The ticking and tocking of the little silver clock on the wall kept her thoughts in pace.
	Occasionally, the box in the corner of the room, beneath the high window, would squeak and squeal with interference as another dispatch was eavesdropped upon; but, ultimately, ignored.
	The fan overhead had a steady rhythm as it wobbled, its bulbs nudging from side to side. Every now and again, the corner of one of the several pieces of paper tacked onto the cork-wood board would crinkle as the draft lifted it.
	On the board was a map of the city. Several pins had been stabbed into it, six of them with a pink string of yarn dangling down about an inch. Those six were all within a few parks.
	In permanent marker, they were numbered on the map near where the pin punctured the glossy paper: Deborah, Susan B., Cassie, Susan F., Olivia, and Rachel.
	There were other pins, with other notations. Sight 1, Sight 2, Sight 3, Hang 1, Hang 2, Work, and, finally, Home.
	On the desk that was a few feet from the map, were several papers. Notes were scribbled on them, in a bubbly cursive and in various colors of gel-pen ink.
	Sight 1: Oct. 3rd. Spotted at bridge between Susan B. and Olivia. Stayed there for thirty minutes, taking pictures. Ate a sandwich he had brought. Did not talk to anyone who passed by.
	Sight 2: Nov. 9th. Spotted in Withering Talls Park, new location; possibly scouting next victim. Recognized by jacket, shoes. Took pictures for 2 hrs, mostly of the girls playing in snow. Had my ears back in my coat and scarf on so he wouldn’t notice me.
	Sight 3: Feb. 17th. Back at Sunnydew Park, where first happened. Was spending day with Rachel and other friends. Played hide-and-seek. She got found.
	Hang 1: Coffeee Shop on Thursdays. Spends evening talking with looks like a friend or coworker.
	Hang 2: Library on Saturday morning. Reads to the kids. Showered and cleaned.
	Work: Checkout at grocery store, irregular schedule.
	Also on the desk were several pictures. Many of them were blurry, but in several there was a clear picture of a short and stocky beaver. He had on neon-green shoes, and wore a hooded football jacket.
	Around the map were newspaper clippings. Several of them had Easter Napper within the headline. Such was the name of this gentleman, or as the media knew him. Short for the Easter Bunny Kidnapper, which itself was a sick title that only the congealed scum of the media could coin, as if reveling in their wittiness.
	So called not because of anything specifically to do with the holiday. The term was thought up by some sick bastard as soon as the third girl had been taken and the pattern recognized: little bunny girls were disappearing.
	Their pictures were pinned deliberately uncluttered on a separate, smaller cork-board. They were aged four to eight. All of them female, and all of them lapin. Five of them were smudgy and unsaturated, save for the slight tinge of that day’s dye in the newspaper’s vegetable-oil-base ink.
	Only one picture was in color. She was an eight-year-old rabbit, smiling at the camera with a pretty blue backdrop behind her. Though in color, her fur was mostly black. Her hair was white, but she often dyed it, and when this picture was taken it was with strands of pink. She was also blessed with an adorably cute, little, heart-shaped, red nose that often wiggled above her cheerful smile.
	Mindfully, her picture was touched. The pads of the fingertips brushed over the smiling face.
	Parting from the pictures, her soft footfalls went to the desk. She looked at the map, blinking as she leveled her gaze at the pin marked Home.
	There were a few circles drawn in various colors. The pin was just shy of the center, offset by the playground site that the third girl was taken from.
	A red line was drawn from the pin. It followed the street, and then went orange as it went along the streets. The orange line turned back to red as a spot was circled, labeled with Bus 44
	With a glance at the clock, a collecting sigh drifted into the room. There was a rustle, and a thump, as a purple backpack was lifted from the floor and set upon the desk. The zipper growled as it was opened, and the contents inside were taken out. A piece of paper from the pile on the desk was taken, set down, and gazed at. The items were put back into the backpack, and a third check-mark was added to each line on the paper.
	The backpack was zipped up once again, and hefted onto a shoulder. The soft footfalls carried toward the door, which opened with a creak.
	The radio squawked again, and a gaze was caste back into the room. There was a condescending snicker. Then, one final gaze at the little smiling rabbits, notably the one with pink stripes in her hair.
	”Sorry you had to wait,” the soft voice said, though it lacked any real sympathy. “But, it was just too perfect to not let it play out this way.”
	The door was shut, and against it the calendar bounced from the gentle swing. On it, Easter Sunday was circled in red, and there were Xes up until the day before.
	The soft footfalls carried down the hall, passing an open door.
	Inside the room, a preteen otter was laying upon her bed, reading a girly magazine. She looked up, and gave a smile. “Hope everything goes well,” she bid.
	”It will,” said the younger rabbit, with a confident grin. “In fact, I’m sure I’ll be back in time to scarf down your potato salad. Then, I’ll be looking forward to scarfing down your pie.” She winked.
	The otter went red, and hid behind her magazine. “Go do your thing,” she mumbled.
	With a giggle, bunny skipped down the stairs.
	A gaudy laugh from a soap opera caught her ears. She turned into the den, and saw the tips of two white ears sticking up from the lounge chair. She skipped into the room.
	When the mink heard her enter, he reached for the remote and muted the TV. His chair squeaked as he dropped the footrest, allowing her to stand close to his knees.
	”Mmm… So… Is time, no?” He asked, noticing her backpack.
	Sì, papa,” she answered.
