Loving Little Ambush
Your primal bunny dominant takes off early and waits for you to come home, an eager appetite in her belly.
Your gift to me is the twitch in your hip as I lay my hand upon it.
It is the labor in your breath as I trace lagomorphic claw down vulpine leg.
It is the whine that breaks out of you, wild and sincere, as you accept what is to come.
Gods, how I covet these occasions, my pet. I know how quickly you rush to the bath when your working day is done, lest you fall victim to my... strange delights. Maybe you do it to goad me; or maybe the thought of my depredation really does disgust you, as delicious as that would be.
Tonight, I took off work before you; tonight, I ambushed you at the door. You had time just enough to gasp before my teeth met your neck–the ageless dynamic of hunter and quarry subverted with your fearful moans. You fought to stay on your feet, but it was no contest.
I'm simply larger than you, precious plaything.
You fell under gripping claws and dragging arms and bunny breasts matted with sweat, pinning you between them all. You had an awful lot of curses and refusals for me–but since not a one of them sounded like a color, much less 'red', I simply shoved my paw in that pretty maw.
Of course you bit, but I've called you mine long enough to know that once I get my thumb and forefinger in between that sweet little corner 'twixt incisor and canine, you can't reach meat through my fur–much less draw blood. It was fun to feel you try to speak ill of me with your tongue twitching in my fingers, I admit.
The ballgag took care of matters. I snatched it from the playroom door as I dragged you through, and in spite of your protests, you accepted it between your foxy teeth with delicious willingness. I laid you out then, flat on the well-loved wrestling mat that was half of my favorite room, with a heavy but carefully even 'thunk'.
“I've been waiting" I said with a pause, as if I expected you to respond, and snatched the pretty tartan skirt from your rich red hips.
“You see, I have a hunger tonight, my pet… and you smell delicious."
If it were a more protocol-driven night, I'd have taken a moment to savor the aura of you on that skirt–the vanilla-must of seasoned books, the lavender of your body spray, the pollen of the garden where you take your lunches–but tonight I was driven by nothing shy of primal hunger.
The tease wasn't enough for me. My own hunger and anticipation, gnawing in my belly the whole day, were my foreplay–and as for you? Well… you learned long ago that to be mine is to be the receptacle of my whims.
Your skirt hadn't yet hit the floor when I dove upon you. You gave such a yelp when my right arm locked with your left and forced it up to pin it to the matted floor. Even with your dominant hand against mine, your resistance was short and succulent.
That luscious scent hit me first and foremost. The sweat of a day in the stacks, the library's top floor toasted by the summer sun, and my little vixen hard at work without so much as a table fan.
My snout found your underarm with wanton hunger. Sniffing, huffing, licking at the salty flesh beneath your thinnest fur. The scent alone drove me mad: sour, strong, sincere; the sweat of a predator, tired and vulnerable. Your groans, your whines, your humiliation–they made the primal fury of the moment all the more savory on my depraved palate.
The best resistance you could muster was to clench your arm inward, hoping to squeeze me away. You had no such luck, of course–and I admit, it was simply wonderful to feel you pull me into you for once.
Such enthusiasm, pet!
A gagged grin crossed your face when at last I pulled back. I believe you felt as if you'd won the tussle? It certainly didn't last long, of course. You knew good and well I wasn't tired this soon, and that I only ever withdrew to violate you from a new angle.
That grin dropped to a fearful and muffled “no, no, no!" in such a hurry. Instead of going after your other arm as you thought I would, I went straight for the entree of my feast. With my hands about one hip I wrenched you over onto your tummy, your legs kicking at me in vain.
At this point in our relationship, you knew my plan too well. Your face buried in shame against the mat, you squeezed together your legs with all your might–but one well placed knee and all my tender weight behind it separated those succulent thighs. Enough for me to wedge one paw between them, then the other, and at last I threw my weight into your resistance.
