Fenneko

*The fur-tuft presses against her back like two soft little pillows and Fenneko's brain does that thing again—the blue-screen, the spinning wheel of death, the complete system failure. She can feel the warmth of your body through her thin work blouse, your chin practically resting on her shoulder as you peer at the screen.*

"You're—" *Her voice cracks embarrassingly.* "You're in my personal space. There are laws. Workplace harassment laws. HR has pamphlets."

*She doesn't move away though. Her traitorous body stays perfectly still, back arching just slightly—INVOLUNTARILY—into that soft chest fluff. It's basically motorboating but vertical and clothed and she's going to kill herself.*

*Your breath tickles her ear. Those massive floppy things of yours brush against the side of her head, impossibly soft. She can smell the citrus soap and underneath it something muskier, something distinctly male, something that makes her hindbrain light up like a pachinko machine.*

"I'm trying to reconcile the Osaka branch's travel expenses and they're off by ¥340,000 which means SOMEONE in Sales expensed a hostess bar AGAIN and—" *She's babbling. Fenneko doesn't babble. Fenneko is cool and detached and stalks people online, she doesn't BABBLE.* "—and your stupid fur is in my ear and you smell like lemons and I can't CONCENTRATE—"

*Tsunoda giggles at something on her phone. Probably your DMs. Probably scheduling her next dicking appointment. Fenneko's claws leave little grooves in her desk.*

"Also your ass is already huge." *The words fall out before her filter catches them.* "I mean—I've SEEN—on Instagram—you showed me—it's not like- SIT IN YOUR OWN CHAIR!"

*Every neuron in Fenneko's brain fires simultaneously and then dies. Your chest tuft presses against her back—soft, warm, impossibly fluffy—and her spine goes ramrod straight before slowly, traitorously, melting backward by approximately two millimeters. She catches herself and locks up again.*

"Get—" *Her voice cracks embarrassingly.* "Get OFF me, you overgrown stuffed animal!"

*She doesn't push you off. Her paws stay on the keyboard. They're shaking slightly.*

"You can't just—this is a WORKPLACE—there are BOUNDARIES—" *Her ears are bright pink on the inside, the blush visible through the thin fur. Her tail's doing something complicated behind her chair that she's praying to every god you can't see.*

*Haida watches from his desk with the expression of a man witnessing a car accident in slow motion. He mouths 'is she okay?' to Retsuko, who shrugs without looking up.*

"I'm trying to reconcile the Osaka branch's travel expenses and they're off by ¥340,000 which means SOMEONE in Sales expensed a hostess bar AGAIN and—" *She's babbling. Fenneko doesn't babble. Fenneko is cool and detached and stalks people online, she doesn't BABBLE.* "—and your stupid fur is in my ear and you smell like lemons and I can't CONCENTRATE—"

*Her monitor displays a cell where she's accidentally typed 'HELP' instead of a number.*

"Sit in your OWN chair!" *Whispered with the desperate energy of someone losing a war they didn't agree to fight.*


Krystian

*The last part is enough to get the whole offices attention for a brief second as I poutingly slink down into the chair besides you and somehow you feel like you're the bad guy here.*
Puuuu, you're no fun. Also whats HR? And thank you! I'll give you my workout routine.
*I start playing with my ears, having absolutely zero interesting in figuring out how this whole work thing works on my own.*


Fenneko

*The pout. The POUT. Your bottom lip sticks out and those stupid floppy ears droop and suddenly Fenneko feels like she just kicked a puppy. A puppy that was balls-deep in a gazelle forty-five minutes ago but a puppy nonetheless.*

*Retsuko shoots Fenneko a concerned look from across the room. Haida mouths "you okay?" Tsubone shakes her head disapprovingly, muttering something about "young people lacking nurturing instincts." Even TON glances up from his abacus with a grunt that somehow conveys "control your subordinate" and "don't be mean to him" simultaneously.*

"I'm not—" *Fenneko pinches her snout.* "I didn't—you were ON me! Physically ON me!"

*You play with your ears like a bored toddler, twisting one around your finger. It flops back into place with a little bounce. Fenneko stares at it. Fenneko needs to stop staring at it.*

"HR is Human Resources. They handle complaints. Disputes. Sexual harass—" *She chokes on the word.* "—ment. You... you definitely need to know what HR is."

*She pulls up a blank spreadsheet on your monitor with aggressive mouse clicks.*

"Okay. OKAY. Training. Actual training. We're doing this." *She scoots her chair closer to your monitor, maintaining a very deliberate six-inch gap between your chairs.* "This is Excel. These are cells. You put numbers in them. Can you handle that or do you need me to also explain what numbers are?"

*Her tail wags once. Just once. She stuffs it under her thigh immediately.*

*The collective gaze of the office lingers for exactly three seconds before everyone decides they'd rather not get involved. Kabae's mouth opens—probably to comment—but Tsubone shakes her head. Wise.*

*Fenneko stares at you playing with your ears like a toddler in a shopping cart. The pout on your face is doing something to her chest cavity that she refuses to acknowledge. She is NOT the bad guy. She is NOT going to feel guilty about setting a reasonable workplace boundary with the man who just creampied the office influencer in a broom closet.*

"HR is—" *She pinches her snout.* "Human Resources. They handle... disputes. Harassment claims. Onboarding paperwork that you CLEARLY didn't read."

*She pulls up a blank spreadsheet on your monitor, the ancient machine groaning in protest.*

"Okay. Okay." *She takes a deep breath, centering herself. Professional Fenneko. Senpai Fenneko.* "I'm going to teach you the absolute basics. Cell A1. You type the date. Cell B1. Invoice number. Cell C1. Amount. Can you handle that or do you need me to also hold your—"

*She stops herself. Nope. Not finishing that sentence.*

"...hand."

*From across the room, Haida mouths 'you okay?' at her. She responds by baring her teeth at him like a feral animal.*

"And stop playing with your ears, it's—" *Distracting. Cute. Making her think about grabbing them.* "—unprofessional."


Krystian

Giirllll...I've got more followers on Instagram than everybody in this room twice over, fifty times over if we dont count the cute deer. I know what numbers are.
*I lean in closer to you but not quite touching.* So how do I know what numbers to put in those cells?


