A loud crash from upstairs followed by a muffled ‘bollocks’ startles me, making me jump, the bunny ears tumbling off my head in a final surrender. Everything is quiet again, just the usual hum of cars and conversation from the street outside seeping through the windows. Bending, I pick up the bunny ears and place them carefully back in the box with an outdrawn sigh. Better get back to work or Mr Bennett will for sure—if he hasn’t already decided to—fire my sorry arse.
I spend the next half an hour sorting out the storage room, which is already very neat and organised. My gaze continues to drift towards the box with the bunny ears, and every time my eyes catch the flimsy fluffy pink material, it sends a piercing pain through my heart. Perhaps it’s truly time to grow up and let go of this childish dream of being Bunny? Maybe my parents were right all along that I’m not cut out for this world, that I’m a useless dreamer and I need to pull my head out of fantasy land and grow up? Perhaps I need to once and for all let go of my deep-seated longing of one day finding my Master? Maybe he isn’t even out there. Although… it did feel so very real the other day when I crawled for him, and he called me…that.
When I’m happy with the back, I move into the front of the store. It’s closed for customers since it’s Sunday and I just came in to finish the window display. Everything is so quiet you could hear a pin drop, just theoccasional crack of a floorboard from upstairs when Mr Bennett moves around. I wonder what he’s doing? Perhaps he’s preparing my letter of termination, although I haven’t even received my work contract yet. Perhaps he’s contemplating calling animal control to have the rabid rabbit evicted from his shop? Thank God I took off the bunny ears.
Once I’ve finished decorating the large window—it takes me absolutely no time now that Mr Bennett isn’t here to distract me with his broad shoulders and looming gaze—I look around the deserted shop, shadows from the streetlights outside moving along the walls. I have no idea what time it is, only that it turned dark while I was working. I’ve never been good with time; just aware that it’s either daylight, twilight, or nighttime. Mr Bennett usually tells me when to go home in that gruff voice of his that sends shivers down my spine and flames licking up my loins.
‘You’re dismissed, Mr Sable,’he will usually grunt, avoiding eye contact. Every time I feel like leaping, floating, flying into his arms, murmuring,‘Yes, please, Mr Bennett, sir. Please dismiss me!’I don’t know why, but I just get so very, very wet when he tells me that.
So now I just stand here helplessly, looking at the door like the handle is going to bite me, wondering what I should do. Should I just leave? Would that be rude? I don’t know. I’ve never been good with social cues. What does one do when one’s boss stormed off after seeing one wearing gifted bunny ears? I have no idea, and I doubt there’s even a manual or a Wikipedia page for this epic conundrum.
On a whim, I decide to go check on Mr Bennett before I leave because what if he isn’t okay? It’s been quiet for a long time, and what if he really did have a bunny-ear-induced stroke? Oh God, what if Mr Bennett is waiting forme to do CPR or give him the kiss of life? I’m hoping for the latter, obviously, because right now, I can’t for the life of me recall what the C-P-R stands for.
Throwing my coat on the counter, I walk slowly towards the stairs to the upstairs flat. Licking my lips, I exhale deeply, before I call out, “Mr Bennett, sir?” Nothing. The shop remains eerily quiet; no squeaking floorboards above me or muffledbollocks. Crapio. Perhaps there’s the odd chance that Mr Bennett decided to take an afternoon nap, although he doesn’t strike me as a spontaneous napper. Clearing my throat, I call out again, this time a little louder, “Mr Bennett, sir? I’m done for today, so if you don’t need me, I’ll go home?”Please need me, please need me, please need me.Again, nothing. Fluffing, fluffy fluff tail, I cannot have the early demise of my boss on my conscience. I haven’t even been here a full month. This is not good.
On their own, my feet start moving up the stairs carefully, the steps creaking beneath me. Once I near the door to the flat, I can make out a softthump-thump-thumpthat grows in volume with each step, its repetitive sound drawing me closer. Perhaps Mr Bennett is building something, although he doesn’t strike me as a builder either. Or maybe he’s trying to send me a desperate message for help?May-day. May-day. May-day. Save me, Bunny. Save me.The closer I get, the louder the franticthump-thump-thumpbecomes. My mind runs rampant with all sorts of dreadful scenarios. Mr Bennett in the grasp of a horrible seizure, his head banging against the floor, white foam frothing around his mouth. Mr Bennett locked inside his bathroom, banging on the door as the water rises on the floor beneath his feet, threatening to pull him under.
In my desperate mind, I’ve become Mr Bennett’s saviour. This is my time to shine. This is my one and onlyopportunity to prove myself to Mr Bennett. Pushing at the door with my hand, it doesn’t move. I reach for the door handle, but the door is locked. Oh shit. The thump continues, increasing in volume and speed. I need to get to him. My master needs me. My heart pounds in my chest, mingling with the desperate pounding sound.
“Do not fear, Mr Bennett!” I call out as I start pushing at the door. But it’s solid as a rock, unmoving, and my arms are so stupidly frail and thin anyway that it’s not surprising at all. Another sound erupts in between the thumps. A desperate groan, perhaps Mr Bennett’s final battle against the claws of an untimely death. I can’t have it. I can’t have my master taken from me now that I’ve finally found him. In one final attempt to get to him, I decide to throw myself against the door, pain shooting up my shoulder as it connects with the solid wood. But I do not falter. This is not the time. The groaning has become a whine by now, the thumping has stopped and I fear I’m too late.
