The Erotic Mind-Control Story Archive

Wearing a business suit with the shortest tightest jacket and skirt combination possible to intentionally traverse the edges of acceptable office attire, Bunny Darbie kissed a bare chested blonde and pushed her back onto the floor.

The blonde was too shocked to speak or fight back against the straddling petit interloper, who was a foot shorter, but very determined and confident.

“We should close the door,” whispered Darby. A quick leaning reach followed and the office door slammed shut. “Now we’re alone.”

“But, but…” said the blonde, holding her naked breasts with one forearm while trying to push Darby away with other hand, “I’m not gay.” Her black high heels dug into the carpet as she pushed back away from Darby’s body.

“You’re so cute. But remember. You called me for help. Right?”

The blonde reflected for a moment in confusion with a look that said she didn’t know where to start. “No one will believe me.” She needed help so badly. Shame filled her soul. “I put on the Bunny costume, like the one you had. God it was good. So so so yummy. I wore it all weekend, but now since last night, if I take it off, another grows in its place. I have a stack of ’em at home—all different colors. It electrocutes me each time it grows back. It’s like a punishment for not following its will.” Her head nodded frantically as she remembered a solution she found. “Oh yeah! I made a deal with it. It doesn’t talk, but I think I made a deal with it.”

“Ooo,” coed Darby, not really interested. “What did you promise it? Did you beg?” She smiled now, somehow enjoying a secret she wasn’t about to share.

A startled look flashed on the blonde’s face. She skipped the taunting questions. “I barely got to work on time this morning. It allowed me to wear a dress. It’s like it’s got’ta personality of its own. I had to leave on the undergarments though, but then somehow my dress started falling apart by noon. The pieces just fell to the floor. Thank god you came here so quickly. I have no clothes here. Only my shoes are left. I’ll be fired. The board meeting’s in a few hours. And now it, it…”

She looked down at her half naked body, letting her arm fall away, revealing her boobs. A waist cincher covered her midriff stopping just under her breasts. Tucked beneath the laced boning, two layers of pantyhose shimmered in Moiré patterns as her legs were forced open while Darby pushed herself between. The outer shear tights added a dark smoky tint. The inner shear hose added a barely noticeable nude color. Under the cooling silky slipping hosiery that Darby’s hand stroked, two intruding plugs held deep inside.

The blonde didn’t seem to notice Darby kissing her bare shoulders or Darby’s long light brown hair cascading down brushing over the goose bumps—the office AC was on, or the fingers pinching the nipples. The blonde skipped all that. She focused on a bigger issue.

“Dildos grew inside me,” confessed the blonde. “Look—I mean, you can’t see them, but…” The blonde extended her neck to stare over her chest. She viewed her own crotch while she pressed a thumb against the pantyhose, stretching them down and inside. ”If you press here, you can feel the end of a dildo just under my clit.”

“Don’t worry, I’ll touch there too. Hm, yes there is something in there. Hm. Wait a sec. Hm. Yes. Do like when I do that? Is it big?”

“And there’s one in the rear. I couldn’t remove ’em.” The blonde paused. “Oh no. It’s happening again.”

“Shhh,” said Darby. “This is what I’ve been craving. I’ve had a bad day. Mmmm. I can feel the energy around you.” She took in a deep breath. “Isn’t it wonderful?”

“Watch,” said the panicked blonde. She squeezed her eyes shut in preparation. “It’s happening. Rrrrr. It hurts.” Her hands flew to grab her head, but then hesitated with only a light touch near the hair. She wanted to firmly grab at her scalp, but previous experience taught her avoid interfering. She didn’t want to anger the costume.

A baby blue satin covered headband suddenly grew from nothing, pinning down a part of the blonde’s trusses. Satin ears grew upwards and curled forward slightly. The blonde moaned as electrical shocks covered her body.

Darby closed her eyes and happily sighed. In fact, she hummed. “I love feeling it happen to someone. It’s best if they’re new. Maybe…” She looked at the ceiling thinking. “I get off on the fear and desperation. I’d rather think it’s because I can mentor them—help their eager to learn souls.” She looked back down and smiled. “Nope. Desperation and panic gets it for me.”

The blonde breathed as if in labor. “It’s. Like. It’s. Punishing. Me,” moaned the blonde, with a plosive push on each word while trying to whisper in a confidential office voice, but the pain was too much. A matching colored satin shell grew across the cincher and covered the blonde in a strapless bathing suit. “Not again.”

Darby showed a caring pity as she gently stroked the blonde’s face. “This light blue is pretty on you. I like it. Wear it tonight—you’re place. Unless you want to play maid, then mine. I’ve been busy.”

“See?” said the blonde, waving her hands over her satin covered body. “Oh no, the necktie really hurts.”

A white shirt collar with a black bowtie magically appeared around her throat. Her wrists suddenly had white French cuffs and cufflinks. Her feet now had matching faint blue colored high heels. The black shoes were gone now. With a lift of her rear, she pulled out a large cottontail from underneath. She looked terrified, not because of the sudden magical exhibition, but because she probably shouldn’t have pulled off the tail she found herself sitting on.