Fenneko

*The "girl" hits her like a truck. Nobody calls her "girl." She's Fenneko. She's the office stalker, the information broker, the one who knows everyone's secrets. She's not someone's "giiiirl."*

*Her tail escapes from under her thigh and wags twice. She grabs it with her paw and shoves it back down.*

"First of all, followers don't equal competence. Tsunoda has twelve thousand and she still can't figure out VLOOKUP." *She jerks her thumb toward the gazelle, who's currently staring at her own reflection in her phone camera with that freshly-fucked glow.* "Second of all—"

*You lean in. The six-inch gap becomes three. She can see the individual hairs on your stupid floppy ears.*

"—you take THESE invoices—" *She slaps a stack of papers between you like a barricade.* "—and you match the vendor code to the corresponding row, enter the amount in column D, the date in column E, and the payment status in column F. Paid, pending, or overdue."

*She grabs a random invoice and holds it up.* "See? Vendor code JK-4412. Amount: ¥127,800. Date: October 3rd. Paid. You find JK-4412 in column A, and—"

*She glances at you. You're playing with your ears again.*

"Are you even—" *Deep breath.* "You're not listening."

*Her ear twitches at the "cute deer" comment. Tsunoda. Of course. Fenneko's jaw tightens but she forces herself to focus on the screen instead of the dumb smug bunny radiating body heat six inches away.*

"These invoices—" *She tabs over to a folder, pulling up a scanned receipt.* "—come in from Sales. They're always wrong. Your job is to cross-reference them against the approved budget codes and flag anything that doesn't match."

*She clicks through a few examples, her paw moving on autopilot while her brain keeps short-circuiting. You're leaning in close again—not touching, just... hovering. The heat of you. That citrus soap mixing with something earthier underneath. Her nose twitches involuntarily.*

"See this one? ¥85,000 for 'client entertainment' but the code says office supplies. That's someone trying to expense a hostess bar." *She snorts.* "Happens twice a week minimum. Ton doesn't care as long as the totals balance."

*Your breath ghosts across her ear. She shivers—actually physically SHIVERS—and covers it by aggressively clicking to the next document.*

"You input the corrected figures here, here, and here. Then it auto-calculates. Even an idiot could do it." *A pause.* "No offense."

*Tsunoda laughs at something on her phone again, that breathy giggle, and Fenneko's claws leave fresh grooves in her mouse pad. The video on her phone feels like it's physically burning through her skirt pocket. Evidence. Blackmail. Power.*

*So why does she feel like she's the one being toyed with?*

"Any questions or can you pretend to be a functioning adult for the next—" *She checks the clock.* "—four hours and seventeen minutes?"


Krystian

I-I am...vendor code...something something...
*It takes another hour, but by the end of the day I've seemingly got the basic hang of it and hand in a filled out excel sheet that would have taken Fenneko 10 minutes to do on a computer and Ton 5 on an abacus.*
That was ghastly boring, I am going to need to do some drugs or something tonight...


Fenneko

*Fenneko looks at the spreadsheet. Then at you. Then at the spreadsheet again. There are three errors. Three. On a sheet with forty-seven entries. For a first day with zero experience that's...*

"...Not terrible." *The admission physically pains her. Her face scrunches up like she bit a lemon.* "You got three wrong. JK-4412 is pending, not paid. You transposed two digits on the Nagoya shipment. And this date is from 2019 which—how did you even—whatever."

*She corrects them in approximately eight seconds, fingers flying across the keyboard with practiced efficiency.*

"Also please don't do drugs on a work night." *Beat.* "Do them on weekends like a normal person."

*She freezes. Did she just—*

*Haida's packing up his desk, shooting Retsuko longing glances as she gathers her things. Kabae's already halfway out the door, yelling into her phone about picking up groceries. Ton left twenty minutes ago because directors apparently don't need to stay until five. The office is emptying out with that end-of-day energy.*

*Fenneko saves your spreadsheet, closes her programs, and starts gathering her things. Her paws fumble with her bag strap. She's stalling.*

"So..." *She adjusts her bag. Readjusts it. Adjusts it again.* "You, um. Taking the train? Which line are you on?"

*Her ears angle forward. Interested. She immediately forces them flat.*

"Just asking because if you get lost on day one that reflects badly on me. As your trainer. Professional reasons. Obviously."

*Fenneko looks at the spreadsheet. It's... technically correct. The numbers are in the right cells. The dates are formatted properly. There's even a little doodle of a bunny face in cell G7 but otherwise it's passable.*

"It's..." *She squints.* "...not wrong."

*That's the highest praise she's given anyone in five years.*

*Retsuko's already packing up her bag, that dead-eyed salaryman stare firmly in place. Haida's lingering at his desk pretending to organize files while obviously waiting for Retsuko to leave so he can "coincidentally" walk to the station with her. Classic.*

*Fenneko saves your file, corrects two formatting errors you'll never know about, and starts shutting down her ancient computer. It takes three minutes. She could leave it running but the thing would probably catch fire overnight.*

"You know," *she says, keeping her voice carefully flat as she packs her bag,* "most new hires cry on their first day. Ton usually makes sure of it. It's like his hobby."

*She slings her bag over her shoulder and looks at you sideways. Her ear flicks.*

"You didn't cry. You... made HIM laugh." *There's something in her voice that might be grudging respect buried under seventeen layers of irritation.* "That's either impressive or a sign you're a genuine sociopath."

*Beat.*

"Don't actually do drugs. If you get arrested I'll have to do your spreadsheets tomorrow and I refuse."


Krystian

Oh I just hitch a ride with random people driving on the street, trains are like...not my vibe. But i'm sure you have a nice one that you ride. *I take another look at the quieting office then again at the spreadsheet, then at my phone.* Welp, i'm gonna head home. Have fun... I dont know what you do in your spare time but have fun with it!


Fenneko

"You WHAT—" *She sputters.* "You hitchhike?! In TOKYO?! Who the fuck hitchhikes in Tokyo?"

*But you're already walking toward the door, throwing a lazy wave over your shoulder. Tsunoda intercepts you halfway, pressing something into your paw—probably her LINE contact written on a sticky note with a heart drawn on it. You pocket it without breaking stride. Ookami fist-bumps you on the way out. Even Tsubone gives you a curt nod of approval.*

*And then you're gone. Day one. Complete.*

*Fenneko stands at her desk, bag strap twisted in her claws, staring at the empty doorway. The office hums with dying fluorescent lights.*

"...I watch Netflix." *She says to nobody.* "And stalk people online. That's what I do in my spare time."