	He patted his lap, and caught her as she climbed up. He slipped his hands around her, beneath the backpack against her back. “Have a nice time, mia tesero,” he said. “I eh… Always get just a little nervoso when you eh… Spend the night at a eh… Casa de amici.”
	”I don’t,” she replied, wiggling excitedly. “I have fun every time.”
	He chuckled, patting her side.
	She leaned in, giving him a deep kiss on his lips. Just when he started to slip his tongue into her muzzle, she pulled away. “Ah-ah-ah,” she leaned away, and pressed a finger to his nose. “Not till after work, daddy,” she teased, and wriggled again in his lap. Her lids lowered and she smirked, when she wriggled on something stiff and warm. “Okay, better head out before I miss the bus,” she said, slipping off his lap.
	”Will pick you up in morning. Have nice time,” he bid.
	”Oh, I will,” she replied, skipping to the shoe holder to slip on her sandals. “I most certainly will...”
	The door shut, and he sighed, turning the sound back on the TV. “Eccola che inizia,” he muttered to himself, popping the footrest back up.
	The rabbit trotted down the sidewalk, sandals patting the cement with each step. It was a breezy day, which kept it cool despite the sun’s merciless assault. The breezes ruffled the hem of her peach-orange shirt, which she tucked a tuft of into the waistband of her green gym-shorts.
	Neighborhood boys were skateboarding around. They paid her no attention. She listened to their boasting and the grinding of the wheels upon the asphalt as they tried to do tricks, to varying degrees of failure.
	She arrived at the edge of the neighborhood soon enough. The bench that marked the bus-stop was empty; no one was busy this quiet, late-afternoon. She set her backpack down upon it, and unzipped the front pocket, pulling out some coins.
	A few cars rolled by. She could tell which ones intended to turn and which ones didn’t based on how slow they were going, except for one she recognized. He was a speed-demon, an old man that treated his Volkswagen like a Power-Wheels.
	Her ears picked up the tell-tail growling of the engine long before the bus rolled up.
	It slogged along toward her, like Eeyore through mud. To the driver’s credit, they actually managed to stop with the door right in front of her; normally they were just-shy or over-eager.
	The doors opened, revealing a driver she had never seen before.
	All the better.
	She snatched her backpack, carrying it over one shoulder, and stepped onto the bus. She slipped the coins into the slot, listening to them katchekerplink into the register.
	Her fair payed, she wandered to one of the seats on the side, toward the back.
	The only other occupants of the bus were two ladies, sitting together in one of the seats that faced toward the front of the bus, diagonal from the rabbit.
	She heard the doe and chipmunk gossiping, and then they brought her up in their conversation. She waited a moment longer, before glancing to them.
	They paused in their chatter, and looked at her.
	”Sweetie?” The doe called out. “Where are your parents?”
	”Non se cogna ficannaso?”
	They exchanged glances. “Um…” The chipmunk started to speak slowly, obviously taking up quite a lot of her will to do so. “Do… You… Speak… English?”
	”Ti fai mai zitto?”
	They looked at each other again. This time, the doe spoke. “No… Hayblo… Espaynole,” she said.
	”Pero, no estabo hablando español. Fregón perras.” She went back to looking out the window.
	”Oh… I hope she’s careful, poor dear.”
	”For real! She probably has no clue there’s a sick monster out to get girls like her. Plus, with her pattern, what is that maybe half German Shepard?”
	”Looks like it to me, I see where you’re going. Whatever she was speaking, it sounded European, for sure. Beautiful button like her that can’t speak English?”
	She was about to think a little less harshly of them, but that compliment wasn’t enough to offset the stupidity that came right after it.
	”I’m sure she’ll be fine,” the doe said with a nod. “He hasn’t gotten his grubby hands on anyone since January. They might have even caught him; wouldn’t that be nice to see in the paper tomorrow?”
	”Would certainly be a blessing. But, I see where you’re going with it. Easter Bunny Napper Gets Nabbed By Easter Bunny.”
	The doe giggled, pulling on the string to let the driver know their stop was up. “You should write for the paper,” she told her friend, as the bus stopped and they stood, starting to shuffle off.
	Thankfully, no one else came on. It was just her and the bus driver; and he didn’t seem too concerned about her well-being. He was just a bus-driver, his duty to get her wherever she planned to go.
	He even turned the radio on.
	She watched the trees and mailboxes scroll by, tapping her foot to the rhythm of the rap. She recognized the landmarks of her stop, the image of her map in her mind. She casually reached up, and gave two tugs on the little white cord.
	A moment later, the bus slowed and idled at a lonely looking signpost at the edge of a lot with a drab-gray office building.
	She stood, securing the thong of her right sandal back between her toes, and started to head off the bus.
	”Buona Pasqua,” the driver bid, just as the girl was about to step out the door.
	She looked back in surprise, then smiled. “Anch tu,” she bid, and stepped onto the sidewalk.
	She waited for the bus to sputter off out of ear-shot, before walking, pretending she was looking for something in her backpack. Then, she slung it over both shoulders, and began walking down the sidewalk.
	She put herself as a dot on the map. She followed the red line in her mind. It was an oddly placed house, huddled away in the back corner of a few business lots.
	It was an old-looking house; but not terribly worn-down. The blue paint had been blanched by the sun. The shutters on the front of the windows were mismatched, one of them evidently a replacement. The shingles were a bit ruddy, and the gutters were absolutely full of leaves. The lawn was overgrown, tall grass and weeds aplenty.
