Bunny - Part 5

April 13, 2020

The continued story, taken from my upcoming book, “Bunny”. Look for previous posts in the thread. Thank you for reading!

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When Nick and I wake a couple hours later, both of our phones are beeping maddeningly. Nick groans and slowly turns over, mumbling something about “***sucking bastards”, and I fumble around for my robe.

“Why does God hate us, Bunny?” He mutters at me, sitting up in my bed and scraping at his face. I toss him his phone from his discarded pants and smirk.

“I don’t know about you, Darlin’ but I’m fairly sure I’ll never walk normally again…” I say.

He smiles hugely at this, “D’you really think so? That’s fabulous news…Hello? Who is this?” He walks off to take his call on my fire escape.

I check my phone, and see there are no more texts from M. For once, I don’t give a fuck. There is, however, one from Violet. Her husband and she have a small gallery/performance space, and want me to show some of my photos at an upcoming show. I started taking self-portraits several years ago when I injured my back and had to wear a brace, because I thought it was interesting to photograph – and just sort of never stopped.

I look over at Nick, pacing on my fire escape, and an idea starts to form in my head. Meanwhile, there’s a message from a client who wants a photo shoot involving some foot-fetish Domme stuff. Always easy. I get up and head to the bathroom, turning on the shower. A moment after I step in, I feel Nick pressed up behind me, erection in full flower. I look over my shoulder at him, stunned.

“Surely, you’re joki…” and before I can finish, he’s kneeling, lifting my thigh over his shoulder, tongue sliding into me. Moments later, my legs are wrapped around his waist and he’s thrusting into me, the hot water beating into us, and I’m screaming and pounding my fists into his shoulders.

Eventually, we are clean, and starving. He has to carry me out to my bed, looking infuriatingly smug. “Can I get you anything, Bunny? You don’t work tonight, right? Let me get you some lunch. I’ll run down to the Thai place, will I?”

I burst out laughing- “Ok, ok – you absolute HORSE. I’d love some Thai food, thank you. And more wine! And keep your distance, you devil! I need to heal! I have to dance tomorrow.”

He smirks at me, kisses me, whips on his pants and runs upstairs to grab cash and a shirt. I start making notes on my photo project, and call back foot fetish guy.

The next morning, I wake up to a note from Nick on my pillow:

“You marvelous, beautiful slut – I adore you. Pizza after our respective dates with silly subs? Xoxo – MASTER NICK”

I laugh and pin the note to my vanity, and trawl my carcass to the bathroom to take another shower, where I find Nick has drawn a large dick with a heart around it on the mirror with red lipstick. I roll my eyes and leave it there, climbing under the streaming hot stream of water. My entire body aches, but in a good way. When I emerge from the hot water, I feel much better.

I check the address for Foot Fetish guy again, and get dressed. For this job, it’s just photos, so I don’t need anything fancy since only my calves and feet will be involved. I wear a black skirt, and a Sex Pistols t-shirt with my leather jacket. I throw on some motorcycle boots, shake out my hair, grab my keys and phone, and go.

When I get to the guy’s place, it’s the kind of dingy, mouth-breather basement apartment you’d generally ascribe to the kind of guy who lives with his mom and looks at lots of anime porn and plays video games. But, he does a lot of Fetish photography, and this is where he does it. He’s got a lot of paraphernalia laid out; nylons – we’re talking the thick, tan, rein***d toe kind, high-heeled sandals, jute rope, and an assortment of little LEGO men. My feet get a regular pedicure, so I’m not worried about how they look. Doyle, the photographer, asks me to put on the hideous nylons first. He then hands me the high heels, and then ***ters the LEGO men across a cleared space on the wooden floor in the center of the room, and instructs me to step on them.

After about fifty shots of me stepping randomly on little plastic men in high heels, he has me do the same in stockinged feet. He is very particular that I arch my feet, and flex my toes when I am crushing the little men, and actually asks permission to touch my feet so that he can show me the proper shape he wants. And then, he has me pull off the stockings, and do it barefoot, taking extra care to get closeups of my ***ted toes crushing the little men. Then finally, he gets some shots of my feet smashing the LEGO men inside the stockings. The whole thing takes maybe an hour and a half, and I am paid $150.

When we are done, Doyle looks shyly down and asks for a favor. “Do you think you could pose in a special pair of shoes for me? For my collection? I know you’re a dancer…I could pay you an extra $50.”

I smile at him. “Of course, Doyle, Why not?”

The shoes are a pair of “ballet boots”, beautiful but treacherously pointed patent leather shoes that are like ballet pointe shoes with 5 inch heels – which I can just about manage to stand in. He has me do my ballet positions, and is very happy with the shots, by all appearances.

He has me do one final shot myself, with my foot in his mouth. I imagine that one will be his favorite. To make him happy, I tell him he’s a dirty little boy before I take the shoe out of his mouth, and he tips me an extra $20.

Finally, I leave – $220 richer and with little effort.

When I get home, I crawl into bed and sleep until Nick shows up through the fire escape with pizza and wine – and a new set of rope.

I guess we won’t be getting much sleep tonight…