought: whatever! It wasn't her concern anymore. Fuck you Nathalie! "Bunny Reddie," summoned Nathalie. "Yes Mistress," said a far off voice. Another pair of legs and purple heels joined-in. Duchess eye's glared from behind her dog mask. That backstabber! Reddie was wearing purple now. Duchess lowered her shoulders to look-up at the three Bunnies: R&D green, executive black, and assistant purple. The doggy snout blocked her from getting closer to the metal bars. It was really pissing her off. She pressed it hard, but its strapped-on hand-tooled leather would not bend. The extension of the snout made her face tilt downwards. She jammed the protrusion into a corner, straining her neck and eyes to see anything. She got only a glimpse of the Bunnies chatting above. It was Reddie, alright -- the other redhead -- of course. Nathalie seemed to like us redheads. It seemed she went through them like redshirts on Star Trek. Blast her. Blast Reddie too. The bitch was the new assistant to Miss Almighty. But how could Reddie help out? She didn't even know her own past. Duchess wanted to growl -- 'denied' seemed to be her costume's response. Duchess tried to pound and paw against the cage in anger. Denied. But it was a legit doggy thing to do. Why couldn't she do at least that much? Duchess looked up at the three pairs of long smoky colored legs. The words heard were English, but the sounds started to get scrambled. The language was becoming foreign gibberish. Great! So listening in was denied too. Duchess screamed in her head: someone please help me out of this costume! Please!' The green Bunny stepped away. The new Purple Bunny sat on her haunches, balancing on the tips of her shoes. She smiled. An intended growl at the Bunny came out as a sad whimper. No! You bitch! Don't get close like that! Duchess watched the Bunny lean in and put her fingertips between the tiny bars. The puppy desires to play flooded the mind. If it weren't for the snout, she'd lick the candy coated nails. After all, an owner was reaching to her, showing love and affection. Rambunctious play and barking became everything. No! Don't put your hand against the cage door! The latex took over. Her body went into full happy 'puppy time' mode again. Her hips wiggled. The show started. She even gave a friendly bark or two. The redhead Bunny stood and continued to talk some garbled language with Nathalie. NO! Don't leave me! The puppy pain of being neglected hurt even more than the latex stealing her free will. Just you wait Reddie. You'll get fucked over like me before you know it! Reddie always felt nervous around Nathalie and when something strange was being done, her apprehension grew. She tried to hide it, but Nathalie probably sensed it anyway. Nathalie seemed to know everything. As the redheaded Bunny had walked across the white floor towards her Mistress, Orange Bunnies skipped and pranced by. They were everywhere – and they were stupid beyond belief. Where had all these bimbos come from? She glanced down at her purple satins and worried they could change to orange. "The doggy biscuits," said Nathalie, pointing with a doggy treat in hand. "Smell it." Reddie took it and slowly held it close to her nose. "Well, bite into it, dear" ordered the head Bunny. "What? It smells so vile." She hesitated. Giving in, she nibbled a tiny corner of the abhorrent cookie. What was the point of this? Was this a new game? Then the thought hit hard: was this going to turn her into one of the latex girls? She looked down at the puppy girl behind the cage door near her feet. That thought made her drop the biscuit. She squatted down, felt sorrow for the girl inside the rubber suit, smiled at the poor creature, and picked up the fallen doggy cookie. The puppy girl looked happy and barked wanting to play. Rumors were spreading fast that Duchess and Jet had actually been Bunnies. Reddie tried not to stare at Duchess. It was easier to turn away, so she stood. Nathalie handed her assistant another doggy treat, taking away the one from the floor. "Eat it all," said Nathalie, "Go on." Reddie put the crumbling pieces in her mouth, holding a hand in front of her face to breath as she chewed the nauseating gritty supposed treat. She thought that if she held back on breathing through her nose, and kept her mouth slightly open, she would taste less of it. "What is wrong Mistress?" she said, still chewing with her hand covering her mouth. The grit didn't melt in her mouth. It swirled over her tongue like sand. "I could smell it. It's mostly filler." "Oh mercy." The smell was in her nose now. "I don't taste anything edible here at all." "It's not bad enough, Reddie. It has to be down-right awful." "Are you punishing these puppy girls?" "You don't understand. You have to feed a fetish. Feel it. Understand it. Here." Nathalie reached down her cleavage and removed a Bunny wrist cuff. "This French Cuff was Duchess's and now has infused into it some trace elements of the latex costume that transformed her from being a Bunny. "So they were Bunnies? How?" "Don't you worry about that. They were careless, unprofessional. Now, we'll just slide it under here like this." Nathalie pressed the white cuff against Reddie's bosom. It