	Such was the house of a seventy-year-old gopher.
	Except not.
	She half-wondered if the Easter Napper had offed the old coot himself. Or maybe there was actually an elderly soul in there, senile and demented. How delightfully unfortunate it would be if he came across the girls, and thought to help them, but by the time he got to the phone he forgot why he was there.
	She dashed to the fence, and peeked at the house, out of vantage from the windows. Somewhere in that little house were six—possibly fewer—little rabbit girls, no older than she. Hopefully he was home; there was a chance he would be at work, but not usually on Saturdays.
	She snuck around the fence, behind the house. Setting her backpack down, she unzipped it, and pulled out a towel. She laid the towel upon the leaf-covered grass, and stepped upon it.
	She stripped off her shirt and shorts, revealing a purple leotard that was tight and snug against her body. Stuffing her clothes into her backpack, she then pulled out a pair of knee-high black stockings that, when stretched taught along her leg, were slightly see-through.
	She pulled out a plastic grocery bag, untying it quietly. Inside were a pair of red, sequined dance-slippers. She wrapped her sandals back in the bag, and found a spot for them back inside her backpack.
	She unzipped a side pocket, and pulled out her accessories. She tied a purple bow around the base of each ear, and a reserve one around the base of her tail—just in case. Then, she tied a pastel-pink bow-tie around her neck. It clashed a bit with her color-scheme, but it was all she had.
	A bottle of light-amber liquid was retrieved from the same pocket. Vanilla-scented perfume. She spritzed it on her neck, her wrists, and peeled the crotch of her leotard aside to get it on her mound.
	She put it back in its pocket, and stepped off the towel. Now that she wouldn’t get any debris clinging to her stockings, she rolled it up and stuffed it into her backpack. She walked her backpack toward a large tree a few feet away. Its trunk was thick, and even had a bit of a recess on the opposite side that her backpack fit nicely into.
	Finally, she went into her pack one last time to pull out a few pamphlets she had made at the library. Annoyingly, that was the most work she had to put into this whole thing, and they would be discarded rather quickly.
	She popped her fingers, and her neck. She did some last-minute stretches. Not to work through any nerves or tension; just to make sure she was ready to endure what was to come.
	She snuck along the fence again, careful not to snag her stockings on anything. She reached the edge, and carefully stepped back far enough to be out of vantage of the window. Then she skipped forward.
	She skipped along the sidewalk, and turned toward the house. Making like she was checking herself over, she then trotted up the walkway toward the door. The porch had several cobwebs in the corners, and a few withering plants in pots along the slab foundation.
	She rang the doorbell.
	After waiting a moment without any activity, she rang the doorbell several more times in rapid succession.
	From inside, she hard: “I’m comin’, I’m comin’!” Then, the door opened.
	”Hello!” She waved, smiling at the beaver.
	He was only a foot taller than she, a little guy, and had quite a beer-belly. He was currently wearing a stained wife-beater and a pair of dingy, gray, sweatpants that were loose. They slipped down on the right side of his hip, showing off the waistline of his underwear.
	”Whatchoo want?” He asked with a gravely voice, almost like he had just been woken up from a snooze.
	”Good afternoon!” She said with a slight curtsy, “My name is Trinity, and I’m here to tell you that my church is holding a Passion Play, and afterwards they are going to have an egg-hunt. Would you like to sponsor me?” She held up a pamphlet, and he took it; she noticed that he reached for it with his left hand. “You can sponsor me for one, three, five, or however many dollars you want to per egg I find. All the money goes to the church’s Sunday School program, in order to purchase supplies and materials to help us learn about our Lord and Savior.”
	The beaver squinted as he looked at the pamphlet. “The hell are you doing out here, girl? And what’s you wearing?”
	”Oh, this?” She spread her arms and looked down at herself. “This is just a little costume I threw together. And, uh… Well, I actually got a little lost. I have no clue where I am!” She looked behind her. “Could I come in and maybe call my mommy?”
	The beaver looked at the pamphlet, and tapped it on his hand. “Hm… Yeah… Why don’t you come inside. Maybe before we call your momma, you wanna hear a story from my dad? He’s kinda old, but he likes to tell stories to kids.”
	”Oh,” she clasped her hands to her chest. “I’d love to meet him! I admire the elderly so much, they’re so wise, and have such good stories to tell.”
	”Sure, sure, c’mon in,” he ushered.
	She skipped inside, and the front door squeaked shut.
	It was fairly dim inside. Only a few dull bulbs lit the rooms. “It’s so dark,” she remarked, stepping into the living room.
	”He has trouble with bright lights,” the beaver explained. “Why don’t you sit on the couch. Can I get you some water? Or maybe some juice?”
	”Juice would be super!” She said, and then covered her muzzle. “Oh, I’m sorry,” she whispered. “I should be quiet, huh?”
	”He’d appreciate it,” the beaver nodded.
	She took her seat at the couch. It smelled of crumbs and spills, likely where he ate all his greasy meals. There was also an ash tray on the table beside her, with several cigarette butts in it. The stench of the smoke was low-quality, like asphalt. Nothing like the cigars her father occasionally partook in.
	The lamp on the table with the tray was actually one stuck in a potted plant. She touched the pole, and the lamp went brighter. She touched it again to make it go brighter still, and then again to turn it off. With another touch, it went back to dim.
