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I hit the "end call" button on my phone, and threw it across the room, unable to control the rage burning within me. My fists pounded on the wall, an incoherent stream of swears pouring from my muzzle. It was impossibly frustrating.

I didn't even hear him come in.

I kicked over the living-room coffee table, sending papers flying, glasses shattering, a roar forcing its way out of me. As I turned, casting about for a new object of my mindless fury, I saw him, staring.

Sherman is my love, my comfort, my desire, my joy, my pure white-furred, blue-eyed, beautiful bunny boy Pet. Normally he's home from work before I am, but today he had an after-work appointment.

I never wanted him to see me like this: juvenile, nearly feral rage overtaking my brown bear form, anger unleashed in powerful muscles under thick, shaggy fur. I'm supposed to be his Master, his Owner, to care for him, look after him, and keep him safe. I'm supposed to see to his needs, hold him, stroke him. He should always be able to rely on me. I never wanted him to fear me, and here I was, a full head taller than him, and much stronger, flailing like a wild beast.

"Otis?" he asked, his voice quiet, small. His questioning tone carried a world of concern, fear, offering what help he could.

"Leave me, Sherman." I wanted to make it a command, but I couldn't. My voice shook, and it came out more of an angry bark. I turned away from him, pounding the wall again, further frustrated with my compounded failure as a Master, muscles tensing with the strain of keeping any semblance of composure.

"Master, please, what's wrong? How can I help?" His faint voice grew quieter and quieter as he spoke, sensing the rage boiling within me, listening to my labored, heavily controlled breathing. I could almost hear his face falling, his wide, sky blue eyes tearing up, his ears drooping.

"I. . . I can't . . ." I started to tell him he had to leave me alone, that I didn't want him to see me this way, but it just poured out of me: "My father's sick, Sherman. They said it was in remission, but they found something this morning, and he's scheduled for two more surgeries. If he survives, it'll mean months of recovery." In my head I couldn't help going over family plans, holidays that would have to be changed, like my schedule was the real victim here. I hated myself for thinking like that.

"I'm . . . I'm sorry." He was whispering now.

"It's not your damned fault!" I actually punched the wall hard enough to crack the plaster this time, so hard that my knuckles hurt. There was a sound of wood cracking beneath. I was destroying our home. "It's not anybody's damned fault! We're all just stuck with it, and I'm a thousand miles away, and there's nothing I can fucking do!" I let my head bang against the wall, feeling the pain resonate through my skull.

We stood there, silent, me facing away from him, head against the cracked plaster, my own failure, pressing my fingernails into it, wishing I had the claws of a feral, so I could rip and tear and shred. Growls of rage rumbled out with each deep breath.

The only sound he made was a faint dropping and folding of cloth. My Pet rabbit doesn't usually wear clothes at home. I usually enjoy having a full view of his fine white pelt, broken only by his collar, and of course, his chastity cage: symbols of his devotion to pleasing his Master, and my duty to see to all of his needs, a duty I was violating as I made him feel unsafe in our own home.

"Master?"

"What?" I shouted, turning violently, fists clenched, ready to destroy.

"P-punish me, Master." His terrified plea shocked me, drawing my mind, just for a moment, out of its red fog. He looked up at me, clad only in his pure white fur, vulnerable, terrified, and beautiful as ever.

"What?" My voice was just a little more controlled this time.

"I-I'm your P-Pet, M-Master, and it's my p-purpose to please you, t-to make you happy. You're unhappy, ssss-so I've failed. Please, if it will help you even the smallest bit, punish me. Tie me up, spank me, beat me, chew on my balls, whatever it takes, please, Master." His hands were clasped behind his back, eyes clenched shut, ears splayed in anticipation, waiting to feel the sting of an answer.

I cannot imagine what it took to stand before me, a raging brown bear bigger and stronger in almost every way, to be naked and alone, and ask that that rage be directed at himself.

For an instant, a terrible vision flashed before my eyes of my wonderful Pet, bound, his perfect taught rump ruined at my vicious hand, transformed into a blue and purple mass of inflamed, sensitive nerves and bruised flesh, his screams of agony muffled by a cruel gag with each brutal slap of my strong paw, pouring my rage into him. How could I even be considering this?

Part of me wanted to take his offer and hurt him. Part of me was disgusted at the thought. Part of me hated myself for my failure. Part of me hated myself for ever letting my Pet believe I'd do this to him. Part of me still raged. Part of me felt cruel and ashamed. Part of me felt angry and frustrated.

Most of me was consumed by awe: He knew full well what I could do to him. This was the love of my beautiful bunny, pure and selfless.

My jaw slackened, and with a sudden realization, my lungs inhaled for the first time since he'd spoken. My knees gave way, and I collapsed into him.

He caught me, falling backwards into a sitting position with my muzzle pressed into his chest. Warm, plush, reassuring rabbit fur embraced me, my breaths coming in great, heavy sobs.