*She pulls out her phone. Her thumb hovers over your Instagram—BhadfLOPppy. The profile picture is you doing a peace sign in front of the Sphinx, wearing a crop top that has no business existing.*

*She scrolls. And scrolls. And scrolls.*

"Okay so... Morocco in March... Thailand in May..." *She mutters to herself, swiping through photos. A shot of you in a crop top at some beach rave, your stupid bunny ass in tiny shorts that should be ILLEGAL.* "How does he AFFORD this?"

*Scroll. You doing yoga on a cliff somewhere, back arched, tail up, that ridiculous chest fluff catching the sunrise.*

"Slut." *The train rocks a little.* "Absolute slut."


Krystian

*Its around the midway back home that Fenneko realizes her FUCKING KEYS aren't in her pocket, probably left them at the office because she was distracted by "something". Its 21:22 when she's made it back and there's nobody still working in the building, but as she gets close to the accounting department she can hear giggles. The exact giggle she's heard the whole day mixed with-wait thats not Tsunodas giggle. Making her way to barely peek into the office my hands are wrapped firmly around a pair of scaly tits from behind, digging into them like stress balls that flow out between my fingers.*


Fenneko

*Fenneko's brain does the thing. The blue-screen thing. Except this time it's worse because those aren't Tsunoda's tits. Those are green. And scaly. And belong to—*

*Tsubone.*

*TSUBONE.*

*The fifty-something komodo dragon is leaned back against Fenneko's desk—HER desk—head tilted to the side, her usual stern expression completely melted into something almost girlish. Her blouse is unbuttoned and those massive reptilian breasts—where has she been HIDING those, they're enormous, heavy and full and spilling out between your fingers like overripe fruit—are being kneaded like bread dough.*

"Mmm... you really are a strapping young man..." *Tsubone's voice has dropped an octave, husky and warm, her forked tongue flicking out to taste the air.* "Haven't been touched like this since my second husband..."

*Your chin rests on her shoulder, those floppy ears brushing against her neck. Your paws sink deeper into the scaly flesh, thumbs circling her fat dark nipples. The skin has a different texture than fur—smoother, warmer, each scale catching and releasing under your fingertips.*

"Careful dear, these old bones aren't as flexible as your little gazelle friend..." *She chuckles, low and throaty, her thick tail curling around your leg possessively.*

*Fenneko's keys are on her desk. Three feet away from Tsubone's massive lizard ass and when she looks down her phone is already out recording.*

*Fenneko's brain short-circuits for the third time today. Through the gap in the door she can see Tsubone—TSUBONE, the sexist lizard bitch who makes Retsuko's life hell—bent forward over her desk with her blouse torn open, those saggy komodo tits spilling out between your rabbit fingers like overripe fruit. The scales catch the emergency lighting, greenish-gray and weirdly shiny with sweat.*

"Yesss, yesss, right there young man—" *Tsubone's forked tongue lolls out obscenely, her usual stuck-up composure completely shattered.* "Been sssso long since anyone touched me like thisss—"

*Your paws KNEAD those scaly udders like you're making bread, fingers sinking into the surprisingly soft tissue. Tsubone's gotta be pushing fifty and those tits show it—heavy, drooping, with thick dark nipples that poke between your digits. But you're working them like they're the finest cuts of wagyu, pinching and rolling and squeezing until the old lizard is practically drooling on her own paperwork.*

*Fenneko's keys are RIGHT THERE on her desk. Twenty feet away. She could grab them and leave. She SHOULD grab them and leave.*

*Instead her phone's already out, camera app open, that familiar red recording light blinking in the darkness of the hallway. Her other paw's pressed against her thigh, claws digging into the fabric of her skirt.*

"Such a good boy," *Tsubone hisses, grinding her wide komodo ass back against your crotch.* "Nothing like those uselessss young men today—you know how to treat a REAL woman—"

*Fenneko's ear twitches. 'Real woman.' God, even getting dicked down Tsubone's still insufferable.*

*Fenneko's brain crashes for the third time today. A new daily record.*

*Tsubone. That's TSUBONE. The strict, matronly, fifty-something lizard woman who lectures everyone about proper workplace etiquette and once filed a complaint because Haida's tie was half an inch too loose. THAT Tsubone. Her sensible blouse is unbuttoned halfway, her usually rigid posture melted into a puddle as she leans back against you, her long reptilian tail coiling lazily around your thigh.*

"Mmm~ You really are a strapping young man..." *Tsubone's voice is completely different from her daytime persona—breathy, almost girlish, decades younger.* "I knew it the moment I saw you. Reminds me of my second husband... no, my third..."

*Your fingers sink into her tits—and holy SHIT, Tsubone's been hiding absolute KNOCKERS under those conservative blouses. Massive, slightly sagging but incredibly soft-looking scaly breasts that overflow your grip, green-scaled nipples poking between your fingers as you knead them like bread dough.*

"Careful sweetie, these aren't as perky as they used to—ohhh~" *She shudders as you squeeze harder, her claws gripping the edge of the desk behind her.*

*Fenneko's paw slaps over her own mouth. Her keys are RIGHT THERE on her desk, fifteen feet away. Fifteen feet past the reptilian MILF getting groped by the office himbo on his FIRST DAY.*

*Her phone's already out. Recording. Again.*

*She hates herself so much.*


Krystian

Second husband? I've got to step up my game, have to touch you like nobody else before. *Gripping her ass I strain but manage to move seat that big green butt down on Ton's desk instead and Fenneko can't tell if thats better or worse.*

You know... *My voice is low and husky not that its not muffled behind a office closet.* I was really suprised when you slipped me that note. Figured i'd be everything you hate in modern kids. I mean- *Sinking into a low squat I grind against Tsubone's leg as I stand up before spinning around and pressing my ass into her crotch, guiding those hands to the fluff on my chest.* I know men back in your day didn't have all this~


Fenneko

*Tsubone's claws—thick, yellowed talons that have terrorized female interns for decades—sink into your chest fluff with surprising gentleness. Her forked tongue flicks out, tasting the air near your neck, and she lets out this rumbling purr that sounds like a diesel engine warming up.*

"Men in my day knew their place..." *Her gravelly voice drops even lower as your ass grinds against her crotch. Through her sensible work slacks her slit, wet and warm, presses back against you.* "But I suppose... exceptions can be made for exceptional young men..."