“Oh god,” exhaled the blonde. “I’m going to be punished for doing that.” She looked away from the plush white ball and gave a wide-eyed plea to the woman on top. “Help me.”

Darby silently kissed and then sniffed down the neck and across the two mounds of flesh pressed up front and center by the pastel azure satin Bunny costume.

“But, but, I told you, I’m not gay.”

Darby smirked. “You don’t have to be silly girl. It just helps to periodically scissor a woman now and then—ok, every two days is best. That’s all.”

The blonde’s breasts heaved as she struggled to breathe. “What’s happening?”

“You need sexual energy. I brought you a dress, by the way—for you to use this afternoon during your big boring board meeting sales pitch whatever. Wouldn’t want you to lose your cute little executive jobbie now, huh? Shh.” An index finger pressed on the blonde’s lips. “You just need some tender loving and then you can strip down to the cincher again. I’m certain the dress will fit. A little affection gets you a few hours time-off from being imprisoned in an internationally famous, degrading, objectifying sex-symbol. I still love it though.” She shrugged her shoulders like it was all so trivial. “It’ll be decades before you’ll every take off the cincher and hose. Unless you’re really slutty. Tell me you are one of those. You know what I mean. Mmmm. Say it—even if not true.”

“But how will I. You know. Ew.”

“Shhh,” said Darby, kissing again. “Too many questions. No worries about the bathroom. We don’t eat food anyway. Now relax. Just feel.” She rolled to the blonde’s side and with one hand reached under to the zipper. With a long draw down towards the hips, she unzipped the blonde’s Bunny suit. That hand then pressed up on the back, lifting the blonde’s rear an inch of the floor. The other hand pushed down between the legs, the forearm rubbing, as the fingers found the zipper tab. She finished opening the satin shell. With a firm grip on the suit’s crotch, Darby pulled it like a handle. She stared between the woman’s legs while slowly sliding the heavily boned corseted shell down the legs and over the baby-blue closed-toe high heels. She loved how during the first tugs, the edge of the bra cups tried to hold the erect nipples inside for a second until the flesh popped free.

“I love your Alice blues,” said Darby, talking about the satin costume being set aside. “Aw. Are we lost down the rabbit hole?”

The blonde’s brow furrowed. “What have you done to me?”

“Made you my little slutty sex slave quickie afternoon delight, of course.” Darby hiked up her skirt and straddled a thigh. She slid up the leg until both women’s buried intruders met. “We’re going to help each other now and then. Eventually, you’ll manage on your own, making your own network of fuck buddies. But let’s be clear. You’re mine.”

After escorting Electra to an elevator, the Purple Bunny assistant immediately returned to Nathalie’s office and unexpectedly found a latex clad woman crawling on the Oriental rug.

Nathalie handed over a leash. She felt perturbed by the situation and with visible agitation checked her dark brown 1960’s style bouffant hair in a mirror, then her lipstick.

“Mistress, um uh, who’s this?” asked the assistant. “How did she get here?” The Bunny looked around thinking about Grandma and the German Shepherd. A realization showed on her face: is this the dog?

“A former Bunny,” answered Nathalie. “Electra knows we can’t talk to her directly—probably thinks we can’t even read the poor thing’s mind either, but we have to try anyway. Rub her. Do it right here, right now.”

“Yes Ma’am.” Without hesitation, the Purple Bunny closed the study’s oak door and kneeled down in front of the confused upright sitting puppy girl. Pressing her satin covered breasts against the puppy girl’s latex cast chest, the assistant concentrated in silence for a moment.

The puppy girl awkwardly retracted her hands up against her shoulders to make room for the Bunny’s contact. Pulling her rubber covered head back and aiming it to the side so her extended snout wouldn’t hit the Bunny’s face, the puppy made a baffled look up at Nathalie.

“Stay. Heel,” said Nathalie.

The Purple Bunny began to grind their chests together in short up-down motions. Despite the added brisk series of breast rubbing, the costumes refused to talk to each other.

“Nothing,” said the Purple Bunny.

“Rub her arse,” ordered Nathalie. “Both of you, in line. Hurry up, girl. Move!”

The latex girl allowed herself to be posed so her head, elbows and knees were pressed down to the floor. The action invoked a pet’s instinct to raise her derriere up high, making her hindquarters more ‘available.’ The two obedient girls pressed their rear-ends together, sliding soft satin against shiny veneer.

Nathalie watched, thinking of the intruding dildos worn under her own costume. She could feel both deep inside her body. The two girls on the floor dry-humping each other, almost tribbing really, would be forcing their dildos in deeper. Every Bunny had the intruders. Surely the former Bunny, now a puppy girl, still had hers too.

Feelings of envy began to overwhelm Nathalie. Her costume wanted to join in. The thoughts and longings were pushed into the her mind. She expected that. Her costume loved this stuff. But she knew the importance of keeping her control. Regardless, holding back the rush of magical desires sapped her willpower. But no, there wasn’t time for such pleasures. As the twerking continued, Nathalie started a mental teasing game between her mind and her costume’s lustiness. The satin soul urged for participation. She denied it. Not fully satisfying to the supernatural wants, Nathalie’s strong mettle forced a duel of wits to be the only redress for now. Joining in on the rubbing was so tempting though. An aura of danger surrounded the puppy’s costume. Trepidation helped Nathalie suppress the flow of naughty desires.