“Mr Bennett,” I sob against the door as I give it another heavy push. This time, something shifts, and the door moves slightly. And suddenly I’m no longer Benjamin, useless and pathetic. A strength of unparalleled proportions grows inside me and I’m the Duke of Wellington himself. This is it. The door is my Waterloo. Mr Bennett is my Europe. The entire Seventh Battalion is behind me, cheering me on.Bunny! Bunny! Bunny!I must save him.
In a final display of strength I didn’t think I possessed, I burst through the door, nearly bringing it with me. Desperate, I look down the hallway; still no sight of Mr Bennett. I perk my bunny ears, sniffing deeply, until a pitiful whimper drifts towards me from a closed door at the end of the hall. Thank God! I’m not too late!
“Master!” I call out. “Do not despair! Your Bunny is coming for you!” I run hastily down the hallway,decorum flying out the window, as I blow through the door. I’m panting, my eyes drifting across the room in a desperate search for my master. And there he is, displayed on his bed, a white-knuckled fist wrapped around something throbbing, angry-looking and very,veryhard. And red. Ruby red. Creamy, milky-white liquid is oozing from the red, cascading down his fingers, and there is even some smeared across his golden abdomen because, of course, my master’s skin is like pure gold, too. His naked chest is heaving, his stomach muscles clenching and unclenching, rippling like a stormy sea of angry waves. His mouth is twisted into a pained sigh, his usually contained facial features distorted. Sweat beads across his forehead and his eyes are squeezed tight.
He’s beautiful. Just beautiful. I always knew he would be beautiful when he comes. As he opens his lips, a desperate sound wafts towards me. “Bunny.” My heart soars in my chest. I wasn’t wrong. I didn’t imagine it. I am not useless or pathetic. I’m powerful. I’m the master of my master, it seems.
“Yes, Master,” I answer his call, taking a step towards him, his heady, musky scent hitting my nostrils, my mouth salivating. “I’m here.” As if waking up from the deepest of dreams, or perhaps electrocuted, Mr Bennett’s eyes fly open, his blue eyes fiery and wild.
Chapter Seven
Easter
“Benjamin?” I blink once, twice, still engulfed in the aftermath of my powerful and third orgasm of the day. At first, I think I’m dreaming. That my filthy, oversexed mind has conjured him from the depths of my depraved soul. Then slowly, the daze lifts and that ever-present ‘Mr Bennett, sir’drifts towards me. My gaze connects with his muddy-grey eyes, spilling over with…worrybefore it turns into relief, I think.
“What the hell!” I shout, springing from my bed as I struggle with my pants that are acting as a homemade booby trap around my ankles. I nearly stumble into the nightstand, my sticky hand sliding against the corner when I try to steady myself. Right, cum hands. Classy. Benjamin comes charging at me, his eyes wild as he sweeps up a box of tissues from my dresser, pulling sheets frantically from the opening. Throwing them at me like rice at a wedding, a pink blush creeping across his cheeks as he starts mumbling something.
“What?!” I spit, catching a tissue as it comes flying at me. He winces, pearly teeth digging into his trembling bottom lip, and I instantly curse myself. “Sorry,” I try,as I start wiping cum from my stomach, my limp dick hanging between my thighs in a resigned ‘was this the blissful aftermath I was promised?’slump. Yes, yes, I fear this was it. Crumbling the messy tissues in my hands, I look around for a place to discard them, but I come up blank. Where, oh where, does one discard cum stained tissues in front of one’s only employee? I swear you can’t make this shit up. You can’t.
“You’re okay,” he pants, his voice tinged with surprised relief.
“Of course, I’m okay! Why wouldn’t I be?” He shrugs, then nods at my hand.
“Give them to me,” he whispers, his voice frail and shaky. He reaches out his hand between us, palm open, and for some strange reason—that I’ll have to think really hard about later, but not now when my dick is still hanging out—I drop them into his hand. Closing his fingers around the sticky tissues, his gaze drops to the floor, while I bend to pull my pants up, adjusting myself. This is far from ideal. This is the opposite of ideal. This is…undeal.Benjamin is a stellar employee, and I doubt I’ll find anyone as dedicated and skilled before the holidays, if ever. Then again, how do you move on from your employee—youronlyemployee—seeing your dick? Seeing your dishevelled self in a post-orgasmic state withhisname onyourlips. That’s a hard one, no pun intended.
“Mr Sable,” I grunt, almost brushing a hand through my chaotic hair before I catch myself. I’m not convinced they’re completely cum free. “We need to talk.”
He looks up, a glimmer of hope flashing in his eyes as he bounces slightly on his feet.
“Yes, Mr Bennett, sir,” he quips.
“About boundaries.Personalboundaries,” I clarify, and the light instantly dims in his eyes.
“Oh…” he breathes.
“Look, Mr Sable, this isn’t going to work, I’m afraid.” It isn’t. Not in a million years. So why do the words feel like acid on my tongue as I speak them? Why does it feel like my gut is about to drop out of my arse? Like my heart is trying to eat itself in a fit of…something. He tilts his head, his fawn eyes filling with tears, that full bottom lip trembling ominously. Then he does something that has been a fixed part of every sex fantasy of mine since he did it the first time downstairs. He drops to his knees.
