WARNING -- THIS SECTION OF "What Bunnies Are For" CONTAINS
EXPLICIT DESCRIPTIONS OF SEX. READER DISCRETION IS ADVISED.

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                     _What_Bunnies_Are_For_-_Part_7_

        All the bunnies sat in front of the TV set as Tabby slipped
the black-and-gold cassette into the VCR. She turned the brightness
and colour and sound up for Jamie's sake, then came and knelt beside
him. Sammy, in the chair with him, cuddled up to him and moved his
arms around her. The tape began.

        The camera showed a room with subdued, indirect lighting, but
brighter than the den. A psychiatrist's couch stood in the middle of
the room. A little man walked into the camera's view with a bunny on
his arm. He carried a clipboard under his arm and what looked like a
tackle box in his hand. The bunny was naked. She seemed quite calm.
Scars showed through the fur on her face and body. More showed on her
back and her rear as she sat on the couch. The little man set the box
down beside her and looked at the clipboard. He himself had a scar on
his face which he fingered absentmindedly as he read. He wore a
belted, green robe and black leather slippers. A scar on his chest
peeked out at the neck of his robe.
        "Subject: Rebecca," he read aloud. "Multiple scars due to
lacerations, irrepairable due to excessive cost, depth of scarring,
fur replacement unlikely to take, excessively long recuperation.
Non-public work is available, but subject opted for termination."
        ["It was a temporary job," Tabby whispered to Jamie. "She'd
only have been postponing this."]
        "Becky, you have been given a drug to weaken your heart. The
nurse has confirmed that it has left your system and your heart is
suitably weak. Are you ready, or do you have a final request?"
        "Can I talk to the camera?" The little man nodded. Becky
turned and looked out at them. "Sammy, I didn't have a chance to say
goodbye. I love you." She hesitated, looking for words. "This is
going to be fun, the best ever! I wish it was you instead of him....
They say we don't have souls, but maybe.... I love you, Sammy! I'll
always love you." Becky turned and lay on the couch. "I'm ready now."
        "Just relax," the man said. "This won't hurt a bit. I'm going
to start slowly and build up to the highest climax I can. If anything
I do is unpleasant, please tell me at once...."

        The little, scarred man seemed to know all Becky's favourite
spots. At first he merely stroked her gently with his hands. Before
long she began to respond to his touch, relaxing with it, enjoying
the contact. The man seemed to enjoy the experience himself. His look
became fond as he continued to caress the badly scarred bunny.
        Very slowly, he began to press harder as he stroked. When
Becky started to wince, he eased off. A few of her scars pulled
uncomfortably. He took some cream from his tackle box and rubbed
it into them, which seemed to help.
        Becky began to sigh at his touch. She stroked her breast, but
the man moved her hands away. "Too quickly," he said. "We want this
to last, to make it build as high as we can." Now his hands were
everywhere _but_ her breasts and thighs. He pulled something out of
the tackle box and put them on his hands; vibrators. He massaged her
feet, moved up her legs to her rear, her side, her tummy. She reached
for her breasts again. Now he moved onto the couch himself. He worked
his vibrating fingers over the mounds, teasing her nipples up before
pressing them, too. But he kept her legs together with his own.
        Instead she reached for him. Her hands strayed under his robe
and stroked. She undid his belt. Several surgical scars lined his
body like a stuffed toy's seams. Becky was past caring; she caressed
the horrid, broad lines as he moved his hands down to her lap. She
was breathing hard now, although she wasn't moving that much.
        Cream on his fingers; he moved a hand to Becky's labia, along
them into the folds, still avoiding her clitoris. His other hand went
from one breast to the other. Something else from his tackle box; a
very thin vibrator rod went into her back passage. She gasped, then
let it out in a long, ragged sigh. He gave her a vibrator, moved it
to her breast. His hands moved back and forth, one from her clit down
into her depths, the other from thighs to labia to clit, every so
often adjusting the little devil in her rear.
        Becky writhed. She moaned and cried out her pleasure. The
little, scarred man encouraged her. Again she reached for his staff,
caressed and squeezed it, begged him for it, but he held off the last
act. Then she gasped, not in pleasure, but fright. Something had gone
wrong! The man noticed and entered her quickly. Now his hands were
everywhere as he thrust himself within her. He kissed her lips as she
gasped for breath, turned his hand vibrators to full and worked her
breasts, the sides of her ribs, everywhere that gave her pleasure. He
worked her desperately and she responded; she screamed out a crashing
wave of an orgasm. And as the wave subsided, so did she.
        The little, scarred man got off of the dead bunny and turned
to the camera again. "Euthenasia complete," he said. "Let the record
show that death occured at..." He checked his watch. "...eighteen oh
nine hours." He hesitated, looked down at the body, sighed. "And may
God have mercy on her soul," he muttered.

        The screen went black. Samantha held Jamie and wept, while he
stroked her long ears and wondered what to feel.

                            (continued)

Copyright 1995 Allan D. Burrows
All Rights Reserved after publication