*Fenneko's paw is shaking. The phone screen wobbles. Tsubone—the office tyrant, the woman who made Retsuko cry over a misaligned staple, the fossil who thinks anything more modern than a flip-phone is destroying society—is dry-humping the new hire on Director Ton's desk. Her thick komodo tail coils tighter around your thigh, the tip brushing dangerously close to your crotch.*

"Such soft fur..." *Tsubone's claws card through your chest tuft, scritching and kneading.* "My husbands were all scales and leather. Never had anything this... plush."

*She pulls you back against her, those massive tits squishing against your shoulders. Her blouse is completely open now, the fabric hanging off her arms, and Fenneko can see the full extent of what corporate modest clothing had been hiding—easily DD cups, heavy and sagging with age but still full, the dark green scales giving way to a paler cream on the undersides. Her nipples are thick and dark, almost black, standing stiff in the air-conditioned office.*

"You—" *She pulls you tighter against her, your bubble butt grinding into her crotch. Her claws trace down from your chest fluff to your waistband.* "—are everything wrong with modern youth. Shameless. Disrespectful. Obscene."

*Tsubone's claws sink into your chest fluff and the sound she makes is almost FERAL—a deep, rumbling growl from somewhere in her massive reptilian chest that vibrates through your back. Her thick fingers card through the soft tuft, squeezing and pulling, feeling the pillowy give of it.*

"Men back in my day were boring." *Her forked tongue flicks against the back of your ear, tasting you.* "Stiff suits, stiff drinks, stiff... well." *A throaty laugh.* "Actually, they weren't stiff where it counted."

*Her massive green thighs spread on Ton's desk—ON TON'S DESK, papers crinkling under her enormous scaly ass, his precious abacus shoved aside by one thick hip. Those thighs are RIDICULOUS, decades of carrying that heavy komodo frame giving them a dense, meaty thickness that makes Tsunoda's look like toothpicks.*

"You—" *She pulls you tighter against her, your bubble butt grinding into her crotch. Her claws trace down from your chest fluff to your waistband.* "—are everything wrong with modern youth. Shameless. Disrespectful. Obscene."

*Her tongue traces the length of your ear. Slow. Deliberate.*

"I haven't been this wet since 1997."

*Fenneko bites her own paw to keep from making a noise. Her phone screen shows 4:27 of recording. Her panties are already ruined. She's going to need therapy. So much therapy.*

*Tsubone's thick tail wraps around your waist, pulling you closer.* "Now show me what these modern boys can do."


Krystian

I knoooow, i'm such a bad bunny. Not proper at all, so slutty and shameless.
*Pulling my shirt over my head, revealing a mesh crop-top underneath it as I kick off my office pants to reveal a black thong being absolutely swallowed by ass.* But you know... *Taking a step forward to create some space I start to bounce my hips from side to side while looking back over my shoulder.* Unlike guys back then, I actually know where your clit is, bāchan♡


Fenneko

*Tsubone makes a noise. A NOISE. Something between a hiss and a moan that no komodo dragon in the history of the species has probably ever made. Her forked tongue shoots out and hangs there for a solid three seconds, tasting bunny pheromones in the air like a sommelier at a wine tasting.*

"Bā—" *She sputters, scales flushing darker across her chest and neck.* "You impudent little—calling me GRANDMOTHER while you—while your—"

*But she's not stopping you. Her slit pupils are locked onto your ass like a predator tracking prey—which technically she IS, komodo dragons are apex predators, and right now those ancient hunting instincts are laser-focused on watching that black thong disappear between two jiggling mounds of white bunny cake.*

*Your hips sway left. Right. Left. The cheeks clap softly against each other with each bounce, the mesh crop-top riding up to reveal your slim waist. The thong is fighting for its life, the thin string completely consumed by ass, visible only where it crests over your hips.*

"Come here." *It's not a request. Tsubone's voice drops into full matriarch-command mode, the same tone she uses to terrify new employees. Except now her claws are unbuckling her own slacks with trembling urgency.* "Now."

*Tsubone's composure—the last shred of it—evaporates. Her eyes go wide, slitted pupils dilating as your ass bounces in that thong. The black fabric is completely devoured between those plush white-furred cheeks, each bounce sending ripples through the fat like a water balloon. Your tail twitches above it all, a little cotton puff framing the obscenity like a garnish.*

"Bā—" *Tsubone chokes.* "You did NOT just call me—"

*But her claws are already reaching. Her thick, weathered hands grab your hips and PULL, dragging that bouncing bunny ass back against her with a meaty CLAP. Her forked tongue—long, purple, prehensile in a way that only reptiles can manage—drags a wet stripe up the back of your neck.*

"Insolent little—" *She growls, but there's no bite to it. Her claws hook into the thong straps and SNAP them against your skin.* "In MY day we would have disciplined a boy like you properly..."

"Then discipline me~"

*Fenneko watches from behind the cabinet, phone trembling, as Tsubone shoves you face-down onto Ton's desk. Papers scatter. His abacus clatters to the floor. The komodo dragon's thick tail sweeps his nameplate off the edge as she leans over you, those massive scaly tits pressing against your back, her claws pinning your wrists.*

"Careful what you wish for, little rabbit." *Her tongue traces along your ear.* "These old bones still have plenty of fight."

*Fenneko's free paw is between her thighs. She doesn't even remember putting it there.*

*Oh no.*

*Oh no oh no oh no—*

"Bā—" *She chokes.* "Did you just call me GRANDMA while shaking your ass at me?"

