How to Brea a Bad Rabbit

SMOKEY SAGAS #11:

"How To Break A Bad Rabbit"

*****

Well, I did one for Christmas in December 2013, so here's my little BDSM homage to Easter. There are several similarities between this and "Hell And Back" (part one)—however, this one DOES actually have a happy ending. Enjoy, Beloved Reader(s).

*****

Thursday, March 21st, 2013, 4:25 p.m.

In the heart of downtown, it was typical hustle and bustle. Streets were jammed, filling the air with exhaust and impatient horn-honking. Sidewalks were as congested with folks on foot. The city of Juniper was populated with individuals of all kinds, from all walks of life, belonging to all sorts of different occupations.

This totality was exemplified by two people who dwelled in the downtown heart's left ventricle: a husband-and-wife swinger couple, Lou and Sandra Burton. Both in their mid-40s, they'd been together for about fifteen years. Their shared life was something of a mystery to casual acquaintances. And the reason they were so choosy with whom they allowed into their circle of friends.

Lou and Sandy made a very nice living, and kept home in a very nice residence, affordability supplied by this very same mystery. It was why they kept a low profile regarding their living arrangements. By morning and afternoon, Lou worked on wait staff at a restaurant, and Sandy was a department store salesperson. Even as a two-income couple, it could be seen how one was baffled by their lavish situation.

This was of course where their secret—and swinger lifestyle—came spiraling into play. They managed an organization of BDSM pornography together. Its name, The Fetish Buffet, was Sandra's idea—a gimmick designed to encapsulate the wide span of sexual interests and kinks in which they specialized. They produced videos of their session content and scenarios, and ran a site that offered previews, the option to purchase shoots, an overview of themselves, and of their models. While both featured as performers themselves, Lou was the cinematographer, leaving the better part of screen time to his wife. Though Sandy'd be too modest to agree, Lou insisted she boasted a much more appealing camera presence.

They started out renting a warehouse for their private studio. Once doing well enough, they scaled up into a two-story house, turning the spacious basement into their new studio. In their ever-growing BDSMpire, they'd recruited quite an accumulation of male and female models, of different age groups, ethnicities and backgrounds. As for their own histories, Lou had taken film school courses. Sandy's academic expertise lay more in the area of psychology. With Lou's camera skills and Sandra's acumen of human appeal, they co-directed and edited pretty successful films.

Ads were placed for new models, but a good portion of applicants and participants were met right on the street. Lou or Sandy would be out and about, see a cute potential new colleague/plaything, approach and introduce themselves. Sometimes the candidate accepted their invite, sometimes not. They approached more folks in person than got responses to their ads, but percentages were better to make a connection via an ad.

On this typical Thursday, it was Sandra who was scouting for new possible talent. She combed the northern face of downtown, currently on 18th Avenue and Juniper Street. For their latest venture, they wanted a timely concept and equally tasty female model. Easter was around the corner, and so natch, they needed a new "bunny."

Actually, when it came to finding new talent, it was indeed Sandy who did most of the approaching. Persuasion to appear in an adult film production was achieved more effectively by a woman, be the candidate either male or female. Besides, she had the better grasp of the human mind. Lou also scouted, if Sandy was already out and they were more hard-pressed to find performers. He'd brought a few amateurs onboard, but overall, it remained Sandy's territory.

Some days they did better than others. Luckily, as expansive as the city was,

years

would pass before they'd hit every nook and cranny. Rounding 18th and Juniper, Sandra entered a corner of the main business borough, where she and other citizens shrank into the labyrinth of buildings and skyscrapers piercing the blue sky.

A cool breeze tousled her hair and kissed her face. The vernal equinox had descended a few days ago, and spring was literally in the air. Statistically speaking, summer was their best season for finding new talent, as the population bared more skin and...assets. But spring was a close second. Sandy wasn't far from the mall where she worked. She'd driven dozens of times by the enormous Klondike Complex, but had never traversed its lovely landscape. She gazed upon a pedicured checkerboard lawn stretching the grounds, decorated with umbrella'd dining tables, rock gardens, streams, fountains, tennis courts, even...she squinted into the distance. A...

swimming pool?

Wow, people who get to work here're really lucky

, she thought. She could only imagine the amenities on the

in

terior of the suites.

