As they cut deeper into the festering heart of suburbia, Bob let Fluff fiddle with his radio - something he usually never let anyone do under any circumstances. He followed the cub's barked-out directions, pulling off the main street and down a quaint middle class neighborhood lined with trees. At the end of the street, still a good ways away from the boy's house, Bob eased the brakes, reaching across Fluff's lap to pop the heavy door handle for him.

"Out ya go."

After some hesitation, Fluff's footpads touched down on the concrete. He turned his baby blues back on the bear in the darkened cabin.

"Thanks mister."

"No problem."

"Um... so..." Fluff fiddled with one of his ears - something Bob immediately knew he'd enjoy seeing from then on. "Do you... uhh... live around here?"

The bear shrugged. "Pretty close. Short drive."

"Will I ever see you again?"

"Why?" the man said, leaning across the passenger seat, threads of smoke curling from his nostrils and the corners of his lips. "Do you want to see me again?"

Fluff nodded solemnly. "It's a pretty long walk from my school," the cub lied. And Bob knew it was a lie too. If he was right - if his was the school Bob was thinking of - little Fluff probably walked to and from school every day. "So if you wanted to, like... pick me up, or whatever... that'd be cool."

Bob's eyes narrowed to teasing little slits. The boy was trying to sound so nonchalant. 

"Heheheh... didn’t think yer mom wanted you taking rides from strangers.”

Fluff thought back to what he'd said before. He grimaced, seeming to regret his choice of words. "I-I won't tell her!" the bunny squeaked defiantly.

Somewhere far away, audible to Bob's ears only, a slot machines reels landed on all sevens. "Well... who knows?" Bob churred with a dismissive shrug of the shoulders. "I really only go down that street every once and a while. Found a faster route not too long ago. Less traffic. But..." he took a long drag off his clove cigarette. "... like I said, you never know. Might see you. Might not. Maybe I'll stop. Maybe I won't."

A fog of disappointment clouded the bunny's face. The bear reached across the center console, grabbing the boy’s heavy book bag with two fingers and holding it out to him. 

"Here. Don't forget these. Fuck knows I don't want 'em. Haven't needed books since I dropped out of 7th grade."

And just like that, the door closed with predator on one side and prey on the other.

As he backed into a nearby driveway and turned around, Bob caught the boy's sad gaze in his side view mirror. Priceless. He pulled off, his van slipping out of the cul-de-sac like a half-hard cock dislodging itself from a battered asshole.

For the duration of the ride home, the van was conspicuously silent. Bob almost missed the kid’s frantic energy. He certainly missed glancing over at that perfect little ass nestled into the plush leather of his passenger seat. Fluff’s fur was still bright and downy as the day he was born. His arms, though toned from playing sports and roughhousing with his friends, were still squishy around the edges with baby fat. His tummy was rotundus. . . as had been the two perfectly spherical mounds filling out the slippery fabric of his track shorts. God… Bob could have bounced a quarter off that ass and gotten a dollar in change back.

Reaching out a hand, Bob rested his palm in the divot that had once occupied the boy’s rump. It was still warm. 

He sighed, propping his elbow up on the windowsill and massaging his temple. This was by far the hardest part about his hobby: the slow burn. The erection he’d been nursing off and on since the bunny had first came into view was now jutted painfully down one pant leg, demanding his attention. 

Arriving at the seedy Best Western he was holed up in, Bob let himself into his 2nd floor queen-size smoking room. He made himself a bowl of tomato soup in the microwave and ate some crackers. He cranked out 100 curl-ups and an unholy assload of burpees. Then he booted the old Dell and rubbed one out to some vintage early-2000's Jenna Jameson. 

Much later, once he’d showered, Bob’s meaty fingers impatiently thumped the writing desk as he waited for Google Maps to load. The hotel WiFi was being a bitch on stilts.

When it finally did, he searched for elementary schools in the local area. He was right - there was only one, and it was so ridiculously close to where he’d dropped Fluff off that he had no doubt the boy walked to and from school each day. Then, pulling up the school’s website, the bear searched around and found the let-out times. 

Remembering his own stint in elementary school, Bob knew that the kids who rode the buses usually got turned loose a little earlier than the walkers. So he guessed 3:15-ish, 3:20-ish would be a nice time to be in the area.

Thinking on the matter, Bob thought he knew of a side street right off the turn for the school - a little nook skirting the side of a stretch of cafes and department stores which would go amiss of anyone not looking directly down it. The perfect vantage point to stalk his prey.