Leaves
He says something to me, the rabbit does, something which I do not understand.
Then it goes in like a hot knife through butter, only here the knife is his penis, and the butter is my fox pussy. My hot vulpine pussy, hot like the knife as I should be the knife, and he the butter.
Rather, he should be cooked with butter.
He is prey, food.
So it makes more sense, if you were to ask me, that I should be the knife. Not that anyone asked me, other than me. Not him especially, as here I am the butter while his penis is the knife.
A hot knife through my butter, my pussy.
Hot.
It's hot, his penis. Hot as in literally, physically his penis itself is warm, warm and inside me. It burns against my inside bits as it is hot in temperature, and not figuratively hot as in arousing.
His genitals are hot in the literal sense.
It does not arouse me with the sounds which he makes, from his face, his grunts so pathetic.
So quiet, the woods, this late in the evening, this late in the year. Fallen leaves, moist and rotten on the wet ground. Mud from rain a night or two ago. My body in the mud, damp where you'd expect. On my back, on my butt.
Leaves stick to my nude butt.
My naked butt.
The air is dry, and cold in the throat. Cold enough to make the breath visible from his stubby face, from his ugly face as he breathes out. His eyes on the side of his face, his stubby face.
His breath shudders as he gets deeper, deeper in me with his penis.
Visible irregularities in his visible breath. Warm in the air, the cold air.
Cold water wet on my fur, wet from rain which fell some other time. Wet which makes the soil soft, muddy. Wet which rots the leaves that cling to my naked butt, and my undressed back.
My exposed body.
Mud on my elbows, where his weight and my own push me down into the soil.
Wet leaves in my hands, they're something to hold onto.
My wrists are bound. Coarse bindings cut into my flesh. Each twist, struggle bites in worse.
I squeeze the leaves within my grasp.
I am cold, and I am wet.
My vulpine vulva is dry, and his penis is warm.
It tugs at the sides, his penis, at my meat. Outer meat, my vulva sore. Into my inner softer meat.
He draws his bunny thighs to my own set of non-bunny thighs to push his thing in further. His thing which is his penis. The knife.
He makes so many pathetic noises as he pushes it in, his penis, that thing he has in me. He makes such grunts as he pushes it in with all his pathetic bunny might, and against all of my pathetic attempts at protest.
I am cold, as it is cold.
His bunny fur is so warm, and unwelcome against my stomach.
Against my breasts, and my neck.
I can feel his breath, warm and wet.
He says some more words, words I don't follow.
I'd respond with something if I could. An insult, guess the language or just my own. Preferably I'd bite him, his face is close to my snout. His neck, fragile and breakable. I could feel his blood, warm against my fur.
The blood in his penis so warm.
Of course he's not stupid, today I haven't had the luck.
He is not stupid, my snout was likely the first thing to be bound. Coarse binds.
I can't even spit, reddish saliva bubbles between black lips.
Between my lips, my own blood in my mouth. Not his, as it should be. Not me, as I'm the butter and he's the knife. His thighs to mine, away and then in. His penis tugs against my Vulva. His bunny cock in me.
He drags it out.
Pushes it in with his bunny hips, with help from his bunny thighs. With all his bunny might, his bunny weight and strength.
My butt is muddy.
There is nothing I can do, my hands full of leaves, his penis goes into my fox pussy. Cuts through like a hot knife through butter. Where I am the butter, and his penis the knife.
His knife In my guts.
I can only struggle, as the butter struggles against the knife. The hot knife, it isn't fair. Parted without resistance, hardly a cutting action. The heat does most of the work, the butter just melts.
My fur on the mud, his face in my neck. I am the butter, and the knife doesn't care when I protest. When I cry. He doesn't even care to notice, his eyes closed.
It just goes in, the knife, his penis.
The coward wont look.
His stubby face firm against my neck fluff.
His hands on my body.
His tail is soft and white. His cotton tail which catches my eyes as it bobbles behind him. As he picks up the pace. As he reaches a rhythm with his hips, as the pain in my pussy dulls to something less noticeable.
Some lubrication I guess, my vixen bits melt like butter to his knife.
Parted without resistance.
His snubby little thing, the knife, his penis. Hot and in me. Like a hot knife full of blood through butter. Physically, literally. His penis is inside me. It's literally warm.
Hot.
While the situation itself isn't hot in the erotic way at all. It's rather unpleasant, although unpleasant gives the situation more credit than it's due. As he's the rabbit.
Prey.
While I am a fox.
My voluptuous vulpine vulva sore while natural lubricant oozes warm down my taint to my anus till it reaches my tail base. Leaves stick to my butt.
I melt like butter to his knife, my parts easing in. Parting to the heat, little resistance. Less sore. Natural response to his hot, turgid bunnycock. His bunny thighs meet my non-bunny thighs.
His pace picks up.
The noises we make, wet.
Air escapes through fluid, meat hits meat. His penis is the knife.
My pussy is butter.
Dirt, wet from rain a day or so before. Damp from the fluids leaking out from my cunt, down to my anus and onto my tail. The ground was already wet from the rain that fell prior. There is mud on my elbows. I am cold, he is warm against my body. Against my neck.
He mutters some more to himself, for himself as I don't understand. As I can't respond.
I would bite him if I could, but I can't.
Tight binds cut into my flesh like a hot knife through butter. There's nothing I can do, the butter melts with little resistance, there is no struggle.
My butt grows numb under our weight, his thighs meet mine.
His breath is warm.
I am warm, his hands on me. His fur against mine. Like a coat which he should be turned into, as he should be turned into a coat. That makes more sense, so much more sense to me. He should be the butter I cut through. No one asked me.
Little resistance, my knife in his guts, not his in mine only here his knife is his penis and I am not dead like he would be dead from a literal knife.
I'm not dead, his knife is his penis.
He hasn't killed me because he's pathetic like that.
Prey, his eyes on the side.
I haven't killed him, guess I'm pathetic like that. Worse I guess, as he's still alive and I am the butter. He gets to do this. He gets to keep his blood warm and inside of him. He gets to be inside me, his penis warm against my vulva. Warm, and full of blood in the literal way.
I melt like butter, my parts respond.
Warm down my taint, and onto my anus.
He ejaculates inside of me.