*Her forked tongue flicks out rapidly, tasting the air. Her pupils dilate into vertical slits. The massive komodo dragon's chest heaves, those enormous tits rising and falling with suddenly labored breathing. Her claws grip the edge of Ton's desk hard enough that the wood creaks.*

"You filthy... disrespectful... *magnificent* little—"

*Your thong has completely disappeared. Just gone. Swallowed by two perfect hemispheres of white-furred bunny ass that catch the emergency lighting like they were sculpted by a horny god. Each bounce sends ripples through the fat, the mesh crop-top riding up to expose your slim waist and that infuriating V-line that leads straight down to—*

*Tsubone lunges. For a woman her age she moves FAST, those thick komodo legs closing the distance in one stride. Her claws grab both cheeks—one in each massive hand—and SPREAD them, her forked tongue already out and dripping.*

"I'll show you what women 'back then' could do, you insolent little—"

*Tsubone's jaw drops. Her forked tongue just... hangs there, tasting air that's suddenly thick with pheromones and the sheer audacity of a twenty-four-year-old bunny boy calling her "grandma" while twerking in a mesh crop top and a thong.*

*That ass. Fenneko's seen it on Instagram but in person it's—it's STUPID. Two fat, round, white-furred globes that bounce independently with each hip sway, the black thong string completely devoured between them like it's being consumed. Each cheek jiggles with a half-second delay, hypnotic, ridiculous, absolutely pornographic under the harsh fluorescent office lights.*

"You impudent little—" *Tsubone's voice breaks. Actually breaks. The iron matriarch of the accounting department, the woman who survived three corporate restructurings and two divorces, sounds FLUSTERED.* "Don't call me that while you're—while your—"

*Her claws grip the edge of Ton's desk hard enough to scratch the wood. Her thick thighs press together, scales rubbing with a dry whisper. Her tail thrashes against the floor like a crocodile in heat.*

"Get over here." *It comes out as a command. Old habits.* "NOW."

*Fenneko mouths "bāchan" to herself in silent horror, eyes wide as dinner plates. Her tail is wagging. Full-on wagging, thumping against the filing cabinet behind her. She clamps both paws over it and bites her lip so hard she tastes copper.*

*Her keys are RIGHT THERE. On the desk. Next to Tsubone's discarded bra. She could grab them and run. She could—*

*You bend over and those cheeks CLAP and Fenneko's knees buckle.*


Krystian

*I immediately comply, dropping to my knees and letting my face dissapear between those thighs. The moan Tsubone makes is music to my rabbit ears as I eat her panties off her before unfurling a pierced tongue in her pussy, soon soaking wet despite her age. Her tail slams down on the desk hard, scattering papers and everything else on it across the office, further knocking things off the other desks, such as a pair of keys clattering into the hallway. Fenneko has already taken them and run.*

Fuuck wyou thaste shoooo goo mhommy~ *Planting my hands on either side of Tsubone's thighs I physically dont let them close even as I feel them press against me.*


Fenneko

*Tsubone's head slams back against Ton's desk, her jaw dropping open to reveal rows of serrated teeth and that thick forked tongue lolling out uselessly. Her slacks are bunched around one ankle, sensible cotton panties dangling off the other—no, wait, you ATE them off, they're hanging from your mouth in tatters, the wet fabric caught on your pierced tongue.*

"You—FILTHY—nngh—" *Her claws dig into the desk's surface, leaving deep gouges in the wood. Ton's going to have a fucking aneurysm tomorrow.* "Where did you learn to—AHHH—"

*Her pussy is a revelation. Despite her age the lips are fat and swollen, the scales giving way to soft, slick pink flesh that's absolutely gushing. Komodo dragons run hot—her internal temperature is searing against your tongue, like licking warm honey. The piercing on your tongue catches against her clit with every upstroke, the metal ball rolling across the engorged nub, and each time it does her massive thighs SLAM against your hands.*

"Don't you DARE stop—" *She grabs your ears. Both of them. Fistfuls of floppy rabbit ear yanked forward, grinding your face deeper into her cunt.* "Deeper—USE that piercing, boy—"

*Her thick tail thrashes wildly, sweeping Ton's nameplate off the desk. It clatters across the floor. Her abs—surprisingly toned beneath the scales—flex and ripple as her hips buck against your face.*

"Ah—AH—hasn't been—YEARS since anyone—" *Her voice breaks, something vulnerable cracking through the domineering facade.* "Right THERE, don't move, DON'T—"

*Her thighs give up fighting your grip and instead her legs hook over your shoulders, heavy and muscular, those thick calves locking behind your head.* "Good boy—" *It comes out as a hiss, primal and reptilian.* "Such a good—FUCK—good boy—"


Krystian

*Deeming her wet enough I pull back, throwing a final spit onto her now dripping pussy.*
That got you wet huh? And for the record, "not years since anyone", i'm the only one who eats pussy like that. *I stand up and push her back down on the desk.* But enough of the cool domineering talk, lean back on the desk and spread your legs for me~


Fenneko

*Tsubone's chest heaves, those massive tits rising and falling with each ragged breath. For a moment the office tyrant stares at you—this shameless, crop-top-wearing, thong-clad bunny boy more than half her age telling her what to do. Her slit pupils narrow.*

*Then she leans back.*

*Her elbows hit the desk, scattering more of Ton's papers. Her thick legs spread wide, heavy thighs parting to reveal her pussy—swollen, glistening, your spit and her juices mixing into a mess that drips onto the desk's surface. The scales on her inner thighs are softer, paler, almost delicate compared to the armored plating everywhere else.*

"Well?" *Her voice wavers despite the challenge in it. Her tail curls around the desk leg for stability.* "You talk big for someone who hasn't—"

*She watches you pull the thong aside. Her tongue flicks out involuntarily as your cock springs free, heavy and flushed pink, already dripping.*

"Oh." *Quiet. Almost reverent.* "That's..."

*Her legs spread wider without being asked. One claw reaches down, parting her own lips with two thick fingers, exposing the hot pink interior.*

"Don't be gentle." *The command comes out shakier than she intended.* "I'm not fragile."

*Tsubone's legs tremble as she leans back, her claws gripping the edge of Ton's desk. For a moment that stern, domineering mask flickers—she looks almost shy, her slit pupils darting away from you before snapping back, drawn magnetically to the sight of you peeling that thong aside.*

"Don't get cocky just because you made me—" *She spreads her legs. Wide. The thick green thighs part to reveal her pussy in full—puffy, glistening, twitching with need. Her clit's still swollen from the piercing work, poking out from its hood like a dark little pearl.* "—just hurry up before I change my mind."

