FSE

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Soft pink lips under harsh pink neon from a half-shuttered window. Rosy colors layered into a dreamlike hazy hue. Her eyelids flutter at you, false lashes flickering artificial colors. Your time was hers the moment she walked in to the joint.

Buttfuck the bunny.

You've got one hour to yourselves in the back office of Daddy Daryl's Distro Diner. You're on the clock, but she's about to be on the cock. Tick, tock, tick, tock, whispers the antique timepiece hanging askew atop the peeling wallpaper.

You take your arm, big and strong from years of menial labor, and swipe the desk clean. Stationary and garbage ping and clatter to the cracked tile floor.

Buttfuck the bunny.

This is your third date. It was not planned, it was not permitted. But it is happening now, as inevitable as the sunrise. She knows damn well how much trouble you could be in for this, and she knows even better how much it's turning you on. You could lose your job over this.

But she knows you've already gotten what you wanted from this shitty place. You got her. Love at first sight through greasy safety glass, eyes meeting over the top of an antiquated cash register. Two hundred and eighty pounds of rabbit wearing barely enough clothing for a gal half her size. Tiny jorts and tortured crop top stretched to breaking over her bulging assets.

Neither of you broke eye contact while she placed her order. Three hyperburgers, four megashakes, family sized platter of homefries, two party plates of 'fruit', two dozen scrambled eggs, and a dozen donuts for dessert. This was not breakfast, lunch, or dinner, but rather a honest list of what she wanted most at that very moment. She does not pussyfoot around when it comes to her desires, her hunger. And when you went to check up on her for the last time, clear some plates she had licked clean and linger long enough to ogle her cavernous cleavage, she grabbed you by the wrist, licked her lips, and told you that she wanted to take you out for dinner that night.

Boom. Just like that, you were hers. You didn't stand an icicle's chance in hell to resist.

Buttfuck the bunny.

The tables turn. She grabs you, coiling round like a python made of truck tires, pushing you onto the desk with your unbuttoned shirt falling open. A feral noise rumbles in her throat as she kisses you, slurping and biting at your mouth as if you were one of her mighty meals.

The first date had not been like this, nor had the second. They had been tame, quiet affairs in decent restaurants, talking 'bout everything and nothing while you waited for her to drag you back to her apartment. But she hadn't. Both times, you parted unfucked, unsatisfied, and desperate for more.

"I'm not feeling it yet," she had said, "But when I do, you'll know."

Okay, cool. That was fine. Annoying, but fine. Everyone had their own way of doing things. Maybe she liked a nice, slow burn.

That was what you had thought. But right now, third date, out of the blue, and she's pulling away your pants, teasing your asshole with a powerful finger, watching with manic eyes as you squirm and moan. Fucking hell, it was just your ass, how did it feel this good? How could she so expertly toy with your innards just from kneading your taint?

What damage could she do if she got inside?

Buttfuck the bunny.

An excited spike of fear grabs your chest as her maw descends upon your swelling prick. You've seen the things that mouth can do, how she's eaten entire shanks of ribs whole before, bones and all. She's got the mouth of a hippo, with a bite force that would make a dentist piss themselves. For a second, you really do fear for the safety of your cock. She wouldn't just... bite it off, right? Good god, had he been taken in by a psychopath?

No, thankfully. Her lips close 'round your shaft, soft as a motherly hug and warm as a tropical summer. Her powerful tongue sets to work lubing you up like industrial piping, readying you for the next stage of 'the big job'. You want to breathe harder, pump more oxygen to your overwhelmed noggin, but she's grabbed your chest by the sides, almost to your pits, holding you in place while she works her evil magic on your vulnerable member. Your holding her, too, fondling more like, fondling like a blind man in an unfamiliar basement loaded with fascinating objects, here a big, puffy cheek, and there a large, floppy ear. You want to look down at her, but your whole back is arced like you've been tased, your blurring vision locked onto the tiny windows high-set in the wall, where the legs of passerby on the sidewalk stampede mere feet away. All it would take is one person to drop their bag, one person bending down and peeking into the window, and-

"FFFUCK!" Who said that!? Wait, shit, it was you, crying out in a voice you didn't know you could make. Your balls contract like they're giving birth, wringing themselves out into her hungry maw. She gives you a look, the sort of look a teacher gives you when you fail a test for the fifth time in a row. When she pulls back, her cheeks are bulging with spit and semen.

"Sorry," you wheeze. Your head feels funny, no, make that your entire body. You've never cum like that before, not even when hooked up to your buddy's full-body porno sims. Something feels broken deep in your guts, right behind your taint, where your prostate is pathetically trying un-cramp itself. "Sorry."

"Don't apologize," she mumbles around a mouthful of mess. "And don't swallow."