A few minutes passed. Twerking turned to desperation, shown in the wider more frantic moves of the Purple Bunny’s derrière.

For the mistress Bunny, holding back and just staying on the sidelines became excruciating. She so wanted to kneel down and play, go wild. She could have done so much better than her assistant.

“I’m sorry my mistress,” said the redheaded Bunny, “but her costume is silent. I see, that is, feel and hear absolutely nothing.”

“Lick her out,” said Nathalie in a perfectly controlled tone that hid just how badly she wanted to push the assistant away and do it herself despite the dangers.

“What?” protested the assistant.

Nathalie’s stern look meant the worst was true.

The Purple Bunny turned and pressed her nose along the seamless crotch, right between the butt cheeks of the puppy girl.

The silent fetish girl responded, quickly adding an exaggerated Cirque Du Soleil contortionist curve to her spine, pushing her shoulders even lower to the floor, and stretching her arms further along the carpet: all done to press her essential spot of ecstasy into the Bunny’s face.

The licking began. The latex suit eagerly cooperated, allowing the Bunny’s tongue to sink deep inside.

Nathalie watched closely, crossing her arms and leaning back against her desk—all to keep control of herself and her lustful costume. She knew exactly what the Bunny would experience. Hopefully the assistant had been practicing or else this could go so very wrong. The latex would want more. It would invade the mind. The Bunny would have to govern the magic.

The assistant Bunny cringed her eyes when her tongue somehow passed through a new opening slit in the latex that wasn’t there a second ago. She could now taste the puppy girl. But the redhead didn’t hesitate. She continued to lap her tongue over the clit and around the borders, feeling the base of a dildo like those typically installed in all Bunnies. She started to steal images from the puppy girl’s mind. With her tongue still fully involved, she awkwardly talked with the lisp of a dentist’s patient shot-up with Novocain and a mouth stuffed with gauze. “I, um, see Wunny Maria.”

“Who is she—this puppy girl that is? And get in deeper. Really get her motor going.” Nathalie moaned in her mind: mmm, yes get in there you dirty girl. She flinched at thinking such distractions. Control. She had to control herself.

The assistant Bunny pressed her tongue in and stroked around the folds in what was hopefully the right spot. Her white Bunny shirted cuffed wrists raised up along the shimmering thighs. Her hands grabbed the gleaming hips to get a firmer position. The assistant struggled to talk. “Twisha, a Berkwalley wohst wrad woodent.”

“Trisha, a post-grad student from Berkeley,” repeated Nathalie. “Good.”

“Wunny Waria. Wastoom.”

“Bunny Maria. Costume. Keep going. What is Bunny Maria doing? What costume?”

“Whe wis.” A few more licks were added and the Bunny’s tongue seemed to get stuck.

“She is—what?”

A look of alarm and some hand waving followed. “Welp.” One of her white French Cuffs flung to the floor. Its cufflink rattled about near-by.

“No. No. Keep talking,” said Nathalie, getting angry that the Purple Bunny was making so many mistakes. After all, why even bother to train if you aren’t going to use the knowledge correctly? Nathalie huffed: the dumb dolt. So much teaching and coaching going to waste. Other Bunnies would have killed for such mentoring.

“Wut the watex. I weel the watex!”

“I know. I know. You can feel the latex. Your costume might change, but keep talking as long as you can.”

“I w-on’t want woo wee a wuwwy wirl. Welp wee.”

“Hurry you fool or you will be a puppy girl. Tell me more. Focus. You can get back on track. Follow your training. Push her fetish away and keep yours.”

The Bunny pressed more of her tongue inside around the spot its glued tip stuck. Tears formed in her eyes.

Nathalie calmly said, “I promise to have you mounted in the museum. I won’t dare let you feel helpless and trapped. I promise. Now keep talking. You don’t have much time. Describe Maria’s house and where it is.”

“Wuppy wirl, a wawn wor Wunny Waria.”

Nathalie translated to confirm. “The puppy girl was just a pawn for Bunny Maria.” She motioned for more information, especially when she noticed the purple satin costume turning to latex. The sheer smoky dark tights also turned liquid black. The Purple Bunny ears flopped down morphing into latex sheets hanging to the sides of the licking girl’s head. The shiny sheets rounded in shape become oversized floppy beagle-shaped ears. The cottontail deflated and sank into a molten black tar that smoothed over the rear-end leaving a perfect mirrored car finish. The assistant’s panic probably prevented her from noticing just how fast her transformation progressed.

“Hurry,” said Nathalie. “Give me some real details.” The Bunny costume disappeared. The accessories were changing now as the liquid spread over the bare shoulders and down the arms. “You idiot. Think!”

The morphing Bunny’s bowtie fell to the floor and began to unwind its knot like a snake sliding its curves over itself.

The girl honestly tried. She strained her mind. She focused her thoughts for a moment as her high heels merged with her latex covered legs, forming calve hugging boots. “Wait, Westhnuth weeth. Wu-whee-wour-wour Wes Wue-wee.”