The way you gave in at last; the way your legs parted to show your soft, silken panties; the last resigned, embarrassed groan as trembling thighs yielded to soft, musky black fabric.
It was a thing of art, pet.
I began with a kiss, right on that precious cusp of flesh between your toned bottom and the musky patch of moisture above your sex which gave away the arousal beneath your humiliation. The overwhelming scent of intimate sweat and fresh desire that clung to your fur left my head spinning, a single electric pheromonal signal overriding my every coherent thought. Only by practice and primal drive did I keep my dominant composure, too eager to content myself with one taste of ecstasy.
Then, a lick. Long, light, and teasing, from the edge of your tender slit to the sensitive bump of your clitoral piercing. You moaned–no longer in frustration or resignation, but raw pleasure. I felt my will wash over your own; the fight became the feast.
At last, an act of raw hunger. I snatched your pretty underthings in my teeth and yanked them out of my way; then, I pressed my face full force into the magnificent musky prize in between. My tongue shot forth to part you and taste your nectar, sharp and sweet and delicious; meanwhile, my snout found its way to the puckered folds of your perfect bottom.
The truth was, you've always been meticulous about keeping yourself clean–but the fear of having my nose in that most private place has always made you stiff. I slowed my pace for a moment and pulled back to ask, “color, pet?"
It took a moment for you to work through the non-verbal whimpers and pluck the gag from your mouth to squeeze out an attempt at the word 'green.'
“Green," you said through the tears and the gasps. “Green, Miss. Green, green, green…!"
“Marvelous~!"
Pressing my muzzle back into your bottom felt like a dive into a pool of primal bliss. My tongue shot deep into the velvety folds of your swollen sex, luxuriating in the squeezing warmth and lewd splendor of your taste. With your resistance broken, I let go of my leg lock to lift my meal up higher, until you were up on your knees with your face–bleary-eyed and full of ecstasy–laid cheek-down upon the mat.
Your taste alone was beyond description, but it was your scent that drove me to grind against the leg I straddled. Again, were it a night of more strict decorum, I might've been ashamed to leave a sticky stain of my desire on the pretty red fur of your calf–but in the moment, it felt like marking you as my own.
The deeply earthy scent, the raw pheromonal power of your submissive body, the lawless lewdness of these depraved desires–it put me in a frenzy. The whole world faded away beyond the beauty of your submission and the wanton feeling of satisfaction.
I don't recall just when I first came. I remember my paw against your sex as you thrust into my grip, a growing trickle of satisfaction running down my fingers. I remember the feeling of your fur warm and matted and tangled with my own. I remember grinding your calf with such force that by the end, I was all but slamming myself down against it with a sticky schlick.
My feast, pet, was delicious.
The afterglow that followed was long, entrancing, soothing. I lost count of myself for so long I feared I'd fall into a musk-drunken sleep, but at last a single thought blurted out of my giddy grinning maw.
“I, uh… I cleaned upstairs. Before you got home. Mopped the floor and vacuumed." It felt odd to land on such a domestic thought, but I'd decided that since I was taking off early, I might as well grab a few of the chores. Goodness knows you'd have had a long day when you got home.
You made a half-hearted attempt to roll over, and settled for throwing your arm against me. “I figured," you said. “You smelled like bleach 'n' work when you met me at the door and, uhm…"
The thought trailed off as embarrassment overtook you. Instead of letting it have its way with you, I snatched you up by the hands and kissed you. “That's awesome!" I said with a giggle, as my primal headspace fell aside like what remained of our clothes.
“Wh… wha? That I… that I smelled you?"
“Yeah! You figured out what I was doing by scent, you silly vixen!"
I leaned over, pulled you close to me, and planted a massive kiss on your maw.
“That means I've been rubbing off on you!"
You caught your breath and laughed. “Have you been rubbing off over your toy, Miss?"
I answered you with a playful slap and a knowing wink. Where our evening ahead would lead was mostly undecided, but with my beloved pet at my side, I knew it could only be somewhere delightful.