Roger is taking a nap. Up there on the big bed. I’m down here, just beyond the foot, snuggled up in my lovely cosy hutch. I can hear him snoring. A quiet snort in, a soft rattle out… in… out… in… out. It soothes me, makes me feel content.
In the quiet of the room, I consider the way my straw bed feels against my body. There’s an itch and a scratch, but it’s so warm and it crinkles when I move. I like to move a lot because every time I shift my legs, I feel my tail twitch. It’s a cute tail if I do say so myself. Roger calls it my fuzzy white pompom. He likes to tug it. When he does it tickles and strokes, and a special part of it wiggles around inside of me. The more I move my legs the more I feel the straw beneath me becoming damp.
It invites a certain chill, but that’s okay. Just thinking about what made the wetness makes me warmer. It makes me move more. I press my belly harder against the floor of my hutch, feel the straw scraping my chest. Such a quiet thrill, an illicit thrill, something I’m not sure Roger would allow if he were awake.
He moves on the bed. My snuffling around must have woken him. The mattress twangs. Two feet scuff against the rug, he groans almost silently then his shadow falls over my hutch. Oh, that huff was a laugh, I’m sure of it. He knows, but how? All I did was…oh. I notice a small pile of straw on the floor outside of my hutch. Yes. He knows.
His feet come into view, then his calves. Furry, grey and white, they look so warm! They’re so soft, so gentle when they rub against me. Roger reaches in, snatches up a few pieces of straw and rubs them between his fingers. There’s that laugh again!
“You hungry, Bunny?” he asks.
Paws cuffing the sides of my nose, I raise my rump, give it an enthusiastic shake.
Something scrapes across the top of my hutch, startling me. My nose twitches wildly, my ears tap off the wooden roof above me, I spot a flash of orange. My heart rate increases, I start to shake. Roger is dangling a carrot and I want it so much. I get closer to the side of the hutch. Press myself against it, wiggle, twitch, squeeze my eyes closed when his fingers snag my tail.
“Open wide,” he says.
I do. I part my knees as far as they’ll go, pressing them into the wood, backing up until wire mesh starts to leave its mark on my skin. My gaze slides to the side and I see his reflection. His floppy ears, long whiskers…and that carrot. I feel it teasing, probing, entering, I swallow it up. He moves it slowly, then faster, harder, until I spasm and become still. I love my hutch, but I can’t wait to be set free. I know that, once I am, we’re going to fuck from dusk until dawn. How do I know? Well, isn’t that what bunnies do?