	She was fairly certain there was no oldie moldy in the house. Now that she thought about it, it was probably a fake identity. She looked him up but didn’t see him in the sex offender registry.
	She admired that about him. He was keeping a low profile. She traced back possibly seven years, across thirteen states. For a few months at a time, bunny girls went missing.
	He had slipped, though. Got too confident; too cozy with his routine. This was his longest stint with his shortest break, and the media happened to be astute.
	”Hope you’re okay with grape juice, all I got,” he muttered, shuffling back into the room.
	”I love grape juice,” she said with a smile, accepting the glass. She noted again that it was held in his left hand. She then took a sip. “Where is the old storyteller?” She asked.
	”Lemme check on ‘im. You drink up, okay?”
	”Uh-huh,” she nodded, holding the glass in both hands.
	He went off back down the hall.
	She listened, making sure he was actually heading off farther than just a few steps into the hallway; he did. He was likely off getting some things prepared for her.
	She drizzled the grape juice into the potted lamp, leaving only a small gulp at the bottom of the glass. Grape juice was often used to disguise the taste of medicine. It was a powerful taste, intended to overwhelm any other kind of drug that was mixed in with it.
	She listened for his footsteps, and used them to get the barest sense of the layout beyond the room. She gleaned from them that he had come up a flight of stairs, walked a few steps down a hall, turned, and came down the main hall to the room she was in.
	”He’s still waking up,” the beaver told her. “If you wanted to wait just a bit, he should come hobblin’ out here any minute.”
	”Oh, sure, I can wait,” she smiled, taking the glass and sipping the last bit of grape juice. “This was yummy, better than the grape juice I have at home.”
	”That’s cuz I put a little more sugar in it, just for you,” he said with a greasy grin.
	She giggled, and then made a show of a large yawn. “Hhhhhhooooooooaaaaah!” She smacked her lips. “Mmmh…” She slowly blinked. “Speaking of sleepy...” She mumbled, curling her legs up onto the couch. “It’s so nice and dark in here… Think I’ll just… Close my...”
	Her head gently thumped upon the armrest, and her breathing slowed.
	She heard the beaver’s muzzle wetly swallow, like a dog slavering over a steak.
	”Nightie-night, little princess,” he bid, with as much charm as a pile of rocks could muster. He stepped up to the couch, and lifted her, draping her over his shoulder, her rump facing forward. He nuzzled her bare hip, giving it a kiss. “You’re the sexiest little thing I’ve ever seen. Sure as hell came from a church,” he chuckled, opening the door to his basement. “An angel from heaven at my doorstep.”
	She floated above, like a ghost. Willingly detached from herself, she watched as if it was another girl he had in his clutches.
	He carried her down the steps.
	As soon as the door had opened, her ears picked up the sound of soft buzzing. It was familiar to her; she knew exactly what it was. There was also a foul stink in the air, of dried piss and excrement.
	Sophia was not going to enjoy giving her a bath after this one.
	She was lowered, set down on the cold, hard floor. Right away, her hands were seized, and he began tying them together at the small of her back with a rope. They were tied tightly, barely loose enough that circulation would go through.
	Then, her muzzle was opened, and a gag-ball was stuffed in. Thankfully, it was a special kind, with holes in it that her bucked teeth could fit into, and that she could breathe through. There was the sound of duct tape peeling from the reel, and it was wrapped about her muzzle, clenching it down onto the gag.
	Finally, he tied something about her eyes as a blindfold. Maybe a sock. Maybe a washcloth. Whatever he could find, probably. Once she was safely secured, he left her.
	”You done, yet?” He growled.
	There was a whimper, and then a sloppy, gushing, dribbling noise.
	”Damn. For a rabbit you sure have the runs. Need to eat more fiber. Get off, you’re done.”
	There was a grunt. Then, there were several muffled whimpers.
	”Well if you wouldn’t clench so hard when I fucked it, you wouldn’t be so sore.” He scolded her. “But then it wouldn’t feel as goooooood,” he growled, with a sultry, savoring inflection.
	She heard more whimpering, and then another couple of hums were added to the ones already buzzing within the room.
	”Well little ladies, you have a new friend. I’m back up to six, which means the rest of you get an extra day off. In fact...”
	She heard him stepping over to her.
	”I plan on her being my little Easter Bunny. She’s all dressed up for the part, too.”
	She felt his hand brushing over her chest, and down her tummy.
	”She’s got such a cute little leo on, and… What’s this?”
	She had to resist the urge to spread her legs when the crotch was pulled aside.
	”Horny little slut’s not even wearing undies. All you rabbits are the same. Why I love you bunnies so damn much.”
	One of the vibrating eggs was popped into her vagina.
	”Deep down, you’re all just little sluts, beggin’ to get fucked. She’s even getting wet right now, little whore.”
	For a second, she had thought her cover blown. But, he evidently was strong in his own beliefs.
	”No hymen,” he observed. “Probably cuz she tore it doing all those splits in this tight little thing. Should have her give me a performance.” He chuckled to himself.
	She exhaled softly as another egg was dryly pushed into her rectum. While the burning faded, her thighs were tied together, the slack of the rope fastened about her ankles.
	Then, the vibrators were both ignited, sent buzzing in her holes. The tone joined with the rest of the choir.
	”You girls give her a warm, wet welcome.” He told them, clattering the handle of the bucket that was likely their toilet. “Get her all warmed up for me.”