"What-" But she's already on top of you, the desk creaking something fierce as she locks lips and snowballs you like a blizzard, pumping up your mouth with a gooey, salty concoction of your own spit, splooge, along with her own healthy addition of saliva. The flavors...! A little bit dribbles out of your mouth as she pulls away, wiping milky streaks onto the back of her trembling paw. Trembling, not in fear, but in anticipation. A predator about to strike.

She pulls you back to your feet, hard and fast, as a professional dancer would. You almost swallow, but you manage not to, fearful for what she'll do if you disappoint her again. The flavor is getting intense now, and you're not really sure if you like having a mouthful of your own cum, but she did the hard work getting the cum out of you, so it's really only fair at this point.

Realization dawns on you as she turns and lays her chest down on the desk, belly sagging under the weight of the day's meals, her fluffy little tail becoming the whipped cream topping to a gooey sundae of pussy, taint, and butthole.

Buttfuck the bunny.

But there's so much to buttfuck. Each buttock alone is the size of a truck tire, expansive and curved, all natural, all homegrown. You bow in worship as you grab the horizon of her booty and squeeze, paw on each side, eyes wide with wonder at how much meat is within your grasp. You let go. The buttocks follow, bulging back out and jiggling to a stop, taking far longer than you'd ever thought possible. Again, you embrace her massive ass, arms spreading wide around her hips, then drawing back and down, tracing a huge, ovoid shape around the peachy figure of her five-star bottom, down and around, further and further, thinking that it might just go on forever, till your fingers meet dead center, where her immense bulk is held together by strong skin and stronger muscles.

It's hot. It's sweltering, her flesh broiling to the touch, her body red-hot and malleable as a sword in the making.

She reaches back, paw sliding into her asscrack, finger extending to touch the rim of her mighty anus. "You know what to do," she says, and tugs at herself, demonstrating just how easily her asshole spreads open, flexible as rubber and infinitely better textured, hot and warm and twitching beneath your fingers as you knead them into her asshole, toying with the puckered muscle as you part your lips and let one

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strand of cum-spit dangle down into the hole and collect, oozing, like vaseline filled with your own genetic batter. You let it flow like that, a water faucet in slow-motion, glazing your finger as you sink it into the lubed-up hole that she's so graciously offered you.

"Ah!" She's moaning, and you are, too, her with pleasure and you with surprise. Your finger has found heaven, and it is hot and fiery as hell, humid, too, with prison walls of soft flesh and a gateway as welcoming as warm hug.

Down, you move your finger, then left, then up, then right, repeated, down, left, up, right, circling now, working her open like a high-class baggie of Speedi-Sin, till the lights of the streetside adverts can bless her rectum's lining with their psychotic rainbows.

She's gaping like a cargo airlock. She must use dildos the size of trains, and by god, you want to see her do that someday, and man, after how good it felt when she played with your own butt, you might just want in on that action, too. Right now, though, you're her toy of choice, her dildo on duty. May the winds of passion guide you well through her depths.

Buttfuck the bunny.

You enter her, slow and steady, sinking yourself into her sweltering guts. Those love handles of hers are coming in mighty handy right now, offering you some much-needed sense of grounding 'cuz that head of yours is bouncing off cloud nine right about now. Your homemade lube coats the length of your cock as her wrinkled donut clings to you, the creases and folds picked out in immaculate detail by your sensitive member.

Your hips press up against, then into, the bulk of her ass, parting the great sea of adipose just a smidge further, then further still, till you can't push forward anymore and you're buried in her up to the hilt.

"Fuck, yes," she hisses through gritted teeth. "That's some good dick..."

Despite the fact that you're both buck-naked in your manager's office, you find yourself blushing like the first time a girl called you cute. That's the sort of compliment that will stick with you for the rest of your life, something tucked away in the back of your mind that you can pull out and admire if you're feeling down. You lean forward, high on her words, and say, "And this is some fine ass, babe."

"Mmm...!" She humps her butt, once, flexing the desk and damn near lifting you off the floor. "It gets even better once it's properly serviced..."

Buttfuck the bunny.

Back up. Small, wet noises where your bodies are joined, silly little slurping sounds. Further, almost all the way out, the office air feeling ice-cold on your shaft compared to the warmth of her innards. Then, CLAP, back in at a good, solid speed, letting physics sort out the complicated mathematics of sturdy hips colliding with doughy buttocks. Phsyics takes the question, rolls it over for a few millionths of a second, then throws up its arms and says, fuck it, jiggle time it is!

All the fat on her body acts like jell-o next to a flashbang, the shockwave rippling up through her stomach, through her breasts, condensing at her chubby neck, then shooting straight back down the way it came. Mesmerizing, truly hypnotic. You want to see it again.

