Easter Bunny

Easter Bunny

Boyd entered his home, dressed in his standard business suit, holding his briefcase. As he did every weekday at 6:30PM. He stood in the entryway after quietly closing his front door, and simply waited for over a minute. This pause was not something he did every weekday at 6:30PM.

He stepped over to the shelf near the floor where he deposited his shoes every day. But his steps were slow, deliberate. As though he was concentrating on how to walk. That was not something he did every day, indeed, was not something he’d ever done before on coming home from work.

He put his shoes in their spot. Next to them was the space for his briefcase, as always. He paused again. Then turned towards that spot, and placed the briefcase there gently.

This had him positioned facing the door. As he turned around to begin to enter his home, she was there grinning . He began crying immediately. She pointedly laughed, standing with hand on hip, her yellow latex outfit tightly wrapped around her thighs, tummy, shoulders and arms—leaving her tits and pussy free for viewing. In her other hand she held a long crop, which she now lifted up to his face from her stance several feet away from him.

“Why are you cryyyying?” she asked in mock concern, slapping his face sharply with the crop. “Did daddycuntslave think daddycuntslave was just dweeeeaming last night?”

“Darla please,” he cried between heaving sobs. Now she hit his face with the crop hard enough he clearly would have to explain the bruise tomorrow.

“What the FUCK did you call me, cuntface?”

“Yesterday was, that wasn’t, you can’t mean…”

She slapped him even harder in the same spot. “I can do this all night, you know I can dad.”

He held his face with his hand where she had hurt him. He took a breath and said what she demanded to hear. “O Daughter and Master of My Cock, This daddycuntslave dishonors her Breathlessly Beautiful Tits and Almighty Pussy, by begging to speak.”

“Nice!” she exclaimed. “You’ve been practicing. Go ahead.”

“I will never tell anyone what you did to me yesterday,” he began, “but you can’t… we can’t…”

“Shut the fuck up.”

He did in fact shut the fuck up. She had the pictures from last night. She had managed after long efforts which hurt him a great deal to force him to smile, while she pretended to cry. If she decided he was no longer worth toying with, his next destination would be to jail, framed for raping his own daughter.

“Raping his own daughter” was a particularly backwards way to describe what had actually happened.

“In uniform,” she said. He hesitated, and she now did walk up to him, grasp his shirt in both hands, and rip it open, ruining it. “In fucking uniform cuntslave. God you’re fat.”

He wheezed his despair as he removed his shirt. Cried, “please no no,”, answered only by the crop on various parts of him, as he removed his pants. He wailed in front of his daughter as, at her “encouragement,” he removed his socks and underwear, standing naked in front of her.

“God damn dad, even worse than I remembered.”

His face burned.

She reached down and stroked his cock. He squealed again, whimpering like a kicked dog. He knew not to speak. Grinning up at him—her head came about to his shoulders—she whispered “Getting hard again, daddy cuntslave?” He was, and she now squeezed his testicles until he yelled. Only then did she back away, landing a few blows across his body as she did.

“Well, get the uniform,” she said.

He reached down to his briefcase, his daughter continuing to rain her stinging crop slaps down on him as he did so. He opened it, and from a side compartment, removed an old pair of bunny ears. He placed them on his head.

“Now hop!” she laughed. “Straight down stairs!” and, crying ‘hoppity” with every hop, he did exactly what he was told.

As he carefully hopped down the stairs into the basement his awareness flashed back to the night before. Darla, visiting from her dorm room across town, hugging him affectionately and passing him drink after drink, then showing him the bunny ears, introducing the game they play at college, hopping as fast as they can from one end of the room to the other with their hands cuffed and feet tied together, him thinking it weird but always being a sweetheart to his beautiful daughter, agreeing to play, her going first, hopping across the room in ten seconds, him going next, feeling the cuffs go around his wrists, his feet become inseparable, and he stands against one wall while Darla laughs and laughs, and he grins foolishly as he begins to hop and she immediately pushes him over and begins cutting off his clothes.

At one point in the horrors that followed he begged her to tell him why she was so angry at him and as she continued to invade his asshole with god knows what she whispered in his ear, “Nothing at all, you were an ideal father, daddycunt. I always knew you loved me, and I knew I could depend on you, you disgusting fat filthy mancunt.” He understood that she meant it. He had done nothing wrong. She had simply dropped what he now knew to be some kind of deep pretense. Had taken her moment to strike. And now she was his daughter master with breathtakingly beautiful tits and her almighty cunt, and he was nothing to her. He came to realize this while sobbing in a panic while she raped his ass with her strap-on.