	His footsteps carried up the stairs. The door was shut, and there was a solid thud as a deadbolt was set.
	For several moments, there was only the sounds of buzzing, and labored breathing. There was an occasional rustle as one of the girls rolled over or squirmed.
	Then, someone started to moan.
	It was soft, and reluctant. There was bitterness; an attempt to hold it back. Then another happened. Though muffled, it was an earnest betrayal of her feelings.
	After a few more moans, the voice was recognized. It was most certainly Rachel, the most recent victim.
	The rabbit that pretended to be out cold from her drugged drink began to seethe.
	She was embarrassed.
	They had all decided to go to the park. One last run through the snow before spring came and melted it all away.
	She only went because her father reminded her she had to do something every once in a while to blend in. The other parents started to gossip if she and her sister declined too many invitations in a row.
	He hadn’t struck for a while. The fear was not as strong.
	Then, Rachel disappeared during their little game of hide-and-seek. The others thought she went home. She was one to throw fits and quit the activity before it was done, and she was a bit flustered she didn’t get to be it.
	He was there. He was somewhere there that day, and he had taken Rachel instead of her.
	The idiot.
	So she had to go through all of this trouble.
	Get the outfit together.
	Find out where he lived.
	Come up with the pamphlets and the excuse.
	All to do his work for him; show up at his door because apparently she of all the rabbit girls had a hard time getting abducted by him.
	She practically had to beg him to do it.
	What did Rachel have that she didn’t, that day?
	Well fuck her, now—figuratively, he already had literally, probably a bunch—because now she was there, and he had seen her light.
	Rachel came.
	It sounded painful. Maybe it was, for all she knew. It turned her on even more. She could hear the despair in her climactic howls, the slight sobbing that accented each moan as sour pleasure leaked from her pussy.
	Her mind wanted none of it, but her body responded to the stimuli as it was designed to do.
	Another girl then burst into commotion.
	She started to thrash and wail. A mental breakdown, likely triggered by the sounds of Rachel forced to her peak.
	Which of the girls was it, she wondered?
	Not the one that was currently panicking: the one that hadn’t made it this far.
	She distinctly heard him say he was back up to six.
	One unlucky one had either succumbed to the darkness, or he had an oopsie. Didn’t seem like he intended to kill them, unless maybe he did if he got bored of them or they broke.
	Discarding them like old toys.
	He seemed to want a girl to fuck every day of the week; maybe even more than one. That showed some amount of forethought. He wasn’t that mindless of an oaf; if he wanted the good times to roll he had to take some care of them.
	Not great care, by the sounds of it. Likely could barely take care of himself, let alone one other little girl.
	Another one got set off.
	Behind the blindfold, she rolled her eyes.
	Such saps. They played right into his hand; he enjoyed this. Probably listened to it through the door.
	One of the panicking girls started to near her. She used the generous leverage he had given her despite her bonds to turn about like a clock’s hands, so that her feet pointed toward the writhing girl.
	When she got near, she was kicked.
	That seemed to make her bottle it up again. Likely closed off and shut down, going back into her happy place.
	The other one eventually fizzled into pathetic sobs.
	Boo-hoo blubbered the bunny.
	She decided to recede, too. Keep from getting bored. She dove into another world, for a time. Like diving into a pool; even though she didn’t like to swim.
	A thud snapped her out of it, and sent her heart racing with excitement.
	”Hush,” the beaver barked, for one of the girls was sobbing. There was a fleshy smack and a muffled yelp, the girl kicked.
	She heard the footfalls approach her, and slowed her breathing.
	”All right my little Easter Bunny,” he said, his mouth sounding wet as a frothing dog. “It’s time for me to hunt for your eggs...”
	She was lifted by his meatloaf hands. They were sweaty and smelled of onions. He carried her like a princess, to his credit, up the basement steps.
	She could see the layout from before in her mind. They turned right, and headed down another hall, then turned left. A door squeaked shut; she felt the gentle draft as it closed.
	Then she was dropped onto a bed.
	The mattress smelled musty. It hadn’t been washed in weeks, maybe months. He likely didn’t bother. He probably loved to sleep in his deed mixed with their unwilled gushes. Marinading like a plump turkey.
	”Gonna warm up a little bit, first,” he said, with a heavy breath.
	Her head was held, and the fingers of his other hand peeled the tape off of her slowly.
	It stung when it started pulling tufts of fur out. Not even she could restrain the grunts of pain completely.
	”Now listen here you little fuckhole,” he snarled, squeezing her muzzle tightly shut. “If you nick me with those bucked teeth of yours, even on accident, then I’m gonna pull ‘em out. Or, if you try any bright ideas you think you have, well...”
	His hold around her head tightened, enough to make her see red against the darkness of her blindfold.
	”Then I snap your neck, like I had to with the other one.” He eased the grip. “You don’t talk, or make a sound louder than a moan. No point, anyway; the room is proofed, and no one’s around to hear it. So you just be a good little girl and please daddy.”
	With that, the gag was tugged out.
	Before she could even take in a full breath, his penis replaced it.
	”Suck on it.”
	It was floppy, still.
	She had to fight her instincts. She didn’t want to show her hand of experience; she had to play the part. She was an innocent, pure little girl who was just now getting violated.
	She squeaked and gagged.
	”I said suck on it!” He growled. “Suck on daddy’s cock like it’s your baby bottle.”
	She obliged him.