I wanted to tell him that I'd never hurt him, that I was shocked he'd even consider it. I wanted to tell him that I wasn't angry at him, or my father, or the doctors, that I was angry at . . . at myself . . . at . . . the cancer. I wanted to apologize for failing him as a Master, for ever letting him see this side of me. I wanted to tell him how much I appreciated having him here, how much I wanted to hold him, how glad I was he didn't leave me to my rage. I wanted to tell him, but all I got out was:

"I'm sorry . . . I . . . never wanted to hurt you . . . I'm just . . . afraid."

His lithe, deft paws stroked the thick fur on the back of my head, reaching under my shirt collar and down my back, as my tears soaked his chest. He smelled of a day's sweat mingled with the strong, sharp scent of terrified rabbit. My broad, strong arms wrapped around him, clutching at his back.

We stayed there for a long time, collapsed on the floor, my Pet holding me up, stroking me for a change. It took me a while to regain my breath, and any semblance of coherency.

"I'm sorry, Pet. I'm supposed to take care of you. I'm supposed to keep you safe. I was just angry, frustrated at . . . at not being able to do anything, just hearing on the phone . . . I'm just angry at . . . the cancer."

There was a long silence as we just held each other, listening to our breathing.

"But you have to know that I'd never, ever, under any circumstances, hurt you, Sherman."

"I know," he whispered into one ear.

"I'll always be here to care for you, my Pet. You can always count on me for whatever you need, but sometimes . . . sometimes I need you too." It felt so backwards, Pet holding Master up, but this was pleasing his Master, making me just a little happier when I most needed it.

"That's my job." His tone was almost cute. He rested his head atop mine, his paws continuing to dig into my shaggy, chocolate fur reassuringly.

After a while, we moved to the couch. He helped me shed my shirt along the way, just so he could curl up in my lap, and nuzzle into the fur of my chest, inhaling the scent of his Master. It felt so good just to hold him in my arms, to run my paws over his coat, so fine, so soft.

"rrrrrrr . . . rrrrrrr . . . rrrrrrr . . ." he breathed softly with each stroke, his own little purr of appreciation.

I don't know how long I held him, pressed close to my heart, his fur stained with my tears. There's something deeply satisfying about holding someone truly yours, in this case my brave, devoted Pet. I treasure him; I'd do anything for him, and he'd do anything to make me happier. In that moment, that meant just being held. Somewhere along the line, I drifted into sleep.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

I awoke to a warm, wet, wonderful sensation emanating from my sheath. Opening my eyes, I found my Pet had undone my fly, and was hard at work, doing his best to please his Master. His long, rough tongue made slow, delicious swipes through thick fur as my flesh thickened beneath.

"Ohh . . ." I whispered faintly, just enough to let him know I was awake.

Long bunny ears perked up, his sky blue eyes flew open, meeting my green ones as I gazed down at him. We shared a subtle smile before he drew his attention downward, lapping lower and lower into my crotch, tasting the sweaty fur of my sac.

I drew down my slacks and underwear, easing his access. He brought his pink rabbit nose up under my balls, inhaling my musk and firing the lust within each plum-sized orb. His long, slow licks shifted to rapid laps.

"Ooohhh . . ." I breathed some encouragement as my head rolled back, my eyes closing. Something didn't feel right in enjoying this . . . enjoying anything after hearing such horrible news, after failing my Pet, failing myself. Then again, I could feel his warmth melting the knot of fear and anger and pain within me. I needed this.

He worked each bear ball in turn into his muzzle, sucking and lashing with his tongue. My black cock had broken free of its sheath, its throbbing eight inches awaiting my Pet's dutiful ministrations.

Slowly, teasingly, he inched his way up my sac, my sheath, my length, sniffing and licking, kissing and sucking as he went. He inhaled my sweat, my musk, the smell of my anger and the arousal dribbling from my tip. With every lick, every breath, he drew me out of the dark, brooding corner of my mind.

He kissed my slit, sucking hard, eliciting a gasp and a sudden spurt of salty pre from his Master. He knew well how to please me. With practiced, deliberate slowness, he brought his lips over my head, a tight ring of muscle containing a thrashing tongue, suckling at my tip.

I could hear his hot, rapid breathing through his pink nose, feel his beating heart, smell his own lust leaking in uncontrolled globs of pre from the desperate flesh confined to his slender steel cock-cage. The chain around my neck held the key, my own constant reminder of my obligations to his needs. It had been a couple of weeks since he'd cum, and he was always so marvelous at pouring his own lust, his need, his desire into me, dedicating himself to my pleasure. He'd be let out, in time, when he needed, deserved such an extraordinary reward for a Pet. Somehow he always managed to.

I rocked my hips, eager for him to take more of me, my anger, fear, and frustration almost forgotten in the rising tide of arousal. His head began to bob in time, slipping just a bit lower with each thrust, drawing me just a fraction deeper.