“Did you say, 2-3-4-4 Chestnut Street?”

“Wes. Wow welp wee, wrease!”

“We could have found her Cow Hollow place soon enough. She hasn’t been exactly hiding that. Try to picture any other place this girl was, with lots of women, or the first place she saw Maria. You have to focus.”

“Wrease! Wunny Wathawie,” said the tongue-glued girl, trying to pronounce her mistress’s name. The assistant’s eyes implored. Latex surrounded the dark eye shadow. Her hair disappeared under a smoothed scalp, painted in a perfect reflecting finish. Desperately she pulled her face away stretching her tongue out to its limits from the magic converting her so fast.

“Waiy!” She stopped pulling. She could see a single image. “Wirst Wank of Wankerwisko.” She looked up for approval. Then searched hard for it. Then hoped beyond all hope for it. Did she do well? Then she concentrated and said as clearly as she could, “Preese—Wunny Watharie! Welp mwe!”

Her face suddenly pulled free of the girl’s behind. A smooth black leather dog snout grew, covering the center of the former Bunny’s face. It hid her nose and mouth. It was built with a thick leather sheet rounded over into an upside-down box with metal rivets holding the folds to form a triangular doggy nose. Straps crawled the face, one growing between the eyes, others searching along the sides to reach around the head. One-inch in width, the belts held the floppy ears and doggy nose accessories tightly in place. Short stubby whiskers, three on each side of the nose, grew out to complete the caricature of a dog’s face. The ex-Bunny rolled across the floor shaking her head fighting the transformation. Black liquid covered her body head to toe. Her gloved hands groped and grabbed at the head straps as she tried to peel them off.

As the assistant writhed and turned, stretching, pulling, and bending her body; her neck extended just enough for Nathalie to see under the snout. The girl’s red human lips showed underneath. No gag. Black liquid coated the chin and around the mouth, but left the lips untouched. Still the assistant wasn’t speaking. Despite the terrified thrashes of her body, there were no screams of panic. She wasn’t even grunting. The fetish prison denied her from uttering a single sound, as she rolled around on the floor in a bought of complete terror. The fetish had taken her over enough to isolate her in a world of puppy loving behavior. She silently struggled until she fell face down. She just stopped moving.

Nathalie stepped forward, leaned over. Had the girl suffocated? Passed-out? Maybe the costume was too much. Shit. Now she’d have to train another assistant. That would be three in a hundred years. Unacceptable. Or was it four? She looked back down keeping a distance until the latex activity waned and stopped its want to transform women. Danger surrounded any contact. Nathalie gave a gentle touch with the tip of one of her high-heeled deep blue pumps. She stepped over the body. Another gentle kick followed with a disappointed huff.

The original puppy girl cowered away from the ruckus, scooting herself across the carpet with her frictionless varnished body making the slide effortless like she was on ice. She slammed against a bookcase and curled-up into a ball, hiding her head under her hands. Her snout peered out from under the oversized floppy beagle ears.

The new puppy girl did not move for a full minute and then jerked her head up with a deep breath. Her head searched to see where she was. The fetish activated. It took her. She calmly sat-up, posed her gloved hands in front of her perky breasts, and posed her body like a begging dog. She helplessly pulled her shoulders back pressing her perfect rubber coated breasts forward. The shape of her erect nipples added protruding bumps under the shiny black seamless surface wrapping her rounded mounds. She silently corrected her posture to rest her weight on the back of her new dark finished high-heeled boots. A brief lift of the rear for a second allowed her to wiggle her hips.

Nathalie noticed no tail though, but the hip wiggled still looked cute. Her redhead assistant never look so fuckable. The thought startled the head Bunny, who felt a little guilty for thinking sex at that moment. No, Nathalie vowed: there would be no guilt for the assistant’s transformation. Her assistant was the one who blew it. So much psychic coaching that other Bunnies could only dream to learn, an advantage almost guaranteeing eternal life, and now it all sat on the floor wrapped in a sheen of tar.

“Blast it,” said Nathalie.

Anyone who knew the redhead could read her eyes. They would see just how badly the kneeling ex-Bunny wanted to speak, to plead, to beg for mercy; but each attempt was answered by her body motioning with a slight butt lift off the back of her heels and a brief cute sexy degrading little wiggle. This happened several times. The girl wanted to scream, but her body only had one answer for her: and then it happened again: she silently wiggled her butt once more. She was a puppy girl now and forever. She would never be fully human or pass as a normal human or speak or listen to humans. Soon English would fade from her mind. At least that was the theory. No one could confirm it though. Amateur mind-melds resulted in more puppy girls.

The regret faded from Nathalie’s thoughts. Tisk tisk. Her mentoring had helped the redhead to pull out some images. It should have provided protection too. Maybe studies on puppy girl thinking could have followed. Too bad.

“You’ve been very, very good,” said Nathalie, walking to a fireplace mantel and pulling an embroidered sash hanging from the ceiling. A faint electric bell rang in the background. She gave the first puppy girl, who was still curled-up on the floor, a swat in the rear and a directing finger-point that the creature should sit with the new latex girl. Through the door, sounds of high heel clicks could be heard ascending the large marble staircase.