	He didn’t taste as disgusting as she was preparing herself for. It was a bit oily from his unwashed pubes that tickled her nose. There were a few flecks of smegma that she wound up clearing away. One bit got stuck in her throat, and she had to swallow a couple times to get it down.
	Though her mouth was dry, she did begin to salivate. Her spit soon took over the taste and texture of him, masking it. If even just a little.
	He started to get hard. He was actually pretty small, even compared to her young muzzle. Even at his full erection, he barely tickled what would have been her gag reflex—if she had one.
	She had to fake it.
	”Don’ good, baby girl,” he hummed. “Give it a moan or two cuz you like it,” he told her, reaching to grab her under the chin, and feel her throat.
	”Mmmmh...” She obliged him.
	”Yeah… Don’t worry, it’s big but I know you can handle it, little cocksucker.”
	”Mh-hmm...” She squeaked.
	”Lick it like a lollipop.”
	More like a mini tootsie-roll.
	Regardless, she treated him with her tongue. She pretended to fumble around, rather than going right for the soft spots of every man and boy. She was aware of his heart-rate from his erection, and it was starting to hasten.
	Once she felt he was getting lost in his pleasures, she started to drop her act and began working him. She was in control, now. She receded on him and suckled near his tip, and when she had him back in, she ran her tongue along the top and around the head, flicking the flange of his glans on either side.
	He grabbed her by the throat in both hands, and began to muzzlefuck her.
	She relaxed. Though the other girls likely struggled, feeling threated by his hands about their necks, she had no worry. He was keeping her still, not intending to harm. She just had to let him do his thing, give him a moan every once in a while and suck on him as he drew out.
	She barely kept herself from laughing as his balls slapped her chin, and when his belly pressed against the bridge of her nose and brow as he leaned over her, working towards his peak.
	”If you puke you eat it back up,” he warned amidst his breaths.
	Good. He was interpreting the puffs of air she failed to restrain as retches and gagging. As long as he lived in his happy little world, she just had to wait him out.
	He started wheezing as he neared his peak. It was so earnest and frantic, small whimpers and groans mixing in. He was really having to struggle. It was almost cute how pathetic he was.
	At last, with a moan that sounded more like he had just spilled milk all over his macaroni art that his mommy had told him was the best thing she had ever seen, he hit his peak.
	It trickled out of him like snot from a stuffy nose. It was thin, and watery. Not even that bitter, just salty. Like lukewarm gelatin.
	She swallowed it. There was nowhere else for it to go and it wasn’t like she enjoyed the taste. It came with the territory, was all. She would bear with it, as she always did; it would be worth it.
	He panted.
	He sounded exhausted. Wet huffs escaped him like he was breathing through syrup.
	His noddle went wet almost right after, shriveling up before he pulled it from her mouth. She was gagged again right away, this time without the tape.
	There was a small clattering as he grabbed for things nearby. A soft flick of flint. The flare and sizzle of paper lighting. He sucked in, and then blew out.
	His breathing began to relax, like a baby’s once suckling on his mother’s tit after a tantrum.
	The smoke was foul. Fresh-laid tar smelled more appealing. But such was her palate, which was treated with the more delectable aromas of cigars.
	The bed hardly bounced as he sat back upon it.
	She sensed his hand near, and then his touch was upon her. His stubby fingers rubbed her leotard, wrinkling it beneath their pressure. She was petted, clumsy strokes.
	Then, they went to specific places of indulgence.
	The straps of her leo were pinched and tugged, teasing the elastic of the fabric that fitted it tightly to her body. Fingertips drifted down the lane of the strap to the torso proper, and began roving over her chest.
	He sought out the nipples that stood pert amidst the relatively flat contour of her dormant breasts, still years to go before rousing from their slumber.
	His thumbs pressed them. Rubbed them. Let off and then gently lighted on them to lean them as much as they would in all directions.
	By now, the cigarette was snuffed, and he was using both hands.
	He rolled her onto her back. She had to awkwardly fold her feet beneath her rump and widen her knees to be able to lie in a way that was—well, not comfortable at all, but relatively more than not.
	”Mmmmmm...” He hummed with delight, lifting her chin up with his knuckles as he gazed over her body. “You’re such a sexy fucking Easter Bunny,” he complimented, his other hand touching her tummy, seeking every inch of her. He slid down to her crotch, resting a finger over her concealed vulva, that was now somewhat presented since her knees were parted.
	He felt the vibrations that trembled in her loins from the eggs he’d stuffed in her.
	”You’re a good little slut to wear such a tight outfit,” he growled, tracing the elastic trim that settled in the crease of her thigh. “Shows off those fuckholes nice and pretty.” He slipped his finger into her stocking. “And these keep me all focused above ‘em. Like your legs ain’t even there.”
	She spasmed, a tickle of delight throbbing between her legs.
	”You’re gettin’ me all worked up again, you little whore. You know I can’t help it when you get all sexed up for me like that. Guess I’m just gonna have to fuck you. Think I’ll even leave it on.”
	She let out a whimper, which he no doubt interpreted as fear.
	The crotch of her leotard was pulled aside, and the warm puffs of his breath tickled her moist, downy fur. She heard the crackle of his spit when he opened his swampy muzzle, slimy slug of a tongue stumbling out to lick her tender petals.
	She squirmed, still wanting to give him the impression she was the victim. His tongue wormed its way into her, touching the vibrator that stirred her insides. He suckled and slurped, coaxing it to move that way instead of just pulling it out.