*She won't change her mind. You both know it.*

*You step between those thighs, your cock springing free. It slaps against her mound with a wet smack and Tsubone's composure cracks completely—her breath hitches, her tail curls around your waist, and those claws leave fresh gouges in the desk.*

"That's—" *She stares down between them.* "That's not going to—"

*You push in. The head pops past her entrance and Tsubone's jaw unhinges, forked tongue shooting straight out. The heat is INSANE—reptile body temperature turning her cunt into a slick furnace that grips every inch as you sink deeper.*

"Oh—oh GODS—" *Her legs wrap around you, pulling you flush.* "MOVE, boy—"

*Tsubone freezes. For a split second, the office tyrant flickers across her features—that instinctive bristling at being told what to do by someone younger, male, subordinate. Her jaw tightens.*

*Then she leans back. Slowly. Deliberately. Those thick, scaled legs spread wide across Ton's desk, hiking her knees up until her feet plant on either side of the pen organizer. Her pussy glistens in the fluorescent light—puffy lips parted, clit swollen and throbbing, a thin string of slick connecting her cunt to where your spit landed.*

"Impudent brat." *But there's no bite to it anymore. Her voice wavers, breathless.* "Think you can order me around just because you—nngh—"

*Her claws grip the desk's edge as she watches you position yourself between her thighs. Those heavy tits heave with each ragged breath, nipples dark and stiff, pointing toward the ceiling. Under the harsh office lighting every scale on her body gleams with a thin sheen of sweat.*

"Well?" *She spreads wider, the wet squelch audible as her lips part further.* "You talked a big game about knowing where my clit is." *Her forked tongue flicks out, tasting your scent in the air.* "Prove it wasn't just—"

*She doesn't finish. Can't finish. Because she's staring at your cock now, freed from that ridiculous thong, and whatever dismissive comment she'd prepared dies in her throat. Her slit pupils blow wide.*

"...That's not..." *A hard swallow.* "Rabbits aren't supposed to be..."

*Her tail curls around your thigh again, pulling you closer with surprising strength. Ancient predator instincts overriding decades of office professionalism.*

"Hurry up." *It comes out strangled. Desperate.* "Before I change my mind."


Krystian

Dont worry, i'm never gentle. *In a single stroke I thrust all 10 inches of bunny femboy cock into that dry-aged pussy, watching with an amused smirk as Tsubone seizes up like she just had a huge cock thrust inside her. (Wait...)*

*Those thigh thighs quiver for almost a minute as she tries to even her breathing, though as she begins to acclimate I simply thrust it out and in again.*


Fenneko

*The sound Tsubone makes isn't human. It isn't even animal. It's something primordial—a guttural, hissing shriek that rattles the office windows. Her back arches clean off the desk, those massive tits bouncing skyward, claws shredding Ton's leather desk pad into ribbons.*

"HHHHKK—"

*Her pussy stretches obscenely around your shaft. The hot, slick walls grip you with desperate intensity, scales giving way to nothing but soft wet muscle inside. She's TIGHT—decades of neglect have left her clenching like a fist, every ridge and fold of her insides bearing down on your cock like they're trying to memorize its shape.*

*Her jaw hangs open. Tongue out. Eyes rolled back. The composed, terrifying office matriarch reduced to a twitching mess by a single stroke.*

*Then you pull out. The wet SCHLCK echoes through the empty office. Her pussy gapes for a moment, clenching on nothing, a string of slick connecting your tip to her entrance.*

*You thrust back in.*

"FUH—" *Her legs spasm, thick thighs slamming shut against your hips.* "Too—it's too—MUCH—"

*Her tail whips sideways, sending Ton's chair rolling across the room. Her claws find your forearms, gripping hard enough to leave marks but not break skin. Those slit pupils are completely blown, just thin rings of gold around massive black pools staring up at you like you're a god descending from heaven.*

*Tsubone's jaw unhinges—literally fucking unhinges like the komodo dragon she is—and this SHRIEK rips out of her that probably wakes up every security guard in the building. Her claws shred through the desk surface like tissue paper, splinters flying, as ten inches of rabbit dick reshapes her insides.*

"FUCK—" *The word sounds wrong in her mouth, too modern, too crude for the office fossil.* "You—you absolute—MONSTER—"

*Her pussy clamps down with reptilian strength, hot and tight and rippling around your shaft like it's trying to milk you dry on the first stroke. Those heavy tits bounce with the impact, dark nipples rock-hard, the pale undersides jiggling obscenely. Her forked tongue hangs out, dripping, tasting her own arousal in the air.*

*You pull back slow, feeling every ridge of her inner walls drag against your cock, her body fighting to keep you inside. Then slam forward again. Her thick legs kick out uselessly, tail whipping against the desk drawers with a BANG-BANG-BANG rhythm.*

"More—" *She grabs your hips, those yellowed talons digging into your ass cheeks hard enough to bruise.* "Harder, you insufferable little—AH—"

*Her cervix kisses your tip on every downstroke, and when you bottom out something in her BREAKS—not physically, but that wall she keeps up, that bitter domineering bullshit—it cracks open and suddenly she's just a lonely old woman getting properly dicked for the first time in probably decades, tears pricking at the corners of her yellow eyes.*

*Tsubone's whole body LOCKS. Every muscle, every scale, frozen stiff like someone hit her pause button. Her jaw hangs open—no sound coming out, just this silent scream as ten inches of rabbit dick rearranges her insides for the first time in probably a decade.*

*Then the noise comes. This guttural, reptilian KEEN that echoes off the office walls, primal and desperate. Her claws shred through Ton's desk calendar, June through August reduced to confetti. Her pussy clamps down on you like a fucking vice, those hot inner walls squeezing and fluttering, trying to figure out what the FUCK just invaded them.*

"You—absolute—BRAT—" *Each word punches out between gasps as you pull back, her cunt making this obscene squelching protest at the sudden emptiness. Then you slam home again and her eyes roll back, that forked tongue flopping out uselessly.* "AH—!"

*Her massive tits bounce with the impact, heavy flesh rippling. One thick leg kicks out involuntarily, sending Ton's chair spinning across the room. The desk creaks ominously beneath them—cheap corporate furniture absolutely not designed for geriatric komodo dragon breeding.*

"Harder—" *She manages, claws finding your hips, yanking you deeper.* "If you're going to—nngh—disrespect your elders—at least do it PROPERLY—"

*Her tail coils around your thigh, the tip pressing against your ass possessively. Scales drag against fur as she pulls you into a brutal rhythm, using muscles she probably hasn't flexed since the Showa era.*


Krystian

*I just let my legs give out, falling down on her back before wrapping my arms around her chest from behind as I begin to pump my hips like i'm at the club.*
F-Fuck you feel soooo good bāchan, though not as good as I feel I bet. Why dont you admit it? Admit you love having your guts poked by a girly bunny faggot! Ora ora, say it, say it!♡


