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Without even opening the door, I knew Sherman was begging. I knew my beautiful bunny boy would be waiting just as I left him: kneeling in the living room, forepaws drawn up to his chest, all his fine, short, soft white fur bare, making desperate pleading doe eyes at the door, just a few feet in front of him. He knew I'd been checking up on him, glancing at the feed from the webcam I mounted over the door whenever I get a spare moment at work, but I hadn't been checking because I was afraid he'd disobey.

My Pet is a loyal Pet, a loving Pet. I'd been checking the camera because that's what a loving Master does: I watch over him. I laid out the cushions he knelt upon because I'd never want my Pet bruised or in pain, waiting all day today while his Master works, begging for his reward. I've been watching to make sure he was still happy, still ready, still waiting.

It's a hard thing, finding someone who fits you, someone who's what you need them to be, and in turn sees you the same way. It's harder still to find someone like that who loves you, and whom you love in return.

I didn't want a sub. The clubs and websites were full of guys I could possess, mount, even tie up in bed or during sex, but the rest of the time they wanted to be independent, assertive, equal. Not that there's anything wrong with an equal relationship: my parents got along fine that way, and still do. Many guys, most even, prefer things that way.

I didn't want a slave, either. Lots of people, more than you'd think, are willing to stay home all day, doing whatever you tell them, "serving" you like they've got no will of their own, no life or aspirations. I've only dated one person like that and it wasn't a week before I felt like shaking him and demanding that he . . . stop obeying all my demands.

I wanted a Pet. I wanted someone who would submit to me, depend on me, look to me as the source of love, affection, and support, without serving me like some slave. I might ask him to do some chore or other, but no more so than any roommate. Besides, a loving Master takes care of his Pet. I wanted someone who would be mine, who would curl up next to me and lay his head in my lap while I'm watching TV, and look up at me with those soft, pale blue, begging eyes . . .

I couldn't stand it any more, waiting outside, knowing he was there begging at the door, the faintest doubt gnawing at the edges of my mind. If I'd left a clock anywhere he could see it he'd know I was coming home early, unable to keep away from him like this for an entire work day. I checked quickly to make sure no one would see into the first-floor apartment, and with only a faint tremble in my fingers, slid my key into the door lock.

I can only imagine how it must have looked to him, as I opened the door. The lights had been on since I left for work in the morning, but the afternoon sun streamed in as I made a show of my entrance, swinging the door wide to frame my tall, brown bear body all at once.

Just for a moment, I glimpsed him before he could react. His eyes were wide, but tiredness showed faintly on his face. His long, perky ears drooped a little behind his head. His arms trembled, having been held to his chest all day. His posture was slightly slumped. Nevertheless, his naked form was a picture of loyal perseverance.

I could see the shock run up his bare pelt when I burst in, his fur standing on end, his eyes widening just a bit. His ears shot up, and he began to bounce with excitement. I was afraid he wouldn't be able to stop himself from greeting me, or shouting out in pure joy. I wouldn't want my wonderful Pet to disobey me like that.

"Oh Sherman, you have no idea how great it feels to come home to such a loving Pet, such an obedient Pet."

His resolve held. He still awaited his loving Master obediently and eagerly. At least one part of him displayed that undeniably.

"Is that for me?"

I motioned to his throbbing, dribbling bunny cock. His seven inches of bright pink flesh raged against his pure-white fur, desperate for a paw, a muzzle, anything to wrap around his two inch girth and bring release at last. He had been such a good Pet, resisting it, keeping his paws off of it while it begged with him all day. This was part of his reward, being left out of his chastity cage for the first time in a little over a month. I could hear the faint buzzing of the toy teasing his tail-hole, just where I left it.

He blushed a little under his fur. I love it when he does that. His ears drew back behind his head. His eyebrows, barely distinguishable in his snowy, fuzzy face, raised a little as his head lowered, still staring up at me with need. He looked like a Pet saved from almost having done something naughty. Perfect.

He knows, of course. He knows how much it pleases me, how good he makes me feel. As much as I love having Sherman as my Pet, he loves having me as his Master. My deliciously soft white rabbit Pet considers me his sole source of true joy. I make few demands on him, but we agree on so many things.

This was a special day. It's unusual for him to be so puppy-like, to wait for me with no tasks or motivations of his own. Most days, I'd come home to Sherman already back from work, watching television or cleaning, if it's his turn. He never wears clothes at home. There's nothing quite like watching that stubby puffball of a tail poking out over those two taught plush cheeks as he meanders about the house. He wears his collar, the same narrow black band of supple leather I gave him, with a single, small, round, silver tag. It has his name on one side, and mine, "Otis," with a phone number, on the other. It's small enough that when he does go out, if he wants to, he can hide it under a shirt collar. Most of the time you'd never see it, when we're not at certain clubs or with certain friends, but he always keeps it on him, his reminder that he's mine. The only other thing he wears at home, of course, is his chastity device: a slim stainless steel tube fitted over his cock, with a slit aligned so he can urinate normally, and a steel band around the base of his fluffy sac, secured with a tiny padlock. I keep the key on a loose chain around my neck. It's my own little reminder of my responsibilities to see after the needs, and the pleasures, of my beautiful bunny boy.