They've probably got a four-star café in there, and I have to choose between Arby's and Panda Express at the food court

.

Time to get down to business. Sandy slipped on her shades to conceal her predatory eyes, and began people-watching. They were mostly dressed in business suits. Logical; an upscale work atmosphere commanded upscale dress attire. She smiled as she imagined getting her mitts on one of these savvy, no-nonsense professionals in—or should she say

out

of—their expensive suits, bending them over, branding them in her own special way, and marking her territory.

There was indeed some nice male and female eye candy to be found here. Reminding herself they were specifically looking for a young lady, she checked out one to the next, confident in what she was seeing.

Nice

...

nice

...

ooh,

quite

nice

...

cute

...

also nice and cute

...

HOT

... she thought, like the vulture she was. She didn't worry in the least about being asked what she was doing here. She was good at thinking on her feet, and could satisfy curiosity by supplying a fake name and occupation. In a particularly playful mood, she'd add a fake accent. The occasions someone

did

ask were scarce anyway.

It was close to 4:30 in the afternoon. Inconspicuously slipping around one suite to the next, Sandra'd made her way around more than half of them by the time she finally found her girl. She didn't have to look twice. Her eyes locked and zeroed in. Sitting at one of the umbrella tables, she was an auburn-haired young thing in a black lady's pantsuit, texting on her phone. Her shoes were overturned on the grass, bare feet on the seat of another chair, legs crossed, idly wiggling her toes. She may not have been classically model-gorgeous, but something about her attracted Sandra. The candid bare footplay was just a delightful bonus.

Sandra smiled, heading in her direction. As she neared, she noticed something else. The girl looked...upset. Her face seemed to be reflecting a mixture of anguish and disappointment. Naturally, Sandy wondered what was wrong.

Well, perhaps I could cheer her up a little

, she thought, sauntering on over.

Once the girl noticed her shadow and looked up, Sandra merrily smiled. "Hi there!" The smile was genuinely kind and friendly, though it was difficult to tell with her Aviators on.

The girl paused, looking blankly for a moment. "Uh...hello," she replied uncertainly.

"How do you do?" Sandy asked cordially. "My name is Sandra Burton."

"...Um, hi...Sandra. I'm Heather..." She let her voice hang, as if to continue speaking, but let it trail off. She didn't offer her hand, so Sandra did not extend hers just yet either. When she realized that's all the girl was having for the moment, Sandy continued.

"Well, it's lovely to meet you, Heather." She gestured to the empty chairs at her table. "I know this may sound a little forward, but do you mind if I join you? Unless of course you have to be running off somewhere; I don't wanna keep you."

Okay, that's kind of a lie, but she doesn't need to know that

.

Heather seemed to be upset by what Sandra'd said. She dropped her eyes and sighed.

"Wh—..." Sandra hoped she didn't hurt her feelings. So far, she'd thought the extent of their exchange was polite and friendly. "Oh, I'm sorry, did...did I say something wrong?"

Heather shook herself out of it. "Oh, no, no. No, uh...it's fine. Go ahead." She indicated the vacant chair where Sandy'd just gestured. "Sit down if you want. I don't care."

Hmm

, thought Sandy. Something was bothering the lass, but she didn't want to pry. She decided to simply employ her mind tactics. "Well, thank you, Heather," she graciously rejoined, accompanying her. "So then...do you have a few moments free?"

"Sure, why the hell not," Heather muttered gloomily.

My goodness, something really

is

bothering you, isn't it

, Sandy thought. "Well, I...I really do hope I'm not pestering you, or being a nuisance in any way," she reiterated.

Heather put her phone down on the table. "I'm sorry, I'm being rude. I-I'm just..." She covered her face with her hand. "This has just been a kinda...well...shit day."

So she was right, Sandra regretfully realized. "Oh, dear, I'm so sad to hear that. Well, we just met; you probably don't wanna talk to a total stranger about it."

"Ah, what the hell; might help to get it off my chest. My boyfriend dumped me."

Sandy's face dropped. "Aw, I'm sorry, Heather. That's really tough."

"No shit. He cheated on me."

"You're kidding me! He cheated on you, and then

he

dumped

you??

That's horrible!"

"Well, much as I'd like to put it all on him, I can't," she admitted. "I cheated on him too."