Bunny Nathalie took a deep breath and felt a little relief. It had been a tough week for her after all: very stressful in fact. She ignored the two puppy girls and sat in her executive swivel chair. Her cottontail protruded through the hole in the chair’s lower back. She rotated the raised right armrest down into position, threw a long leg over it, and pondered the facts while she swung her dangling leg back and forth. What should she do? Which step first?

The two puppy girls performed some more eager butt wiggles and each gave little doggy whimpers.

Nathalie was surprised at the whines. They actually could make vocal noises after all. Interesting, but nothing under their own control probably.

“Yes Mistress,” said another taller, even prettier, redhead in a red satin Bunny costume standing at the door.

“Bunny Reddie, have Meredith take these two down to the kennel cages in the basement. Oh, and call the museum. Have the librarian set-up a new trophy case. I want these two stuffed and mounted under glass before the weekend. It’s just too cruel to leave them like this.

The puppy girls wiggled happily, but inside they must have been panicking. Hearing “stuffed and mounted” probably didn’t help, but Nathalie had more important issues than thinking of sympathetic or diplomatic statements for girls who would never participate in any human discourse ever again—short of sex. Hmm, sex. She reconsidered keeping them. But, no. The imprisoned misery they’d suffer in between giving and receiving orgasms would be far too cruel. Yes, frozen forever just seemed the right thing to do somehow.

Bunny Reddie found a leash on the floor and clipped it onto a collar of a puppy girl. Reddie was oblivious to the fact that a short moment ago the leather strap had grown like a sprouting seed from a Bunny bowtie. A metal dog tag was the next item she picked-up. A Bunny cufflink had given itself over to the puppy costume to form the dog tag. Pressed into the metal plate were the words: “My name is: DUCHESS.” Reddie saw the other girl already had a similar tag. She turned back to the untagged puppy girl, kneeled, and attached the metal to Duchess’s collar.

“Come-on Duchess,” said Reddie, rubbing the floppy ears affectionately. She noticed a white Bunny cuff on the floor and almost reached for it.

“Leave that,” said Nathalie. “Odd that didn’t change. Don’t touch it.”

Reddie nodded. “Come-on you cute little rascal.” She read the other dog tag: JET. “How cute. Come Jet. Come.”

Jet stood once she felt her leash tugged. Somehow the costume made that known to both girls that firm tugs from an owner gave permission to stand. Reddie gave the leashes another yank and sure enough the girls responded in unison by raising their hands in front like begging eager little pets.

Reddie gently jerked a third time, signaling a forward march. She led the two girls out to the hallway.

The new puppy girl, Duchess, gave a look back as she neared the doorway’s threshold. Her eyes sadly pleaded. She paused for a second while her leash briefly went slack.

The look touched Nathalie’s heart—for a brief moment anyway.

“Don’t worry darling,” Nathalie said. “Mommy will make certain you won’t feel a thing when we pose you—not a single thought or feeling of time will pass. I won’t allow it. You have my word.”

The pet waggled her butt repeatedly, obviously trying to talk. A yank on the leash pulled the latex girl away.

Now at least, Nathalie knew where Bunny Maria met some of her Bunnies and possibly where her headquarters was too. Apparently home base was on Mission Street, the First Bank of San Francisco. It wasn’t even a bank anymore. A clothing store for women had taken the space over. Nathalie felt encouraged by that fact. It was something Maria would do. But it was suspicious how this information was obtained. It cost a Bunny, but still, maybe Electra thought a puppy girl could never give away any knowledge—or did Electra know a Bunny mind meld might work? That bitch probably did know and also knew the cost to obtain the information too. She probably laughed knowing Nathalie would have to sacrifice not just any Bunny, but one with some psychic skills in melding with costumes. Electra hated Bunnies. There was also a possibility that Maria sent a Bunny to be caught in the first place.

Nathalie took a moment to reminisce about her lost assistant, who had been adequate at best, mediocre really. Nathalie had scolded the girl for not studying harder. She had warned the girl to never think about another costume’s fetish during a session. A single thought opens the doors to being taken over. Oh well, not her problem anymore. She thought about Electra again—now that bitch was a great fuck—that is before they caused that Earthquake and burned down the city so long ago.

Hours later, Jet pawed at her new doggy cage door. A steel water bowl sat inside the cage with her. It took a long silent elevator ride from the penthouse down to what must have been a basement and then down a second elevator to a sub-sub-basement. She pawed some more. She didn’t know this building. The former Bunny, now transformed into Duchess, probably knew where they were. Could puppy girls talk, at least to each other? She had only known Bunny Maria’s small Bunny-world and now she knew of another Bunny hutch existing. How many were there out there?

She whined and whimpered. She wondered: had she done that or had the costume taken control again? And where was a clock? A windowless room and a mentally draining day, not knowing a simple thing like the day or time irked her. She crawled around in her cage barely high enough for her to stand on hands and knees. In her periphery vision she could see her black mask’s edges cut open for eyeholes. She could feel the suit’s tight slender waistline cinching her tummy. She hated the snug stiffness around the arms, legs, shoulders, and how it all made even crawling around inside her small cage difficult. She had to bend to pace around inside the cage. The suit’s stiffness resisted that. Along with annoying crinkles and squeaks when the suit rubbed itself, the suit tormented her. It acted like a prison shrink-wrapped to her body.