Now in the present they were back in the basement, where she’d forced him to go last night. She didn’t have to force him to lay on the heavy oak table, nor to submit as she tied his torso down, his legs tied ridiculously splaying up into the air and bent back over his chest. She had won completely with her little pretend rape picture gambit. He could see no way out.

She spent hours alternatively whipping his balls, biting his nipples, teasing his cock, pissing on him, shoving things in his ass and so on. There was no end to her appetite, it was clear she could go on all night, perhaps for days. All the while she reminded him of how fat he was, how disgustingly hairy, how his dick was comical, how he smelled bad, how he was pitiful for letting her overpower him. Ruthlessly mocking him and punishing him for continually getting hard, despite himself, whenever she did anything remotely sexual to either herself or him.

She stopped to go upstairs for a few minutes, he supposed for water and perhaps a bit of food for herself—none for him at the house, ever ever again. Before leaving she had taken him off the table and left him cruelly and severely strappadoed in the middle of the basement floor, his arms raised up behind his back to a degree of agony that felt like the prelude to his arms ripping out of his socket. He screamed at his highest pitch begging her not to leave as she left. When she did come back she left him there still for a long time, whipping his legs and ass, and repeatedly letting tight weighted clamps tug and pull and ultimately fall off his nipples, over and over. She seemed to find his continuous screams satisfying.

Finally she let his arms down and he collapsed to the floor. She pushed him onto his back with her heel, and stood straddling him. As he held his shoulders in his hands weeping in agony she got down to her knees, still straddling him. “Okay cunt slave, time for you to pop my cherry.”

Even through the agony he was suffering he had the wherewithal to try to scoot away. “What? No!” he cried. “I can’t do that, please don’t make me do that Daughter Master of my Cock!” he babbled. She simply looked down grinning at his fully erect penis.

“Your little plaything seems to disagree with you” she said winking coyly.

“No I don’t want this!” he yelled as she began rubbing her pussy against his cock. His daughter’s pussy, his cock, her completely in control, him in agony he could never have imagined, physical and spiritual.

“I’m just kidding,” she said and he had the foolish gall to start to be relieved at her withdrawal of the imminent gift of her pussy. She slapped him. “I’m not actually a virgin of course, obviously.” Then she began pushing her wet cunt onto her daddy cuntslave’s dick.

She laughed while he blubbered. “You’re already so gross, crying like that makes it even worse.”

He yelled. “IF I’M SO DISGUSTING WHY ARE YOU FUCCKKINNG MEEEHHEEEEE?”

She didn’t say anything for a bit, just working on her own pleasure as she used his plaything like a sex toy. He involuntarily thrust once or twice and she grinned, “You KNOW what I’ll fucking do to you if you cum,” she said.

He had no idea what she would do, and did not care to imagine much less experience it.

Finally she began to tense up. “So I’m fucking you,” she said, her quivering becoming more intense, “and I hate,” shudder, “fucking you you disgusting…” quake, “retarded bitch,” a tensing, a freezing. “But I know… ggahaaaa!” and she was lost for a few seconds. Finally she breathed and looked him in the eyes again. “I know that hurt you more than anything else I’ve done to you yet, and that makes it worth it.”

He sniffled and nodded his understanding. “Yeah?” she grinned. “You get it?” He just kept nodding, barely aware he was even doing it.

“Now I’m going to hurt you even more,” she said. And she started pumping again. He realized what she was going to do.

“Fuck me,” she said. “I don’t get up until you put your disgusting little babies inside me, DADDY,” she said into his ear. As he began thrusting upwards, whispering “please stop,” she continued.

“I mean don’t worry,” she said lustily, “I’ll kill any of your babies that actually take root.” She now bent down while fucking him and began licking his nipples. “Gross you’re salty dad,” she said, grimacing, but continuing.

As he came into her pussy, she bit his nipple so that his scream was as much of actual pain as it was of pleasure and spiritual torment.

She grinned at him. “Good for you?” as she slowly removed herself from his cock, then scooted up, placing her pussy directly over his face.

After using his face as a cleaning rag, she returned her face to his, and kissed him, deeply, not as a gesture of love but of mastery. He made no move to resist whatsoever. Having finished with this final bit of fun, she got up and went to the stairs. “Lights on or off?” she asked as though doing him a favor. He said nothing.

“Off then,” she said, and left him there on the concrete floor to sleep as best he could, in pitch darkness. He fell asleep finally to the sound of her girlfriends having a cute little girls night. He could have easily shouted and been “rescued,” but what then?

He fell asleep, his fat hairy body resting on a hard floor slick with his various juices, snoring like a pig.