The door was still wide open. My broad frame, and the shaggy brown bear fur puffing from the sleeves and collar of my loose work clothes are the only things blocking the rabbit's exposed form from any prying eyes outside. I crouched down to bring my chin level with his eyes, which stared upward into mine. Normally, he's a head shorter than me, but kneeling, I couldn't even talk to him without seeming too tall.

"And you have been very good today, haven't you?"

He knew not to speak. He knew I had asked him to be silent and beg for his reward while I was at work. He nodded, just once, his eyes just a little uncertain, still soft and pleading, hoping I won't go back on my promise. I had wondered if he'd be worried about being so exposed, but all his attention was on me.

"What has it been? A little over a month now?"

He nodded again.

"You've been so very good all this month my Pet, and I absolutely loved your anniversary present."

He was beginning to squirm a little. There is only so much praise an obedient Pet can take. The week prior, on our anniversary (one year since we'd met), I'd booked us a fancy restaurant, but after dinner he surprised me. He'd gotten us passes to an event at an old haunt of ours, catering to people with similar . . . tastes. I hadn't even known they were throwing it. He also got us a leash: plain black leather with silver fittings, a match for his collar. It was a magical evening. The more he showed off, (and believe me, he showed everything off) the more my heart swelled with the pride of being his Master. There were plenty of other Pets there of course, but as far as I'm concerned no one held a candle to my Sherman.

I reached behind myself and closed the door. Only the faintest shadow of relief crossed his face before he began his muffled whines, bouncing slightly and trembling with renewed urgency.

It's an amazing sensation to run your paws over someone wholly yours, wholly willing to be sculpted by your fingers, desperate for your touch. I began by scritching under his chin and Petting the top of his head to calm him. I ran a thumb and forefinger along the length of each ear, and put a paw on each cheek, before tracing them all the way down both sides of his body: over his shoulders and upper-arms, down the sides of his belly, hips, and thighs, down to his knees upon the cushions. He's so delicately soft and fluffy, so warm. I could feel his rapidly pumping heart through every inch of skin.

Reaching down to his knees brings my face into the fine fur of his chest, beneath his still begging forepaws. Without looking, I know he's clenching his eyes shut in need and anticipation. His frantic whines and quivering body scream of his need for me. He smells of of faint, long-dried sweat from holding his pose all day. Waves of heat and of sour, musky, needy lust rise to my nose.

I run my paws up the back of his thighs, ruffling his fine, plush fur between my fingers, trailing my longer, coarser chocolate arm fur in his luscious coat. At last, I cup his perfect bunny buns, reveling in their soft yet firm texture and the coiled energy and anticipation I can feel in them as he fights the urge to start humping and grinding then and there.

I lift his puffball tail, delicately holding the tip of my Pet's spine, rubbing this sensitive extremity between thumb and forefinger, owning every inch of him as I feel the long, poofy tail fur filling the spaces between my fingers.

My fingers wander to the wide, bright blue base of the plug that's been buried deep inside him all day. The base was buzzing and rumbling away as I felt over the little knobs and switches that marred it. My fingertips traced the stretched rim of his tail hole around the plug, slippery with sweat and lube. He probably has no idea what an expensive, sophisticated piece of equipment I've indulged in for him. Once inserted, it expands inside of him to keep him feeling full and stretched. The way I've set it, the surface breaks out in a swarm of randomly-moving, buzzing pebble-sized lumps that wander about, moving together only in pulsing waves that give the plug as a whole a thrusting feeling. As if that weren't enough, a separate set of tiny fingers focuses upon and tickles his prostate. One of the truly amazing features of this model, and the reason I was willing to part with so much to acquire it, was that it has quite a finely tuned sense of when the user approaches orgasm. I've set it to keep my obedient Pet just barely shy of that point.

I know it seems cruel to keep him so needy for so long, but I knew what I had planned for him would be worth it. His throbbing pink bunny cock had drooled all day, leaving itself slick, and a wet patch on the front of mis fluffy sac, dripping into a pad of rags I'd left out for the purpose. Veins showed with every heartbeat as it bobbed and pulsed in desperation, untouched except by cold steel confines in over a month.

I withdraw my paws, slowly, longingly, from that fantastic rump, and sit, cross-legged, in front of him. At last, he brings his gaze down to mine. He still has the same begging, desperate eyes. His muffled pleas return, his face visibly grimaced with the effort of remaining obedient, resisting the urge to press into my touch, or start grinding the air.

I reach out to cup his swollen, neglected bunny balls with my left paw. They say that rabbits have unusually high libido; that left to their own devices they'll at least paw off more often than other furs. I don't usually go in for that kind of racist stereotype, but in Sherman's case, it's true. No one I've met gets needier than him after a day or two. After a month, he's putty in my hands. His balls are nearly rigid, the size of small lemons wrapped in the shortest, most delicate fur you can imagine. I rolled them in one huge paw, grinding them oh-so-gently against each other, squeezing them just faintly.