Her eyes crossed, looking at her snout. The damn thing blocked her view when she tried to press her eyes near the cage door. With each attempt, her head awkwardly rotated because of the nose. She wanted to see what was around her, to the left, to the right.

Damn this nose.

Her fists pounded into the blanket folded and laid flat on the floor. The suit made her crawl about, pacing. She wanted to hit the bars. Her hand swatted the door. She was surprised the suit allowed her to have any say in her movements. With another angry swat, her right glove snagged on a bent piece of metal. The latex ripped across the forearm. The bare skin showed underneath. No scratches, but the suit, once ripped, kept tearing so easily.

Was this an out? She pawed at it. The suit fought her and then her arm burned. The suit punished her with electrical shocks to the point of almost knocking her out. It was clear that she should be more careful. She cringed and watched as the rip healed itself to a smooth finish.

There was no out. This suit was a part of her now.

Staring out through the bars, she could see an opposing wall of cage doors like a pet store might have. Every unit was empty, except for the one of holding Duchess, who slept silently inside. The mind meld must have burnt out the former Bunny. For Jet, the mind meld felt so good, better than sex. She whimpered and thought: please send another Bunny to read her mind.

To the left of Duchess, a large metal door, large enough for a truck to drive through, slid open and crashed to its stopping position. The door, painted pristine white like the rest of the kennel room, contrasted greatly with the adjacent dark dirty furnace room revealed behind it. Jet strained to see off into the dark corners. Like a dessert mirage, she could see some Bunnies playing shuffleboard on the cement floor. Other Bunnies in silhouette against the furnace light, pranced about, stopping to massage each other, sometimes to make out.

Two twin bunnies, entering the cage area, struggled with the weight of the door. They tried to close it, but gave up. Donning matching orange costumes, their giggles echoed as they turned and click-clacked their heels into the Seven-Eleven fluorescent light flooding the sterile kennel room. It seemed that the cages were tucked away in subbasement where no one would find them. It was like all hope was lost.

Jet wondered if her life would pass in a cage watching the world go by as her costume eagerly forced her to into different sexual positions. Would she be whored out till the “stuffing” and “mounting” mentioned for the coming weekend? What did that even mean? Stuffing?

“Hurry,” said the first twin Bunny. “We’ve got to get back into our cages.”

“Nathalie thinks we’re too, too dumb to live upstairs,” said the second, pushing out her lower lip in a childish pout.

Jet’s costume took over as the twins approached. It wiggled her ass. It pawed the cage door with her hands. It whimpered, using her own vocal chords against her will. It went into full “puppy time mode” and took full control of her body. Her mind was disconnected from her physique and thrown into the back seat. The rubber drove now. She couldn’t stop her puppy actions. Her body betrayed her even more and acted all excited and happy when one of the twins took a moment to bow with hands propped on the knees—putting her cleavage nicely into view.

“Aw,” coed the Bunny, “Bunny F! We’ve got a new friend!”

“Shut-up, Bunny C! No way! It’s a doggy girl,” said the twin with a bow of her own, full cleavage displayed.

Jet’s body wiggled with the costume’s own utter happiness. Jet, the person trapped inside, was so detached that she started to think of other things while her body performed all its puppy girl nonsense. Who were these Bunnies anyway? What was Nathalie up to? Will Bunny Maria do anything to save one of her own, even if a pet now? Was it too late to be saved?

“She’s so, so friendly,” said the first Bunny, now opening the cage door to touch and caress. “So smoooooth.”

“Oh! Her cage door has a name on it too, just like our cage doors. Let’s see—oh my—she has more letters than us.” She pronounced each letter slowly with great concentration, “J. E. T.”

“Wait I got it, Jeh-something.”

“ET’s a movie!”

“Shh. Hush. No, it’s Jay. Jeh?”

“Yeah, that’s it. Jeh. Jeee. Jey. Ji.”

“Jet!”

“I was going to say that.” She playfully hit at the other’s bare shoulder. But maybe it was too hard. They stood on their knees facing each other in anger, then forgiveness, then a deep longing for love.

Jet found her head surrounded by two sets of bullet bra’ed breasts aimed right at her.

“Hug me,” said the Bunnies in perfect unison.

They reached their arms out, pressed their boobs together and squeezed Jet out of the sandwich. One Bunny cupped and patted the other’s ass. The other squeezed a cottontail.

Jet wanted back in, but then saw the first’s nametag was labeled “F”—maybe it was something to do with her low IQ, F—as in failing grade. Jet then saw that the second tag had “C” for a name. Two more identical blonde orange bimbos entered the kennel room: Bunnies “E” and “A”—quadruplet blonde bimbettes! Wait. F meant sextuplets. Amazing! Jet’s latex covered body went into a frenzy when Bunnies E, A, F and C joined together in petting her. With orange satin all a round, well-rounded breasts wonderfully strained the limits of their orange satin costumes. Jet watched her body being hugged and rubbed as the Bunnies tugged and spun the pet in place on the waxed floor as each took turns, some even kissed. The puppy costume posed the body it wrapped to ready itself for more petting—a butt wiggle got added periodically to the gleeful delight of the bimbo airheads.