At last he was swallowing my cock with each bob, tongue sliding along my sensitive underside, jaws stretched wide around my three-inch girth, careful not to let his well-kempt front incisors scrape his Master's flesh. Each lick, each thrust sent warm waves through my skin, tingles up my spine. Pre drooled from my tip, and his lips slurped with each thrust, salivating over my length. Another master might have grabbed hold of his head and forced himself in, but I trust my Pet. He's wonderful at what he does. My broad paws held his slender forearms, his paws steadying himself on my thighs.

His tight, massaging, slurping lips kissed the wooly fur of my crotch, my entire black cock buried in his maw. For just an instant, he held me there, pressing me down with his lips. His tongue pressed and worked against me, his throat swallowed at my tip. His stubby puffball tail wiggled over his swaying, heart-shaped, plush white rump, as he strained to tolerate the pressure in his frustrated, almost lemon-sized bunny balls, his straining, leaking, trapped cock pouring the scent of rabbit lust into the room, desperation echoing through his nerves and into my flesh.

"Nnnnnrrrrrrrr!"

I couldn't stand it any more, with a growling grunt, my hips thrust, against my self-control, into his mouth. He responded in kind, bobbing against me, forming a new, faster rhythm, his hot breaths coming rapidly against my fur, inhaling my scent, my arousal, my cock pumping into his eager muzzle, warm, delicious, lust flooding my mind as the room filled with the wet, slurping, sliding sounds of sucking and humping, the scent of sex and sweat, bunny and bear.

Each powerful suck drew more slick pre from me. Each forceful slurp made my heartbeats pulse harder through my length. Each rough, expert lick sent shocks of need straight to my balls. My mind was clear, my emotions pure: my Pet was my world, he needed to please me, and I'd do anything to satisfy his needs. He writhed between my thighs, forcing me to tighten them against his arms and chest, his soft fur pleasant and teasing even through my partially-removed slacks.

My sac was drawing tighter. Each rapid breath was low, hot, gravely. From somewhere deep inside me, the pressure was building, boiling up from my balls, a hot, squeezing desperation threatening to erupt at any moment.

He felt me grow tenser. His pace quickened, his slurps becoming faster and more vigorous, his paws sliding in along my inner thighs, digging through my fur, gripping my sac from the underside, and grinding my orbs together in gentle, yet firm encouragement.

"Oh . . . good Pet!" I cried, eyes unable to focus, tongue lolling out. A wave of physical pleasure washed over him, making him twitch and quiver around my cock, and between my thighs.

He redoubled his pace, squeezing at my sac and punctuating each thrust along my full length with a strong, eager suck at my tip. His right leg flew into spasms of need, shaking him against my frame.

"Mmmhh, your tongue is like magic, Pet!" I moaned, the last thing I could manage before my breaths gave way to ragged growls, the full strength of my body occupied in thrusting against his firm lips.

The pressure was too much to stand. It burned; it boiled. My sac was so tight that my balls hurt in his paws. With one last thrust he pulled himself off of me, until he was just kissing my slit, and tightened his lips to a firm ring of muscle, before forcing himself down again, just as my rump clenched, and I drove into him.

Despite the heated speed of it, I could feel his slick, tight lips over every nerve, squeezing every inch of needy, fiery flesh. His tongue lashed behind them, his throat swallowing and sucking, drawing out as much as he possibly could.

"MMRRRRRRRAAAAAAAHHHHH!" Just as he kissed my crotch, a roar forced itself from me. Every muscle tensed: squeezing, forcing, raging.

The dam within me broke, and thick, searing seed erupted, exploded, roared, coarsed all the way from my balls through my length, his tongue emphasizing its raging course through every inch of my flesh, shooting in great, forceful torrents into his eager muzzle. All my rage, my guilt, my failure, my fear drained from me, taken away by the constant, attentive ministrations of my Pet, sucking and drawing out every last drop, emptying me for what seemed an eternity as wave after wave gushed into his muzzle, dribbling now and then from his slurping lips. My mind flooded with euphoria. Warm, fuzzy bliss overwhelming every muscle as at last I released.

It took a long time for the powerful lust to fade to calm, my Pet was still suckling on my softening length. His own unsatisfied need had only built, part of the every-higher crescendo of desire he endured for me, as he trembled between my legs, struggling to regain control of himself. Still, gazing down at him, he was suckling happily, so very glad to have pleased his Master, until at last my cock retreated to within my sheath.

He rested his chin on my left thigh, his bright, sky blue eyes open wide, watching my green ones.

"I don't deserve such a perfect Pet."

With each broad, strong paw I grasped the base of a rabbit ear, running thumb and forefinger over their sensitive lengths, raising them up into the air. His eyes closed and his lips curled into a smile with the sensation.

"Mmmhhh," he breathed happily. I stroked his fur for a while, waiting patiently for him to calm.

"Now," I ruffled the fur between his ears, "what do you think about dinner?"

"I'd like that, Master."

"Well," I paused, glancing towards the kitchen, "Get dressed, Sherman; we're going out. I think you deserve something special."

He stood, beaming. I couldn't resist drawing his muzzle into mine for a brief kiss before letting my paws leave his head.

"I love you, Master."

"I love you too, my Pet."