	Fuck. She was going to have to get daddy to do some of this shit to her. He would most certainly have better skill at it than this grub.
	At last the vibrator slipped free. Then, her knees were parted wider. The green-bean between his legs butted against her like a blind mouse finding its way back into the hole it chewed. She grunted with frustration, knowing that even when it got the cheese she was still going to be dissatisfied.
	Finally, it found the hole.
	He let out a cooing moan. “It’s so soft and warm in here. I could die right now and be happy.”
	Idiot, don’t spoil the plot.
	He grunted as he landed atop her, his belly molding around her petite form. “Don’t worry, I know it’s big but you can take it all. It might hurt a bit, but you’re a trooper for daddy. Letting him fuck you when you’re all sexy like this.”
	He started to hump.
	If she was any older, this would be like trying to stuff a turkey with an uninflated party balloon. She was getting more excitement from the lack of oxygen she was getting, due to him lying on to p of her like a sunbathing whale.
	He didn’t so much hump as he jiggled inside around her a little bit. He started to wheeze, taking breaks every few moments to catch his breath.
	What the hell were the other girls so afraid of? Shame they were probably traumatized from penises by this. The real crime here was how this shitstain ruined their opinion of the penis. If only they had the opportunity to experience what a truly skilled penis could do to their slutty little cunnies and tailholes.
	They would be melting with pleasure, instead of how she was melting from the grease he sweat on her.
	”Mmmmmh...” She groaned.
	”That’s it… C-Cum with daddy,” he panted, before his hip-shimmying went still and he pressed his gut against her. More little whimpers escaped him as he hit his peak.
	She had groaned in relief at seeing a light at the end of the tunnel. She was about prepared to dive into another world just to pass the time.
	His runny semen dribbled into her temple, defiling it.
	She wasn’t looking forward to the yeast infection it was probably going to give her.
	He shivered above her, trying to draw out the orgasm as long as he could. But at last, it faded, and he went limp atop her.
	Her knees started to burn from the strain. That wouldn’t do. He wasn’t supposed to be dead weight, yet. She squirmed, trying to wriggle out from under him so that her knees could relax.
	Thankfully, he rolled off of her and onto his back. “Just… Need a nap… Then… I’ll fuck that little ass...”
	She recovered her breathing, waiting for the sting in her muscles to subside. That had been the real test of her limits, but thankfully she had done enough stretching that she didn’t splinter.
	She waited for several minutes, recovering.
	He had started to snore.
	If there was one thing she was thankful of, it was that he had decided to leave her dressed, including her bows. She was also glad she had tied the one around her tail, as it was well within reach of her fingers.
	She found one of the ends, and pushed her thumb to it. The razor-blade sewn within cut the seam, and slipped out partway. She negotiated it into her hold, and began working it along the ropes.
	The twine relented easily enough. She had to use the very corner, and kept the sounds of the snapping strands as quiet as she could.
	First the strand that linked her wrists and ankles was severed. Then, when her wrists were free enough, she untied herself.
	She fought her arms’ tendency to want to go back to that position. Even with practice, it was still an odd instinct she had to work past; and now, she had to work quickly, but move slowly.
	Free from her bonds, blindfold, and gag, she untied the ribbon from around her tail, coaxing the razor-blade from its compartment. She looked to the beaver, whom had exhausted himself fucking.
	Of course the jerk didn’t even cuddle afterwards.
	She poised, kneeling beside his head. In a flash, she gabbed his chin, lifted it, and the blade dug into his flesh. There was a soft crackle as the cartilage of his trachea was nicked in the process of his jugular and carotid severing.
	He stirred, and rightfully so, sputtering as pain and warmth burned in his neck. His muzzle was covered, and he opened his eyes to see purple consuming his vision.
	She straddled his face, the crotch of her leotard pulled aside. She ground against him vigorously, batting off his attempts to get her off. When he got particularly aggressive, her fingers dug into the hole she’d sliced into his neck, and that made him docile again.
	Her breathing went erratic. She only had a few moments left. His body went limp beneath her, and then the last, weak draft of air from his rotten maw drifted up to her.
	”Ooooooh daddy!” She moaned, her orgasm igniting. She curled around his head, fiercely shuddering. It was so long since she felt this good, she even squirted.
	But, just like his worthless life, the pleasure faded all too soon.
	She took only a moment to recover, before rustling to motion.
	She wiped the blood on her fingers off on her leotard, and pulled the vibrator that was still buzzing in her butt. Aftershocks made her pause as they worked through her sensitive parts.
	She pulled off her left dance slipper, and pried up the insert. From beneath, she retrieved and unfolded a latex glove. It was turned inside-out, such that when she put it on there were fewer traces of fingerprints.
	Now, she was on the clock.
	She took off her left stocking, blood stained on the heel and inner-leg. She placed it on his stomach for the time being, and scooted forward on the bed, putting her left dance slipper back on. She set it on the ground, and balanced on the one leg.
	His clothes were strewn about the floor. She found a pair of his socks, and put them on—they didn’t match at all, but for her purposes it didn’t matter.
	She went out into the hallway, walking briskly, and using her gloved hand to touch all things. She found a door that went out to the back, and slipped out.
	It was dark. She had been there for at least eight hours. Judging by the moon it was solidly between midnight and dawn. Thankfully, he kept the inside of the house dim, so her eyes were well-adjusted to the night lighting.