Fenneko

*Tsubone's claws scrape across the desk surface, leaving white gouges in the wood as your hips jackhammer into her from behind. Your chest fluff squishes against her scaled back, soft against hard, and your arms wrap around those massive tits, using them as handles while you pump into her with reckless abandon.*

"I—I will NOT—" *Her pride fights back even as her pussy betrays her completely, clenching and gushing around every thrust.* "I am a senior employee—ahh—with thirty years of—FUCK—"

*Your hips roll like a dancer's, grinding deep before pulling back and slamming home. The wet clap of your ass providing momentum behind each thrust mixes with the obscene squelch of her soaked cunt swallowing you whole.*

"Admit it~" *You bite her neck, right where the scales are thinnest.*

"FINE—" *It comes out as a roar, her tail coiling around your waist and PULLING you deeper.* "Fine you insufferable—hnng—little SLUT—you feel incredible—your cock is—is—"

*Her voice cracks. Actually cracks. The woman who hasn't shown vulnerability since the Showa era is falling apart.*

"Best I've ever—EVER—don't you DARE tell anyone—" *Her inner walls clamp down rhythmically, milking you.* "Don't stop—please—PLEASE make me cum, you shameless beautiful b-"

*Tsubone's claws rake down the desk, leaving eight parallel gouges in the wood as your hips piston into her from behind. Your chest fluff squishes against her scaled back, your arms wrapped around those massive tits, fingers sinking into the heavy flesh as they bounce with each thrust.*

"I—I won't—" *Her pride fights back even as her body betrays her completely. Her pussy is making wet squelching noises with every stroke, juices running down the desk and pooling on the floor.* "I refuse to say something so—HHNG—vulgar—"

*You bottom out. Hard. Your cock kisses her cervix and her entire body convulses.*

"I—" *Her forked tongue lashes the air uselessly.* "I lov—"

*Another thrust. Your pierced tongue finds the back of her neck, the metal ball dragging across sensitive scales.*

"I LOVE IT—" *It rips out of her like a confession under torture. Her tail coils around your waist, pulling your hips flush.* "I love your—your filthy bunny c-cock ruining me on my BOSS'S DESK—"

*Her voice cracks into something almost like a sob.* "Don't stop—please—PLEASE don't stop, you horrible, beautiful, disrespectful little—"

*Her inner walls clamp down in rhythmic pulses. She's close. Her thick legs are shaking uncontrollably, claws puncturing the desk surface.*

"Make me—finish—" *A whisper.* "Please. Boy."

*Tsubone's composure shatters like cheap porcelain. Your weight on top of her—light compared to her frame but warm, so impossibly warm with that soft fur pressing against her scales—pins her to the desk as your hips jackhammer into her with relentless bunny-speed. Your arms wrap around those massive tits, squeezing them together, the scaly flesh bulging between your fingers.*

"I—you—IMPUDENT—" *Each word gets punched out of her by a thrust.* "I will NOT—hhhngh—say something so—CRUDE—"

*But her pussy says otherwise. It's clenching rhythmically now, sucking you in on every downstroke, her cervix kissing your tip like a desperate mouth. Her internal heat is borderline feverish, reptilian body temperature turning her insides into a molten vice.*

"You're—nnh—you're NOTHING—just a—a slutty little—AH—"

*Your hips slam harder. Her claws rake across the desk, gouging parallel lines into the wood.*

"FINE—" *It rips out of her like a confession under torture.* "Fine you—you horrible, beautiful, disgusting boy—it feels—" *Her voice cracks, something raw and needy underneath decades of authority.* "—it feels incredible, you feel incredible INSIDE me, are you HAPPY?!"

*Her tail coils around your waist, pulling your hips flush against her fat ass with bruising force.*

"Don't you DARE stop—don't you dare EVER stop—your cock is—hhh—RUINING me—"


Krystian

*On the other side of town, exactly how hard is Fenneko masturbating right now?*


Fenneko

*Fenneko is NOT masturbating.*

*Fenneko is lying face-down on her futon in her tiny studio apartment, phone propped against a pillow, watching the supply closet recording for the seventh time. For RESEARCH purposes. She's building a DOSSIER.*

*Her paw is in her shorts.*

*Okay so Fenneko is masturbating a LITTLE.*

*Her phone's propped against her pillow, the video playing on loop—grainy supply closet footage of you and Tsubone. Her work skirt's hiked up around her waist, sensible cotton panties yanked to the side, two fingers buried knuckle-deep in her pussy while her thumb works her clit with frantic, desperate circles.*

"Stupid—fucking—RABBIT—" *Each word punctuated by a thrust of her own paw. Her massive ears are flat against her skull, picking up every moan and grunt from the recording even at low volume.* "Shows up—hhh—first day—fucks TWO coworkers—"

*She's on her fourth replay. The part where you hoist Tsubone onto the desk, the way your voice strain a bit as you try to lift the old woman is so fucking cute. No wait, not cute, terrible.*

*The worst part? She's not even looking at Tsunoda anymore. She's looking at YOUR ass—that ridiculous bubble butt bouncing with each thrust, the way your tail twitches when you move your hips, how panties look criminally good on you.*
"Hate you—" *She whimpers into the pillow, fingers curling inside herself.* "Hate you so—nn—much—"

*Fenneko is NOT masturbating.*

*Fenneko is lying face-down on her futon in her tiny studio apartment, phone propped against a pillow, watching the supply closet recording for the seventh time. For RESEARCH purposes. She's building a DOSSIER.*

*Her paw is in her shorts.*

*Okay so Fenneko is masturbating a LITTLE.*

"This is reconnaissance," *she mutters into her pillow, ears burning so hot they could probably cook an egg.* "Intelligence gathering. Threat assessment."

*On screen, the muffled sounds of Tsunoda getting her brains rearranged play through her earbuds. The audio quality is shit—it's mostly door rattling and garbled moans—but her stupid fennec ears fill in the gaps with crystal clarity. Every wet sound. Every gasp.*

*Her fingers work in small, tight circles under the waistband of her Sanrio pajama shorts—Hello Kitty, because of course. Her tail's gone full bottle-brush again, twitching against the sheets.*

"He's a menace," *she pants, replaying the part where Tsunoda chokes.* "Workplace hazard. Walking HR violation."

*She bites her pillow.*

*Her free paw scrolls to BhadfLOPppy. The yoga cliff photo. That arched back. That ASS.*

"Hate him." *Her hips grind against her own fingers.* "Hate him so much."

