Nicole blinks herself awake, slowly. Her eyes draw the grass all around her into hazy focus, the dewflecked blades pleasant and pretty in the morning light. She whines at the crick in her back, but when she goes to stretch, finds her motions restricted. Indeed, lying on her breasts and her belly, she finds her wrists are crossed ahead of her, tied securely to a stake she is unable to uproot. And the crick in her back is explained easily by the way her ankles are bound - far apart, it would seem, and about two feet off the ground, each. These, as well, she is unable to move. Even her tail is bound, snugly secured to the small of her back by a band around her waist. She yawwwns slowly, and attempts to lift her head, the better to assess her situation, only tp have it forced down again; a massive hand-paw spreads across her cranium, pushing her chin back to the grass. "Umn?" "Oooh! She is risen." The voice is crooning and low, belying its buoyant energy. Nicole's eyes swivel up, so far as they can, but she can only dimly make out the outlines of two colossal, white-furred spheroid breasts juddering high overhead, their ruddy pink teats just visible against the delicate blue of the dawning sky. The young vulpine relaxes her eyes again, looking towards the horizon. The sun, it seems, is directly behind her, which means the interloper is providing her with excellent shade. The toes of the pawfoot on her head retreat, slowly, trailing down her slender neck, and onto the space between her shoulderblades. Where am I? Who are you? Why am I tied up? What did you do with my clothes? What are you going to do with me? All she manages is, "What is this?" "Why, Nicole, I'm surprised at you," the unfamiliar voice comes back. The massive foot slides off to the side, coming to rest near one of her shoulders; its twin settles near the other, she can feel. "It's Easter." Any further questions will have to wait, because the vixen's prostrate body now meets its inevitable fate, which is to say that a treetrunk-sized bunnydick slung under the four-legged body of this lapine interloper is now tucked under the base of her upturned tail. Nicole is nobody's virgin, but this is something of a big ask, just the same, that juggernaut bunnycock slowly coaxing her puckered hole to splay, out to its maximum diameter, and then beyond. The vulpine's breathing deepens, gradually, unable to do much but panic; though she quickly finds that deep lungfuls of clover-scented air ease the discomfort of the sodomy she now receives. Indeed, her pert pink vixencock rises lazily beneath her as she holds the grassy scent in her lungs, despite the extremity of the intrusion into her flesh. Her first climax is wrung forcibly from her as the end of the rabbit's cock pancakes her throbbing prostate gland. "Gnh," she manages, cheeks flushing as her thin, salty efflux hoses down the grass beneath her, warm fluids spattering her bare belly and under her sweet little tits as well. Then the back of that flaring bellend finishes entering her, and she comes again; thicker this time, ropier glutter coaxed up from her dainty little nuts, spraying vigorously as that illimitable virility cruises into her guts. Nicole's vision grows hazy as the titanic lapine above her makes her suit; the low, crooning voice mingles with hers, as the panicked sweat and musky spunk mix with the grass. She gasps and pants, swaying in her bonds, finding rhythm in this position, even as the love being made to her undertail pushes her navel all the way to the ground. It helps too, that she can't stop cumming, rampant bunnyslop running down her taint and the backs of her nuts as the she-buck covering her begins to grow properly aroused. The tempo rises, steadily. "Hunh," another ejaculation, and "Hrrrh," another. Her tender, overworked prick strains in spite of itself, until the sweat-hot caress of the grass on her skin is enough to drive her off. Her plumped-up nipples dig pointedly into the dirt, much of her body's weight distributed onto them. "Agh," and again, she nuts off, her body drenched in her own sticky ecstacy. The press of the bunny's grassdragging watermelon balls to the insides of her spread thighs is enough to roll her eyes back in her head. Her bellybulge surges and flexes as she is so deeply dominated by her better, the colossal fourlegger masturbating with the climaxing vulpine fuckdoll as much as fucking her. Those seething nuts churn and gurgle, and the insensate vixen rides a wave of ideation to another greasy, empty climax, her pert little seedtanks utterly taxed, her cumstewed brain dreaming of what the refill will be like. And when it does arrive, the bunnygasm is still not what Nicole expects; not just a glurge, a spew, or even a gush, it is an explosive jet of white-hot seedslop driven into her slender body's cockswollen belly. Lectures on tauroid physiology aside, she flushes brightly from ear to collarbone, feeling her bunnybroken hole gush nearly as much spunk backwards as she takes forwards, and after about four multigallon gushes of lapine liquid, she feels it glurching up out of her throat. She claws the grass uselessly, eyes squinched tightly shut. Her ears flatted tight to her skull, she tries not to think about the river of spunk pouring into her guts, or the firehose blast erupting from her gaping muzzle. Her voice is a drowned, desperate gurgle, cumbubbles blowing off her lips, onto to pop over her face. The sun grinds slowly into the sky as the tender-bodied vulpine is reduced to a cumrag, her own sticky complicity in this foul act matted steamily to the fur of her stomach. As she shakes the ropy sleaze off her chin, spitting and blurking it free enough to draw another breath, she finds herself coming up shorter and shorter; with her eyes gunked shut from all the cum, she can only barely muster the brain cells to surmise that her tits have been swelling. Moreso, then, when a particularly vicious thrust crashes into her swollen, wobbling rump, and the pressure behind her nipples breaks, twin streams of milky relief gushing into the soil below. She licks her face clean, again and again, struggling to work her tongue past the her swollen lips, to clean the shortened, broadened muzzle beyond, her flatted ears adhered to her shoulderblades, sticky with sweat. ----- Nicole sits bolt-upright in her bed. The red-neon glow from her window pours through the gaps in her closed venetian blinds, cutting red scars across the bedspread and floor. She peers suspiciously at her shallow-breasted figure in the darkened mirror of her vanity, and at her alarm clock, blinking twelve, and at the sticky gunk still spurting weakly from her flagging erection, clinging to her neatly-trimmed pubic ruff. Her dainty feet settle carefully to the floor, as though still expecting some treachery, and she pads to the bathroom to at least towel off before trying again to sleep. "Get a hold of yourself, Nic. It's just Easter."