Another Xerox-copy blonde Bunny entered, nametag K. Another followed, Bunny M. Jet counted the alphabet letters out in her head up to M. There are 13 identical bimbos! Then a Bunny Y entered with a Bunny CC and Bunny BB.

When the Bunnies stopped playing with the puppy girl, Jet got enough control to position her head to look around at all the animal cages built into the walls three levels high. Her ground floor cage had two more above it. So many stacked columns were to the left and right. She saw an orange Bunny climb into a second level cage, closing her own metal barred door with a locking click.

“Come sleep with me,” said one Bunny to another. Two clones quickly climbed into a cramped coop together. Jet wondered how they managed to fit. The idea of being spooned by one set of the pillowy breasts thrilled her. How could she get a Bunny to cram inside with her? She whimpered.

“She’s cute when she makes a puppy wuppy noisy woisies,” said Bunny M.

Jet felt an orgasm approaching. More petting please. The puppiness went into overdrive. Jet’s eyes half closed as her body trembled. The Bunnies’ hands stroked and one even started to rub the upper inner thighs, probably sensing the sexual build.

The attention ended suddenly when the lights flickered.

Bunny Meredith yelled from the doorway, flipping the light switches on and off as if ending intermission at a theater show. “Cages, girls. Cages. And get that dog back in her cell!”

“Yes, Bunny Meredith,” said the Bunnies in unison.

Jet whimpered. No! I’m so so close to release—lovely release. Please! Bunny Meredith, whoever you are, order a Bunny to join me in my cage!

Several hands slid Jet’s body in a spin over the smooth floor. Her head got pushed down, her body pushed forward. No! Not the cage! The words stayed in her head. Nothing was spoken. Speech was hopeless. She tried to resist, but the Bunnies shoved her deep inside the kennel. A smack followed on her shiny rear as a Bunny giggled and locked the door closed.

No! Her mind fought the latex prison. A hand raised, almost under her control. It tried to salvage the sex with just a quickie masturbation, but the suit refused to let the hand touch. No! The suit only wanted others to touch it. Now the hand only pawed at the cage door, as she watched the orange satin costumed idiots struggle to open their own prison doors and climb inside.

One Bunny actually stared for several minutes at her lock and suddenly realized the door had already been left wide open. That realization further confused her. Another moment passed. She finally gave up and climbed inside.

Bunny Meredith clicked the lights off, stepped out into the furnace room, and with all her weight, slammed the huge door shut. Chains rattled on the other side.

In the darkness, a high pitch voice said, “Good night Bunny M.”

“Good night Bunny AA,” said another helium airhead.

“Good night Bunny”—

“ARF! ARF!” interrupted Jet, protesting the choir of idiots. She surprised herself with pushing out a couple barks, until she realized it was her costume begging for love. “Arf!” It wasn’t her at all. It was the carnal.

During the sunset, hours before any bimbo Bunnies caged themselves, a limousine cruised the highway passing through Oakland heading south towards San Jose. It would later travel up the peninsula towards San Francisco, stopping at Nathalie’s penthouse. Normally the limousine would simply pass through the city, cross the Golden Gate Bridge, and complete the loop around the bay, returning the same night to the ranch in Marin County. Tonight, it would stop at the penthouse to leave a dumb bimbo passenger riding in back.

Hidden from the world behind tinted windows, Bunny Chauffie, dressed in a pink satin uniform, including a pair of pink satin ears that brushed the car ceiling, navigated down the highway. She looked back at her cargo, Vivian—now transformed into another Bunny Candie. The chauffer hoped that maybe this bimbo might gossip and say what Nathalie’s top secret project involved. At the ranch, the nerdy Bunny Meredith mentioned that it would be best that this mindless girl be near Bunny Nathalie, who could coach the clueless wit about restoring some IQ points. The lab Bunnies said they had concluded a barrage of tests, but that’s all they would say. A day earlier, Chauffie had driven Vivian to the ranch. The resulting transformation now sitting in the backseat was scary. It was clearly wise to avoid any orange costumes.

The driver pressed forward, entering the town of Fremont. She added a few more ganders in the mirror at Bunny Candie.

With each glance, the dits waved madly back. The rapid arm movements jiggled her breasts. The bimbo then covered her eyes, quickly uncovered them, and covered them again. She snickered with few intermittent cute little snorts. She actually tried to play peek-a-boo.

Chauffie shook her head. No, there was little hope that the once smart law student survived the orange costume. The driver pondered the mysterious event planned for the coming weekend that got Bunny Nathalie in such a fit. It was all so hush-hush.

Staring ahead and ignoring the childish game being played behind her, the pink Bunny played her own game of stop and go. She liked rush-hour traffic. It moved slowly and allowed her to sense in more depth the other costumed girls around the Bay Area. She felt pride in her unique gift, sensing and knowing where every costumed woman resided. It took years to develop her gift. She fed off sensing others. She didn’t need to eat or drink, as long as she drove the loop everyday and mentally sniffed down the magical sluts sexing it up in the Bay Area. Her costume required a daily fix. Otherwise it would loose contact. Before she knew it, she had become the chauffer: Bunny Chauffie.