	She went to her backpack, and peeled off the rest of her clothes. She compressed them into a zip-lock bag, and then retrieved more, along with several other pairs of gloves, and cloths. She put on her sandals again, just to have something on her feet when walking through the house.
	Still nude, she slipped back in, and made her way back to the bedroom.
	She began cleaning up the scene, coming up with a little song, to the tune of one for the upcoming holiday, to entertain herself as she did.
	”Oh, the Easter Napper is gonna die, today,” she sang, plucking her slippers and stocking and putting them in her clothes bag. “Better look out, cuz Trinity’s comin’ your way.” She used one of the cloths to wipe the beaver’s face, cleaning off as much of her fluids as she could, though she would never be able to get it all.
	”So update your will and notify all of the news.,” she began wiping off his genitals. “And hope that your end will go smooth.
	”The Easter Napper is gonna die, today,” she stuffed the cloths in the bag, and then picked up the razor blade that was on the bedsheets. She then held the beaver’s chin, and turned him to face her “Just for you, I've sharpened up all of my blades.”
	Just then, his sphincters gave out, and he pissed and shat himself.
	She giggled, and hopped off the bed.
	”You've been takin' little bunnies,” she sang, her steps bouncing into the hallway. “No doubt fuckin' ‘em like mad; Cummed in every hole that they have!”
	She stood before the door that led to the basement, and undid the deadbolt. Her sandals clapped against her heels as she made her way down the steps, guided by the dim, naked bulb that dangled from wires taped to the ceiling.
	There they were, the five previous victims. Vomit, urine, and feces stained the cement ground where they lay. There were little motes of light as flies were caught buzzing about.
	She quietly approached one of the girls that was not Rachel—for Rachel was the only one with black fur—and rolled her onto her back.
	She whimpered, confused and alarmed.
	”Sh...” The rabbit whispered, taking the razor blade into her left hand. “I’m gonna set you free, okay?”
	Another confused whimper, but an excited one. She started to grunt and squirm.
	”Hold still,” she hissed, pressing the victim’s head down.
	The girl breathed so loudly her nose whistled. Then, she felt a pressure on the left side of her neck. The next second, pain shot through her body, and warmth trickled out onto her shoulder.
	She cried and squealed, writing about when she was let go.
	”If you keep still, you’ll live a little longer,” the rabbit whispered, approaching the second girl. She wasted no time, for she was still on the clock, and sliced the girl’s neck.
	Now with a duet of cries and screams of pain, she sought to make it a choir. The next victim must have caught on that something wasn’t right, she squirmed and struggled against the rabbit’s efforts. But all this resulted in was a few mis-cuts, and then the pain convinced her to not move.
	Her blood stained her whit fur so beautifully. If only the light were brighter to see by, and there was time to appreciate it as it spurted from the artery.
	The fourth was broken. She didn’t even seem to register what was going on. She remained catatonic when her neck was cut. She was blessed, for she would have a peaceful ending.
	Finally, came Rachel.
	She grunted when she was kicked.
	”This is all your fault, y’know.”
	The first girl began to lightly sob, before she went quiet.
	”Because of you, these girls had to suffer longer. You could have stayed home. Or you coulda left like you usually do. But no, you had to hide, and pick a dumb spot where he could find you instead of me.”
	Even with the blindfold concealing them, the rabbit could see the look of realization come to them.
	”The Easter Napper is gonna die, today,” she sang, as the next girl bled out. “Don't fret gals, cuz Trinity's comin' his way.” She pried up the blindfold, and let Rachel see. “So dry up your tears and let your hearts be soothed.”
	The black-furred rabbit’s pupil, large and quivering, looked to the girl that she knew.
	Trinity could see her reflection in them. She set the blade against Rachel’s neck.
	”Cuz someone will come find you soon!” She sang, drawing the blade across with the line.
	She covered Rachel’s eyes with the blindfold again, and stood, leaving the girl alone for her last moments of life.
	The rabbit redid the deadbolt, and went back into the room. Hopefully the blood didn’t quite congeal. She cussed when it had, but did her best to coat the razor in it, and then set it down by his left hand.
	She gathered the blindfold, gag, and vibrators that he had used on her. They would make nice mementos of the occasion; not many left her with some to take home.
	She went back out into the hall, and made one quick detour back to the living room. She used a cloth to wipe the pole on the plant-lamp, and retrieved the glass that she had gotten her mitts all over. She then scoured around for the trash, to find all the pamphlets she had printed out, accounting for all of them.
	She slipped out the back into the night once again, and went back to her backpack. She stuffed everything in, and stood up.
	Very quickly, she ran through the checklist a few more times, to make sure she had done everything right and accounted for as much as she could. She couldn’t eliminate all evidence, but considering one of the girls wasn’t present, they would likely attribute any mysterious fluid or evidence to her.
	The girl had escaped while he was sleeping. He found out. So he went down to the basement and killed each of his current victims, then went back into his room to kill himself.
	Perfect.
	She went back into her backpack one last time, and pulled out a pair of sweatpants, long-sleeved shirt, beanie, shoes, and cover to put over her backpack—all black. She would be invisible as she made her way to the nearby rendezvous point, where her daddy was waiting to pick her up and take her back home.
	She slipped her backpack on, covered it up, and looked back at the house once more. She smiled, and said, before skulking off:
	”Happy fucking Easter, everybody.”