Back up. Slurp, squelch. In. CLAP! Ripple, forward and back. My god. It's almost like seeing all her fat move at once highlights just how huge, how ample she truly is. A sonar ping bouncing off a whale and relaying back a visceral erotic image that'd make any sailor's pants just that much tighter.

Faster now, gradually, finding your rhythm. This feels good, yes, right about here, you've got a good percussion act playing out on her body, small gunshot cracks of abs against fat. But then she grunts, moans, "Faster," and you happily oblige, cranking up your motions till she cries out, "Like that, that!" And you coast at that speed, cruise control engaged, mind free to absorb the finer details of her figure, the sounds she's making and the scents that are filling the air, dense, heavy scents that belong in the privacy of one's home, not in the office of a whiny manager. He'll know for sure, he'll see the mess and smell the scent and flip his shit, but that's a problem for later, if you'll still be around, because god damned, this just might be worth losing this shitty job over. Scratch that; it is worth it, or rather, she's worth it, she's a big kick in the proverbial pants, shocking you out of what might have ended up as a long, downward spiral into the monotony of minimum-wage madness.

There will be other jobs, there will be other bosses. But there are not many lovers like this, who come to your place of work during a slow graveyard shift and ask that you plow them over a desk. Those are the keepers in life.

They are the ones you are hungry to please, because you know they'll please you right back.

Clap, clap, clap, clap, "Hnnng!" she grunts, words husky in her throat, "Harder, mess me up." Clap! Clap! Clap! Clap! And your own voice, loud and proud, accentuating the percussion with sharp twangs of happy grunts. Even in the privacy of your own apartment, you masturbate in silence, a lingering instinct from the days of living with roommates, yet here, separated from the public by a crummy piece of glass, you're cutting loose with the noise, your heart filled to bursting with relief and joy and a giddy potion of emotions that rarely accompany the pornos you consume like popcorn.

You lay forward across her back, embracing her from behind, trying and failing to take the bulk of her bust in your arms as you claw for an anchor, heat and pressure building up in your loins, balls pulsing and prostate throbbing, cock harder than diamonds and ready to burst, her ass melting around you like creamy soup, and liquid, piss, most likely, dribbling down between her legs and pattering to the floor. Mop? No. Fuck it, it'll probably help clean the place considering how awful the diner's health rating is, and there's about to be a whole new mess.

Your teeth nibble her ear, tug it a little, just enough to get her attention, and you nuzzle your way under the warm fold of flesh and moan, "Close! I'm close!"

She groans and nods, eyes distant and mind muddled by her ministrations. "Finish in me."

"In the ass?"

"Yes," she manages, snorting with laughter. "Silly. Fill me up!"

Your grip goes from firm to strong as a second orgasm courses through your nerves like a liquid sunrise, setting you alight and filling you with the glow of victory. This one doesn't hurt, it's a slower, lower, longer burn, something that'll linger for ages like nuclear fallout. As the fireball fades into a roiling plume, you lay there in happy, mutual silence, save for heavy breathing and the pained sounds of the slowly shattering desk. You're more than happy to let your dick marinate inside her, bathed in your own creamy fluids.

"Thank you," she finally says. "I needed that."

"Couldn't wait, huh?"

"I did wait. Till you were working." She looks back at you out of the corner of her eye. "Feels better this way, doesn't it?"

"I..." You gulp, and nod. "Like a dream. It's so... exciting."

"Want more?"

"More sex?"

She rolls her eyes, you fucking dweeb, "Do you need me to spell it out?"

"No! I mean, yes, to the first thing, but I don't, uh, need it, spelled..." You trail off, blushing. This is a hard conversation to take seriously: you're still balls-deep in her asshole. "Yes, I want more."

"There's a restaurant, on Mezzanine and Fifth. A buffet, all you can eat. Cheapest slop they can legally put on a plate."

"Okay."

"It's mostly empty at this time of night."

"Mostly?"

"There may," she says with a smile, "Be one or two people milling around."

"While we fuck."

"Yes."

"In the open?"

"In a booth. Far corner, awkward spot, hard to see from the entrance and kitchen."

"And if we get caught?"

She shrugs. "What'll they do? Ban their best customer?"

That tracks. "I'm in." You begin pulling out, slowly, realizing that you've become rather glued together. Slower now, tugging at her innards while she grits her teeth in pleasure. "Stuck in, I guess."

She cuts loose with another snorting laugh. "You spaz. How do you even tie your own shoes...? Let me try."

You don't bother to clean up. It serves as a decent enough resignation note. The manager had it coming, anyway. Your coworker nods to you as you leave, a knowing smile on her wrinkled face. She's seen dozens of workers like you come and go, and you wont be the last to walk out. There's no way you're finishing your shift, not when you've got another chance to

Buttfuck the bunny.