Sandra's brows arched. "...Oh," she replied. "Well, forgive me for sticking my big proboscis in your business...but perhaps it wasn't exactly a heaven-made match."

"No foolin' you," Heather said, a dash of feistiness in her voice. "We got in this big fight. It was ugly. He said some shit that

really

hurt me. And I wanted to get even with him, so I fucked one of his friends. So when he finds out, he freaks on me. Calls me a whore, says he never wants to see me again. Next thing you know,

I

find out

he

's making out with some chick behind my back. You believe that?" She shook her head with a scoff.

Sandra had a little trouble processing this. She was sure Heather's feelings had indeed been quite hurt. But describing having had sex with another man first—if Sandy was in fact understanding correctly—her tone sounded matter-of-fact, as if it were no big deal.

"But...if y—...how d—..."

After another second she shrugged it off. "Y'know what, never mind that. Why don't I tell you why I wanted to talk to you. I know this is gonna sound very random, but let me ask you if I may, Heather..." She took a strategic pause. "Have you, by chance, ever done any work in the field of modeling before?"

Heather raised her gaze. "You...think I'm a model?" she asked with both a skeptical expression and a caustic chuckle.

"Well, I'm just asking," explained Sandra. "You see, my husband and I run a small film company. We do a lot of...what you might call documentary work, and we're always looking for fresh new faces. Being young is also a plus. And while I was in the area today, something about you just happened to catch my eye."

Heather took another moment to just stare. Then she looked to her left and right as if she thought Sandy was talking to someone else. Finally, she pointed to herself.

"...

Me?

"

"Indeed!" Sandy confirmed. "Certainly someone finding appeal in your facial features and physical structure can't be the most mindblowing thought in the world?"

Actually, her bared feet on display helped very much. They were quite lovely, Sandra thought. Not too wide, not too flat, soft-looking soles, the curve of the instep from the fair skin tone of the tops to the tender pink bottoms, the clear nail polish...Sandy coerced herself to maintain eye contact while sneaking glimpses at her petite tootsies, which she was guessing were about 7s. Heather absentmindedly flexed them, stretching and scrunching, over and over. And the fact that Heather had on dress pants—baring no leg, just isolating the feet—made them even more enticing.

She wondered how ticklish they were. She wanted to find out, if only to try and get the girl to smile.

Lou'd love those babies

, she thought, her husband also very appreciative of a pretty couple of peds. Sandy let him do everything with her feet: rub, lick, nibble, tickle, et cetera. Though she was shy to admit it, Sandy had an

extreme

weak spot just below her arches. Once that spot was activated—on either sole—she was melted putty in the hands of the activator.

Heather, in the meantime, was answering. "Well, considering what an ugly fucking duckling I was growing up, and how the boys always went after the

pretty

girls and cheerleaders...you'll forgive me if I

do

find that kinda hard to believe," she groused, while Sandra wondered if there were any weak spots on her feet.

"Well, that's unfortunate to hear. But perhaps I can convince you otherwise by inviting you for an interview with us? Say, next Wednesday?" Sandy proposed. "Early, mid- or late afternoon could all work."

Heather gazed cynically. She flipped her feet up from the chair, dropped them on the grass, put her elbow on the table and propped up her chin.

"All right, what's the deal, lady? What's

really

going on here?"

Okay, this is a tough cookie

, Sandy thought. But she opened up her purse and retrieved a business card. "Well, Heather," she began, "If you're having doubts about our being on the proverbial level, I assure you that everything about our operation is legitimate..."

She handed it to her. Heather read, more or less obligatorily.

BURTON PRODUCTIONS & TALENT, INC.

LOUIS OLIVER BURTON

SANDRA ARIANA BURTON

6307 WEST RICHGATE STREET

FOR LOUIS: 555-4789

FOR SANDRA: 555-0182

BURTON@BURTON-----.ORG

EXOTIC MODELING, ACTING, FILM WORK

She glossed over the card for about three spectacularly blasé seconds. She then let it drop on the table, picking up her shoes and slipping them on. She grabbed her phone and purse, and got up. "Sorry, lady," she mumbled apathetically. "Not interested."

She started away, leaving Sandra to the table on her own.

"Suit yourself," called Sandy. "Starting female salary's a thousand dollars a day."

