Twisted Tales: Peter Rabbit
The tale of Peter Rabbit has been one of our favorites since we were children, but today we all must come to know how the events truely unfolded.
It is true that Peter was born into a family of three other siblings. The names were made to give the story a more happy air. Flopsy was truely Flourince, Mopsy was Morgan, and Cotton Tail, his name was Colton. Peter was Peter, though, if you would believe it. This is close to where the truths end. The four had no mother to speak of. She'd run off once she felt they were old enough to fend for themselves.
Flourince made it through most of school, until she was raped. She ended her life soon thereafter. Morgan fell in love with a man, who beat her ruthlessly and was nowhere to be found, no matter the efforts of her two remaining siblings. Colton went on to college, striving to make a name for himself, and prove that one could change their destiny with grit and sweat from their brow.
This is where we find poor Peter. He lives, indeed, but poorly. His less than humble abode consisted of a small studio apartment, somewhere on the outskirts of town. One couldn't tell his wealth, or lack thereof from his dress. He wore no shoes, but that was the norm among his fellow rabbits. He did wear a pair or artfully tattered blue jeans, fit well to his slim legs, and a black waistcoat, from which a mock pocket watch chain hung.
Today we find him, caramel and cream fur matted here and there after a busy night. Heavy circles hung under bloodshot eyes. He shook and shuddered without a reprise as he wandered his one room abode, searching, searching until he found it. He clapped to himself as he picked up a dingie little plastic baggie filled about half way with a muddy brown powder.
His cousin had warned him once, about cats, but in that bag was all the money he had, and he had to make it last. He hummed a broken melody as he dipped his spoon into the powder and lifted out a scoop. Carrying it carefully to his "kitchen" he lit a candle and held the blackened spoon there over. watching joyfully as the powder began to melt and bubble. Once it had, he was frantic, searching for his needed tool, and when he found it, he smiled wide and picked the needle up from the floor, and drew up the brown liquid into the cylinder.
Pulling a belt tight to his bicep and waited for his collapsing veins to buldge. He grinned brightly as his usual came up. The fur over it now refused to grow. He pushed the needle into his flesh. The familiar sting. It meant euphoria. He drew up a swirl of blood into the syringe before easing the plunger down, and he felt the warm glow slowly spread through his body. It was a muttled thing. This gear was cut, but he couldn't care. The cat last night had refused him his fix until they were done. As the rabbit recalled, the needle he'd just used was in the lion's own arm the day before.
The two had done horrible things. Unfortuanately, he could hardly recall. The soreness under his tail reminded the bunny buck that he'd played a doe, taking what was easilly a foot of barbed lion flesh deep into his body, and the wetness on his back side meant that there was no condom.
For the service he'd given the feline, you would think that the heroine would have at least been persian, but alas, a fix was a fix, and as the buck wandered his meager living space, he found his stash. This baggie was full of white powder, and he tucked it into the back pocket of his jeans as he walked out the door of his flat, not even bothering to lock it.
Today was saturday, and that meant it was going to be a busy night. The rabbit padded lazily to his usual corner, a lackadazical grin on his lips. Once he was there, a customer was waiting. He smiled down at the little dog, laying a finger across the bridge of his muzzle. They discussed his pay, and away they went. The little collie paid for the cheapest motel, and upon seeing the rabbit, the man behind the counter could only shake his head.
The pair found their seedly little room. It stank of stale cigarettes and mold, but it would do. It had been fingured on the way there that the monochrome pup was interested in being mounted, and Peter obliged. After all, sexuality didn't count if you were addicted. He went to it, coaxing his erection to attention and slowly pressing it to the little dog's entrance. He'd requested something odd, for his first time. No lube. Who was Peter to say no? He started right after the canine's intital defenses fell, and settled into a heavy rythem, his sac slapping against the fresh young ass under him. They continued for ages, it seemed, mainly because the rabbit's high was fading. He picked up the pace, making the headboard slap against the wall in the cliche way it would in such a rat-hole. Finally, the buck came as he reached around to the dog's miniscule member and squeezed it's leaking tip first, then his suprisingly thick knot, milking the dog's prostate from two directions now as the collie emptied his balls into the "clean" sheets.
The deal was done, and the rabbit was exhausted, but once the collie gave over his fee owed to the buck, and the embarrassed pup ran home, leaving the bunny in peace. He smiled as he reached for his jeans, and pulled the fine white powder from his pocket, and tapped out a narrow line on the table and sucked it up, making a happy noise as he rubbed the residue from his nostrile. Sweet China White. His cup of camomile tea before bed. The rabbit sank into a heavy sleep, half naked on his rented bed. He had an appointment later that evening with the farmer's wife.
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This was done on a poor thought out whim. Please let me know what you thing. I may continue it.