slid down underneath a breast. Reddie stiffened. She did not want to be a puppy girl. This was not good. "Keep it against your skin today," said Nathalie. "But?" Reddie paused. "Yes, ma'am. Of course." Her eyes crossed, looking down at her cleavage. She realized that Nathalie must know the fear she was putting into her assistant's mind. Maybe something in doing so got the head Bunny off. Reddie wondered if her own fetishes should be turned on by the threat. She wasn't sure. But the thought of playing chicken with a puppy costume, while wearing a Bunny suit, didn't jumpstart any sexual juices. Fear and hate of the taste in her mouth seemed to amuse her boss though. "Listen to it," said Nathalie, "I think you, of all Bunnies, should understand what a blatant disabling fetish is like." That statement invoked some memories of being a frozen statue, watching the world go by – years went by -- so many people pointed and watched and giggled and floated away. Reddie felt a void of loneliness. "Maybe, sure. I'll try." "Puppy encasement is one of the cruelest fetishes, even beyond pony girls. Once a trainer -- a caretaker, like you – understands other costumes, it's easy to learn about your own costume." Nathalie crouched down, opened the cage and stroked Duchess's head. A hand slid down the neck, across the smooth back, over the butt and down a leg. She looked into the latex prisoner's eyes. "I know I can be cold. Yes, I replaced you already, but I'm going to do what's best for you. Honest. The museum should be able to make a silver plate for the box camera in a couple days. I'll get them to hurry." Duchess involuntarily rolled onto her back, her knees and hands in the air, her flat tummy of black mirroring latex exposed. The only thought was a wish to be rubbed harder. Duchess hoped her Mistress would at least be that caring. Rub me! Nathalie looked-up, while stroking the puppy girl into a happy frenzy. "Take care of the puppies today." "Of course," said Reddie. Duchess happily squirmed. Yes! I don't know what you are saying, but yes! Reddie extended a timid hand to touch the latex puppy. She somehow knew that such girls were formed in an involuntarily way. A quick index finger tapped the rubber. A few more fingers stroked the slick sheen. She determined Duchess to be safe enough to pet and slid her hand over the smoothed scalp and the belts tied around the head to keep the snout firmly in place. The neck lifted when she scratched the throat. Red lush lips showed underneath the hard leather nose and smiled back at all the attention from two Bunnies. To be a true simple puppy could be fun, but to live as a human trapped inside, it made Reddie pull her hand away. "These girls," said Nathalie, continuing to mollycoddle, "need so badly to be leashed, walked, petted, loved, punished, played with, and even fed dog food -- but fed only if it lines up with something kinky. Otherwise they spend their time alone, thinking about their latex prisons. They need the puppy fetish to occupy them. So these biscuits have to be the most intolerable concoction of dog food. It's a way for a poor puppy to cope." She held Duchess's precious puppy girl face and switched to a higher pitched parenting voice, "but you wouldn't listen, would you Duchess? I told you to practice, to meditate everyday, but no, cutsie-wootsie is now encased in latex." She stopped her mocking tone. "Don't fight it and maybe, you can talk again." She shrugged. Even she didn't believe that. "I hope I made you a little angry inside that suit. Try every emotion, my dearest. There's always a chance." That notion Nathalie did believe. The cutsie voice started again, "or maybe you like being a little latex bitch. Huh? Yeah. Who likes being a puppy wuppy? Who likes to be a sex slave slobbering pup? Yeah. You do. Yes, you." "What normally is done with them?" "Over the centuries, they've been whored out. Their sex drive soars and it's cruel to not have them fucked almost every hour until they pass out. Then the next day starts. But we have the camera. I used it on you, until I could get you back into a body." Reddie stopped chewing the dog food, afraid to swallow. She covered her mouth. "These are horrible. Really." She said that to suppress her real thought: who's body did Nathalie get? She wanted to know, but then she didn't want to know. Maybe some innocent woman walking home on lonely night? Hopefully, a magical spell created a body out of nothingness. "Get something worse, darling." "I'm going to vomit." "Well then, eat all of them. I insist. Get used to them, because I want you to really truly know bad flavor when you find it. We need to help these puppies." Nathalie handed over a box of the biscuits. "I want you to first stop by the museum. Get the puppies measured for a display case. It's important the costumes be seen and admired when frozen. Voyeurism feeds the fetish too. Hit the pet store afterwards. I'll have Chauffie this morning. When we're back, she will look after you, protect you. There are a lot of costumes out there. Anyone one of them would love a new inexperienced Bunny trophy sitting pretty in their laps. But remember to feed the fetish. Give in to it." She left Reddie standing