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Part IV
On the fifth day, Sly awoke and stealthily set out to make up for
lost time. He hadn't gotten far when he saw Mori--his heart's dearest desire--strolling
in a field of barley. Her brunette tresses had red highlights, and these
coruscated in the sun. Her pink blouse and black heels seemed the perfect
ensemble: the pink complimented her rosy skin; the black stood in delightful
contrast to the same. The thought of her made him stiffen once again.
Without a sound, he worked his way behind her, and was mere inches
away when he pounced. His mouth snapped shut on air. She was off and running,
her heels the same blur of motion as before. No question about it: she was
faster than Popkin. He got about a foot from her tail, but never any closer.
Finally, he stopped and fell gasping to his knees.
It came to him with the force of a revelation: he had lost; the bunny
girls had won. He was going to be fired, and his reputation would never recover.
He got up and began to trudge dispiritedly back to his hilltop headquarters.
Just then, he heard them. As carefully as he could, he peeked into the adjoining
row of alfalfa, and there they were, in plain view: two bunnies making love.
Very foolish. With a predator about, they should have retired into
one of the many warrens that the bunny girls had no doubt excavated beneath
the Garden. But they were impatient, Sly supposed, or maybe they preferred
the fresh air. One was a jet-haired East Asian, in turquoise with pink heels.
The other was a black girl, all in orange. They were lying on their sides,
each with her tongue in the other's twat. To judge from their thrashing and
groaning, they were both about to spurt.
Soon they did. "Mmmph, mmm, mmmph," they said as their tongues
discharged their girl-seed. Nothing else in the world mattered to them now,
and it was now that Sly chose to pounce.
It was over very soon. They cried out bitterly, and struggled for
all they were worth; but Sly held them down and bit their breasts, their
bottoms, their pussies, until they passed out. Then he somehow contrived
to put them over each shoulder and stagger out to the fallow field. He lined
them up next to Popkin, who was moaning now in the midst of some dream of
capture and climax.
He secured them with faybind and, as he had with Popkin, slipped an
extra tendril beneath each girl's head. When, after a time, they awoke, he
tried to learn what he could. "Caught with your pants down ," he
said, ". . . uh, so to speak. What are your names?"
"T-Tomiko," said the Asian.
"C-Coffee," said the black girl. "What are you going
to do?"
"You know very well what I'm going to do. I can make it more pleasurable, though. Just tell me
. . . ."
"Nope. No way," said Coffee. "Not telling the secret.
Fuck off, Mr. Fox!"
"That's right!" said Tomiko. "Fuck you!"
Sly had long ago sworn an oath never to resort to torture. He sighed
and said: "Very well: beddy-bye for now, and then it's dinner time."
"No!" "No!" they cried.
"Yes," said Sly and nipped them both to sleep.
He had called it a day and was returning to his headquarters, when
he heard a loud snapping noise, and then a girl's high, sharp scream. The
faybind! He dashed back to the fallow field. Sure enough, an especially buxom
brunette in red blouse and heels had gotten too close. She was twisting and
thrashing on the ground with a tight wrap of faybind around her arms and
waist. Perhaps she had wanted to steal earrings, or to taste all that lovely
cunt nectar. Whatever her motive, she was in the bag now, as surely as the
others.
"I . . . I wanted to help!" she wailed.
"Of course you did," said Sly. "Whom do I have the
pleasure of . . . ."
"Winifred. I'm W-Winifred. Please don't hurt me! Oh God, I really
am c-caught!" And she started to cry.
"Why would getting caught surprise a bunny girl?"
"We were safe . . . the old lady . . . ."
"She's gone now. The Garden's under new management."
"And we have . . . protection. Predators can't catch us . . .
can't make us cry . . . unless they play tricks . . . like this one! Oh God,
I can't believe I got caught! Oh fuck, fuck, fuck!"
"So tell me more about this protection."
"No way, fur-face! You can try to find out from . . . from Mori!
She's too smart for you; you'll never catch her!"
"That remains to be seen," he said. Then he leapt on Winifred
and quickly punctured her puss. When she was done with her shrieking and
kicking, he lined her up next to the others.
Five days in, and he had four fat, pretty bunnies for his trouble.
In other circumstances, he wouldn't have minded those numbers. But Popkin
had tripped, and the others had been careless. His chances of nabbing another
three by day seven were small to vanishing. And even if he pulled that off,
how could he clean out the rest of them thereafter? He had to discover their
secret, or concede defeat.
Enough for today. He returned to his hillside headquarters and fell into a profound sleep.
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