Something in that sentence made Heather stop in her tracks. She returned.

"Oh," Sandra innocently noted. "Change your mind?"

"Did you say...a

THOUsand

dollars...a

day?

"

"Why, yes I did." She dug briefly through her own purse for her checkbook and a pen. She scribbled out a check to just that amount, tore it out and handed it on over. "You may consider this your advance..."

Heather came back and sat with her again. She snatched the check and took a look.

"...But only if you're willing to come to the interview," Sandra continued. "If you don't, or decide you don't want the job, the check won't be any good."

Yeah, that was a one, a comma and three zeroes, all right, no hidden decimal. And definitely a dollar sign.

"So, Wednesday afternoon, around this time or so?"

*****

Wednesday, March 27th, 2013, 4:51 p.m.

The Burtons had prettied themselves up for Heather's arrival, Lou in a three-piece and Sandy in a blue cocktail. They brought out a veggie-dip plate and set it out on the coffee table, which they found to be a pleasing welcome to any and all guests and future staff.

A short while later brought the fateful knock. Three slow, sharp raps. To one who didn't know Heather, a fraction of her personality could be discerned by the knock alone. Lou opened the door. There she stood, again clad in one of her pantsuits. Lou diagnosed apathy and indifference at first glance. Though to Sandy, who'd met Heather previously, a trace of sadness could also be read around the eyes. She held her purse at thigh level with both hands, like a child who had just gotten her first one ever.

"Welcome!" grinned Lou. He held out his hand. "You of course must be Heather."

Heather said nothing for the moment. She hesitated, gave a slight nod and weakly returned the handshake, then regrasped the purse as if it were her security blanket.

"Come in!" said Lou. "Make yourself at home."

"Hi, Heather!" greeted Sandra, in the same cheerful tone of voice as when they met at the Klondike building. "It's so nice to see you again!"

Heather gave Sandy a nod, trying to make eye contact. She was sincerely trying to be polite and make a good first impression, but...Heather Annie Hoffen'd endured a rough childhood and adolescence. She did okay scholastically, but never had more than one or two close friends, and always felt rather out of place. There was truth in what she'd told Sandra too; she was considered unattractive by the boys in school. She wasn't asked to dances, but neither exactly dying to go to them anyway. Her home life wasn't much better, brought up by two verbally abusive parents whose love for her seemed questionable, and who couldn't afford to give her the things her classmates' could.

As a result of this lousy hand of cards, she didn't catch a lot of breaks. The truth was, Heather'd always had a secret desire for attention. Preferably of the positive nature, but at this point, she'd settle for what she could get. Deep down, she knew terminal shyness was easily mistaken for hostility, and that certainly wouldn't win her any friends. The roadblock lay in her approach to be outgoing and extroverted. But also deep down, she was terrified to allow herself to open up. That she'd just be setting herself up for more rejection, heartbreak and lonesomeness. Working herself up to be friendly and sociable took energy at this point. And when she remained unrewarded, it was all the more discouraging. It was truly an unfortunate cycle.

Her desire for attention steered her in the wrong relationship direction as well. She had cheated on her boyfriend, and knew she wasn't in her right mind at the time. The reality that someone else was actually also interested in her clouded her better judgment. And after she realized what she'd done, she felt awful. The man for whom she'd abandoned her boyfriend was a user who'd wanted cheap sex. She'd lost the man who genuinely liked her and might have made a future. And she'd broken her own heart on several levels. Perhaps most disappointing of all was the feeling that however she tried, she just wasn't a good person. She couldn't stop persecuting herself.

All this happened a couple of months before, and she was having trouble getting past it. But she'd been cleanly honest with Sandra about her infidelity, because continued lack of attention—positive or otherwise—drained her want for privacy about her personal life. And also because outside opinions no longer fazed her. There was nothing anyone could tell her that she hadn't told herself a hundred times already. No one could punish her more severely than she'd punished herself. It was true, her ex-boyfriend became very friendly with another girl remarkably soon after the breakup. But she didn't know how long it had been going on. She honestly didn't know if he was cheating, or if it was her act that thrust him into the other woman's arms. She might not have any right to be upset, but when she saw the two of them together, she couldn't help wishing she could drive a stake through that girl's heart. Oh, if only she could go back in time.