there chewing sandy grit. Nathalie stopped at the doorway to give a sultry look back. "Swallow it." She smirked and disappeared into the adjacent dark furnace room. Reddie gulped. Gravel passed her throat. She almost choked. She watched her boss leave the top secret blinding white kennel room. She felt the French cuff under her left breast, padding her bra. It made her skin tingle. That couldn't be good. Could it? Then she wondered if it made her chest lopsided since it was only under one boob. She cupped her breasts and jiggled them. It should be fine. Still, it felt dangerous. She crouched again to see Duchess at puppy eyelevel. She searched closer into the girl's haunting stare, shaded dramatically in eye shadow. She hadn't met all the Bunnies, but was this what's-her-name? Holly shit! Could this be the other redhead? Reddie looked at her own purple satin outfit. Could this girl be the other Purple Bunny? What was her name? Maybe it didn't matter anymore. It was Duchess now and forever. "Weren't you a redheaded Bunny?" she whispered to the girl. No response. "Come-on, what did you do? Tell me, so I don't do it. You must have screwed up somehow, somewhere. Nathalie wouldn't be so cruel to let this happen for nothing. Would she?" Reddie pressed a hand against her breast to feel the cuff under her newly assigned purple Bunny costume. The screams of fear held inside the cotton cuff scared her. Getting Duchess or Jet to talk seemed more important than ever. Reddie pivoted on the tips of her shoes. She saw Jet behind her, silently sulking on the floor of her cage. The Bunnies of the Bay Area Ch. 04 "Don't worry, I promise to pet both of you." "So," said Meredith, clipboard in hand and a short white lab coat hemmed just above her cottontail. "I see you're wearing purple today. I guess Nathalie has a thing for redheads." Reddie raised her eyebrows at the contempt hidden in the voice. She had enough to deal with and even though she had only recently been made human again -- actually a Bunny, so human-ish -- for only a month, she could still identify jealously. She suppressed a couple thoughts: 1) Suck it bitch, and 2) Yeah, I passed right by your sorry ass and moved-up. She composed herself and said, "You have a good day studying the bimbos. I'm going out when Chauffie returns." "Oh yeah sure, enjoy your errand for doggy biscuits," said Meredith, giving the box of treats a tap with her clipboard. Reddie strode pass Meredith. The redhead confidently popped a doggy biscuit in her mouth. She wanted Meredith to see a look of defiance, but that went out the window when a single crunch of the doggy treat started a nauseating experience resulting in gagging cough. ***** In a townhome located in San Francisco's marina district, Libby pushed forward on her aerobics. To add a challenge, she lifted two tiny pink weights in her dainty hands. Morning sunlight filled the second floor bedroom around her. The view overlooked the joggers in the Marina Green Park across the street. Pausing for a moment, she clicked a remote and turned off a blathering news show making chatter from flat panel TV. She threw the remote off to the side and checked her heart rate monitor. She should be a tad higher. Lifting her tiny bright pink dumbbells above her shoulders, she took a few deep breaths to keep going as she held the weights steady. Perspiration drenched her stretchy sports shirt. Its tiny straps arched over her bare shoulders. Her midriff stylishly showed. She wore the kind of shirt with a built-in bra -- the type that never really held her in. In this case, her nipples pushed out visibly. It was an intentional choice. Her chest heaved as she increased speed. Her shoulders moved left and right, creating a momentum in her ponytail, resulting in its circular swing. It spun faster and faster. Her phone rang. She pressed a Bluetooth hanging from her ear. "Libby here. Oh, hi! Yes! I'm doing my cardio. I've got two more minutes, so if I sound out of breath that's why. Sure you can. You can tell me anything. Oh, really? I'm so sorry, he seemed like an OK guy, I guess. But I never would have thought. Could you wait a second? I need to adjust something. No, No. I'll just put you on hold for just a second." Libby looked over her shoulder at a guy gagged and tied to the corners of a bed. She straddled his waist with her half naked body. Her knees dug into the mattress, her heels pressed into his sides. In a second, she rotated around his erection to face him. They were now belly to belly. "OK, this is where I have to get my last burst of cardio, so you better cum before I stop or I'll just leave you here. Are we clear?" She started to move-up and down again. "I'll loosen the cock ring so it doesn't hurt so much, but you'll have to concentrate to ignore the pain. You'll probably feel some throbbing." Her hands clicked something metallic between her legs. A ring encircled her captive's shaft and scrotum. She looked around the bedroom, "I can tell you're married. And from the decorations, oh wow, she looks difficult -- just a tad intense. Doesn't let you make a mess, does she? Probably more worried about the bed sheets than an affair. Still you probably don't want her angry. Do