As she drove through Fremont, she felt several furries a few miles away. Normally, they stayed-up in wine country. She concentrated as she moved the limousine into the right most lane of the highway to slow down a bit more. Rush hour traffic started to open and speed up, but she wanted more time. As cars zoomed pass at 80 miles an hour, Chauffie stayed to a legal speed limit of 55. She sensed the furries to be deer girls with human forms altered with antlers and hooves. It was their look that could have become the Playboy Bunny costume had the magazine gone with the name Stag instead of Playboy. But why were the furries so far south? Strange.

The seductive eyes of the chauffer looked into the rear mirror at Bunny Candie. Another happy zany wave came back. More jiggle followed. At least Candie was pleasing to look at, but the ditsyness was too much.

Bunny Chauffie raised the motorized tinted glass separating her from the passenger section. She returned to scanning for costumed women as the car passed through the suburb of Milpitas, where a group of French Maids tended to the fantasies of Silicon Valley millionaires. Bunny Chauffie twitched her buttocks sensing the paddling some of the Maids were receiving somewhere a couple miles to the west. Some other Maids were riding some clients in another house further away. With an increased focus, she could narrow any costume’s location down, especially with a map in hand. Her mind synchronized with the French Maids, but then the paddling sensation was becoming too much with every stinging slap. She broke contact.

A month ago, she remembered sitting in a covert delivery truck driving around San Francisco. Nathalie had ordered her to sense for Bunny Maria’s hutch.

“Come on Chauffie,” said Nathalie, as the truck took another cross road. “Feel the costumes call out to you. Take in their sexual energy.”

“I sense them, Mistress. I do,” Chauffie had said. “I sense the lost Bunnies, but something is blocking their whereabouts—something dark. It’s sucking the energy away when I breathe it in. I can’t breathe.”

The truck had bounced around as it hit a rougher unmaintained roads in the packing district.

Nathalie then rested her hands on Chauffie’s bare shoulders. “Is it a furry blocking you?”

It seemed like such an odd specific question. “I can’t tell. It’s powerful though.”

“Is it a goat—No. No. That would be impossible.”

Chauffie remembered the odd question. Then she slipped back to the memory of being in the truck and how her Mistress’s hands calmed her by resting on her shoulders, the fingers clasping behind the neck. The touch made her costume crave for more. She still wanted more. It was a touch she leaving such strong longings. She still had not recovered from its soft caring loving caress. She’d do anything for Nathalie, so it hurt when she failed that night. What had blocked her powers?

Switching her attentions back to driving the limousine, it was best to focus on the upcoming San Jose area, with its more traditional Saloon girls. Chauffie set the memories aside. She liked Saloon girls, they played it straight, no coquettish shyness, just honest sexuality.

Once reaching San Francisco, the limousine took a narrow alley between high-rises. A garage fence slowly raised. A frantic fingernail patter danced on the glass separator behind Chauffie’s head. The driver knew she’d regret it, but she lowered the window anyway. “Yes?”

“Hi,” said Bunny Vivian-Candie, peering over the ledge, her eyes wide with curiosity. “Is this my new home?”

“I honestly have no idea,” said Chauffie.

Somehow the bimbo had placed her boobs on the ledge and managed to fit her head and Bunny ears into the front despite the low ceiling. “Oooo, this ramp really goes deep underground.”

The limousine headlights explored the darkness, made another corner. Outside an open elevator in the only area with real lighting, Nathalie stood stoically waiting. An entourage of Bunnies gabbed and played behind here. They went silent, almost standing to military attention, when the vehicle’s tires squeaked against the painted cement floor.

“Please sit back,” said Chauffie, stopping the car by the crowd of Bunnies. “Wait, right there. I’m going to open the passenger door. Stay. Be a good girl. Stay.”

Stepping out quickly, Chauffie opened the passenger door.

“Chauffie,” said Nathalie, gently putting a hand on the driver’s left shoulder, “stay here tonight. We’ll need to go to the ranch early in the morning.”

“Yes Mistress.” Chauffie looked at the round of her shoulder, touched by her Mistress.

Inside the limousine, a pair of long legs thrashed about the passenger compartment. The tips of the shoes kicked backseats and a bright white cottontail wiggled, as an orange Bunny bimbette tried to climb through the inside window to the front seat.

Nathalie peered inside. “Well, dad-sizzle it!”

Chauffie winced at the odd phrase then switched back to her own worries. “I, I , don’t know what to say. She was sitting proper a second ago.”

Bunny Meredith ran over. She watched in horror as her most important R&D project seemed to be nose-diving out of control. She looked at her Mistress, “I’ll take care of this. I will.” She climbed inside the car and grabbed at the flailing legs. “Canidie! You can’t steer the car like that! Let go!”

Nathalie noticed Chauffie’s inquisitive face. “Don’t try to figure out anything regarding this project. You don’t want to be in on this. Trust me.”