I can tell it's hard for him to keep his moans under control, to keep begging the way I'd asked him, without speaking or moving, without thrusting or humping. When I look up into his face, his pale blue eyes are boring into mine with desperate need, willing me to take hold of his bunnyhood and pleasure him at last.

What could I do but oblige? Just with the very tips of the fingers of my right paw I brush the underside of his cock, tracing gently over his glans, down to the base. His face nearly cracks open as he fights the urge to scream in ecstatic lust.

When I took hold of his tip, wrapping my thumb and forefinger around it, I could feel the buzzing and thrusting of the plug, his rapid heartbeat, his heavy breathing through the taught, fiery pink skin. It was all I could do to restrain my self from pumping him furiously, giving him what he wanted, what he so richly deserved. I do love my Pet, and I hate to see him suffer, but it was important to do this correctly.

I begin to stroke him, so very very gently, as I continue to roll and squeeze his balls, the plug working away under his tail. His obedience, his restraint is incredible. I can feel the muscles in his belly, his thighs, his rump twitching and tensing, desperate to buck and hump and thrust while his voice fights to burst out of him in cries of need and pleasure and arousal, but he holds fast, wanting to be a good Pet, an obedient Pet, for me.

I had promised him a reward. I knew what he was waiting for. Just a little more pressure with my right paw, squeezing and milking a little harder with each stroke, wrapping all five fingers around his tight and desperate shaft and in just a few short strokes the neglected, swollen bunny balls held fast in my left paw would tighten up at last, and a burning, irresistible pressure would well up from deep inside him, forcing blast after blast, long ropes of pent-up rich rabbit spunk high into the air, splattering Master and Pet alike, washing him in wave after wave of pleasure and relief, draining him of a month's frustrating tension. Would he hold out to the last? Could he resist his own body's pleas to grind his hips into my grip, to hump against his Master, to cry out in thanks and ecstasy as he at last gave in to orgasm? Would he squirt in still silence and accept this reward in pure obedience, or would he disappoint me in the end?

I would not let him disappoint me. He has pleased me so much, been so good, made me so happy, and it would be cruel of me to let him believe he had fallen short of my expectations.

"Sherman?"

He can only reply with muffled moans of desperation. My paws are still working him, stroking him so very gently, so very slowly, as his overfull balls demand release, his raging cock dribbles, sweats, and throbs in need.

"My beautiful Pet, do you like the way Master is paying attention to you? Do you like the way he strokes you?"

His nod is spasmodic, head jerking up and down many times, his mind clearly elsewhere.

"It's ok; you can answer my questions."

"Oh yes, Master," his words are quick, part of rapid, uncontrolled breaths.

"And you love pleasing your Master, yes?"

He pauses only very briefly.

"P-Pet loves anything that p-pleases his Master."

He is so very close.

"But . . . Pet doesn't love to be stroked more than he loves pleasing his Master, do you, Pet?"

It takes him a moment to realize. His clenched eyes pop open. Fear, panic, disappointment, and finally resolve flash over his face as he looks down at me, eyes still desperate, still begging for it not to be true.

Please don't think me cruel to do this to my Pet. I love him very much, and would never want to see him hurt or neglected. I would still reward him, but this was a test, an opportunity to demonstrate his devotion. Of all the emotions to show in his face, the one I most feared never came: betrayal.

His ears drooping behind him, panting as I continued to work him, Sherman responded in a resolute, if disappointed quavery voice:

"I will always prefer to please you, Master."

Words cannot express how my heart leapt for him in that moment, how much I wanted to give him everything, every pleasure, every gift, every kindness in my power, but to do so would make the test meaningless, teach him that saying one thing got him another. I want honesty between us.

"So, it'll be ok if I ask you to put your cage back on, and pleasure me this evening instead?"

I was still stroking him so very gently, still alternately squeezing and rolling his fluffy balls pent up with a month of frustration, the buzzing, pulsing, tickling, massaging plug still filling and driving him.

"If it pleases you, Master."

He made a valiant effort, I could tell, to keep the disappointment from his voice, but his rapid breaths, desperation, emotional and physical exhaustion made that impossible.

I let go at last, reaching between his legs to switch off the bright blue plug. The rags below his dripping cock reeked with his scent: musky bunny need.

As I stood up, he looked up at me in one last desperate plea, desperate to know if he had done right, if I was punishing, or somehow disappointed in him. I scratched him gently between his long, drooping ears, and kissed him on his fuzzy muzzle, above the nose.

"I can't imagine a more perfect Pet. I love you Sherman."

There was a long pause with my face close to his. His eyes softened as he knew he'd made the right choice. He'd pleased his Master, and I could see that while it wasn't the reward he'd hoped for, it was enough for now.

"Now, let's get some ice to help you back into that cage of yours."