you?" Libby quickened her pace, "So let's get going. OK? Good boy." She patted him on the head and picked-up her bright pink weights. The guy grunted. His face reconsidered his favorite fantasy brought to life -- the woman's version wasn't really matching with his. He looked down at his overly erect shaft, revealed for only brief glimpses as the crazy woman's hips raised and lowered. "Yeah, like you have a choice," she said. "The blood just keeps going in with this cock ring. Hurry up. You don't want to burst like an over boiled hotdog." She did a yoga-worthy turn of her body while still mounted on his manhood. The move left her perfect bare butt cheeks aimed towards his face. He whimpered. The move had levered his member forward against the hardness that tried to aim the opposite angle. "Mmm!" She moved up and down faster and faster. "Hush!" Unmuting her Bluetooth earpiece, she continued her call. "Sorry, yeah I had a little trouble with the machine. I'm trying to get my heart rate-up. Oh, yeah? Really? No. Oh, my!" She turned her head and gestured for him to hurry. He moaned and supplicated. She kicked her ankles into his sides and raised her pink weights a bit higher as she road him increasingly faster. She wished there were some handy ceiling straps available. Then again, doing without made for a more vigorous exercise. "Look," she said to her girlfriend, "if he's going to do that, then screw him. No. I mean in the dump him sort of way. Yeah." Silence trailed for a second – except for the bed squeaking loudly. "Me? Oh, I need sex. I don't really think I'm feeling it so much emotionally anymore. It's just a physical need. It's good exercise -- releases those endorph-thingies. Yeah. For sure. Stop by the museum. We'll talk more. Hm? Yes. I've been doing a lot of research lately, but I'll make time for a friend. Yes, it has 'sex' written on the sign. Yes, right over the front door. Don't be such a prude. I proudly walk those front stairs everyday. Research? Oh, just some stuff. Learning about some ancient Egyptian myths -- yes, of course they did -- yes, silly. Kinky sex even back then. You do know the royals liked to keep the genes in the family. See. That was kinky. I know! Ew. So, meet at two? Good. You deserve better. You know it. No, you don't want the kind of guys I go out with. I just pick pathetic losers all the time. Total shitheads -- oops, sorry for my French. Hm? You too? Well, I guess we all do." Beeps came from her heart monitor. "I've got to do my cool down cycle now. See you later today. Bye!" Her body began to slow down drastically from her killer pace. She calmly said to the guy below her hips -- without even a turn of her head -- in fact she kept her eyes closed, "Oh, this was so relaxing. But I don't feel you cumming though. I'm getting a little angry now. Don't make me turn around." "Mmm!" he grunted through the gag. Her bare heels kicked him in the sides, like a jockey spurring a horse. She continued slower and slower. "Concentrate. Look at my round butt cheeks. I'll be very insulted if I don't feel -- oh, there we go! Good boy! Yes. Very, good, boy!" She relaxed her body feeling the warmth fill inside her. She stopped moving and enjoyed the thought of having made a guy think he had voluntarily chosen to have an affair that morning. She knew he was the type to feel guilty later. He'd probably find someplace to be alone, a bathroom or a car, and then cry with a flood of regret. The thought made her happy. She sighed, knowing he was also the type of guy who would call later to say that he needed to stay away – that they should break up. She loved that fake resolve men had. Seriously, why even call? She knew that such vows were really guilt filled invitations to do it all again. The very idea that by afternoon he'd be crying alone, thinking about her, almost gave her another orgasm -- but there wasn't time. Checking her heart rate, she said, "Excellent, I'm down to sixty-five already." Whimpers came from behind her. She unmounted him. "Mmmmm" he said, startled at just how fast she had redressed into her spandex bicycle shorts and sneakers. She was now checking her make-up in the dresser mirror, readying herself to go. "Thank you for a great morning," she said, putting a hand down to his crotch, clicking and releasing the cock ring. "Wouldn't want you to explode now, huh?" "Mmm," he said in relief. "Mmmm. Mm. Mm." "Oh, don't worry. You can keep the bike chains and even the gag." She grabbed her phone and did a quick check that she had retrieved all her belongings. Absent of guilt, she headed for the hallway door. "Mmmm! Mmmm!" screamed the guy into his gag begging, shaking his tied hands and feet to show his limbs stretched out across the mattress. He started to whimper, "Mmmm?" "Good luck with those. If you want to get back at me for ruining your life, stop by the downtown Fetish and Sex Museum. I'm the curator there." She put on her dark rimmed narrow glasses, undid her ponytail, letting it all fall free around her shoulders. She swung her head a few times to give the hair volume. With her best naughty librarian voice, she said, "I'll really take care of you then." "MMMM! MMMM!" The door slammed shut behind her.