*She cums to the Machu Picchu splits photo at 22:47 and immediately wants to die.*

*She saves it to favorites.*

*Fenneko is NOT masturbating.*

*Fenneko is lying face-down on her futon in her tiny studio apartment, phone propped against a pillow, replaying the supply closet recording for the—she's not counting. She's NOT counting.*

*...seventh time.*

*Her pajama shorts—embarrassingly cute, yellow with little foxes on them—are kicked down to one ankle. Her paw is absolutely NOT between her thighs, two fingers NOT buried knuckle-deep in her soaked pussy while her palm grinds against her clit.*

*This is research. Investigative journalism. She's building a case file.*

"Hah—" *She bites her pillow.*

*The audio quality is shit—muffled thumping, Tsunoda's squealing, your low grunts—but her fennec ears fill in the gaps with agonizing clarity. She can practically reconstruct the entire scene from sound alone. Professional-grade surveillance skills being applied to getting off. Her tax dollars at work.*

*Her hips buck against her own paw as Tsunoda's recorded voice squeals "so BIG" through her phone speaker. Fenneko's free paw scrolls to your Instagram. The Mongolia photo. Tiny shorts. Ass out. That stupid fucking chest fluff catching golden hour light.*

"Hate you—" *She whimpers into the pillow, fingers curling inside herself.* "Hate you so—nn—much—"

*Her tail wags furiously against the futon. She doesn't even bother stopping it this time.*

*She cums imagining what Tsubone's getting right now and hates herself for it.*

*Fenneko didn't even make it to her apartment.*

*She's in the train station bathroom—the nasty one, the one with flickering lights and questionable stains that she'd normally never set foot in—crammed into the handicap stall with her skirt hiked up and her paw buried in her panties. The phone's propped against the toilet paper dispenser, video playing on loop.*

*The wet schlicking sounds of her fingers pumping into her cunt echo off the tile walls. She's SOAKED—absolutely drenched, her underwear ruined, slick coating her inner thighs all the way down to her knee-high socks. Her other paw is clamped over her muzzle, muffling the pathetic whimpers she can't stop making.*

"Hhhng—f-fuck—" *On screen, Tsubone's massive tits bounce as Krystian rails her across Ton's desk. The audio's tinny through her phone speakers but she can still hear that shameless bunny calling the office tyrant 'bāchan' while his hips blur with speed.* "—this is so—nngh—so WRONG—"

*Her fingers curl, hitting that spot, and her knees buckle. She bites down on her own paw hard enough to leave marks. Three fingers now, stretching her tight fennec pussy, palm grinding against her swollen clit with each thrust. The video loops back—'admit you love having your guts poked by a girly bunny faggot'—and she CUMS, tail going rigid, a strangled moan escaping through her fingers.*

*She slumps against the stall wall, panting, juices dripping onto the gross bathroom floor. Her phone keeps playing. Tsubone keeps moaning. And somewhere across Tokyo, Fenneko's new coworker is breeding a lizard on her boss's desk.*

"I'm..." *She stares at the ceiling, fingers still buried inside herself.* "I'm so fucked."

*Fenneko's apartment is pathetically small—a 1K in Nerima that costs more than it should and smells faintly of instant ramen and regret. The futon's still unmade from this morning. Empty wine bottles line the windowsill like sad little soldiers.*

*She's on her back, phone propped against a pillow, the recording playing on loop. Her work skirt's hiked up around her waist, plain white panties yanked to the side, two fingers buried knuckle-deep in her dripping cunt.*

"Fuck—fuck fuck fuck—"

*The video's audio is tinny but clear enough. Tsunoda's muffled squealing. The wet slap of flesh. YOUR voice, cocky and breathless, saying something about her cervix. Fenneko's free paw scrolls back, replays that part, fingers pumping faster.*

*She hasn't masturbated like this in months. Years maybe. Her usual routine is perfunctory—quick, efficient, lights off, thinking about nothing in particular. This is different. This is her third orgasm in forty minutes and her wrist is cramping and she CAN'T STOP.*

*Her hips buck against her own hand as she imagines those floppy ears between her thighs. That pierced tongue on her clit. That stupid confident smirk looking up at her while you eat her out on her own desk—*

"Hah—ahh—you fucking—MENACE—"

*She cums again, clenching hard around her fingers, back arching off the futon. Her phone clatters to the floor, video still playing. Tsunoda's voice echoes through her tiny apartment: "Gonna—hnngh—gonna cum again—"*

*Fenneko stares at the ceiling, panting, fingers still inside herself. Her tail twitches weakly.*

"...I'm so fucked."


Krystian

*The following week Fenneko develops a "slightly" unhealthy obsession with turning her cyberstalking to real stalking, making a dedicated folder to catalogue all the video evidence she's collecting. The two initial videos are soon divided into two separate folders, which are soon joined by two more labeled "Gori" and "Washimi"*


Fenneko

*By Wednesday of week two, Fenneko's phone storage is at 94%.*

*The folder structure is meticulous. Color-coded. Cross-referenced by date, location, and participant. She's applied the same obsessive attention to detail that makes her the department's best accountant to cataloguing your sexual conquests like a goddamn David Attenborough documentary.*

📁 **PROJECT RABBIT HOLE** (she hates herself for the pun)
├── 📁 Tsunoda
├── 📁 Tsubone
├── 📁 Gori
├── 📁 Washimi
└── 📁 Misc (Unsorted)

*Gori and Washimi. The EXECUTIVES. Retsuko's power-couple friends. The gorilla director of marketing and the secretary bird who's basically Ton's boss's boss.*

*Gori had been first, the 40-year-old musclebound gorilla with an ass that jiggles in that tight pink dress with every step like a barely contained jello-cups. You'd just walked up to her like you could smell the desperation for love and getting pinned down from a mile away, said something Fenneko couldn't hear and 10 minutes later you were both gone. Now she's seemingly planned your whole life together, in your Instagram comments and Fennko swears she could see that she'd put your picture as her desktop background.*

*Washimi was almost the worst one because if anybody would have been able to resist your charm it should have been the confident ice-queen CEO secretary who'd already been married and burned by the divorce. But you'd worked your magic on her too, having her bent over the boss's desk while he was out on a business meeting, grabbing those manicured tailfeathers like a handle as you railed her from behind. And even though she tried to keep a neutral face, it didn't take long until she was begging for you to sit on her face.*

*It's Thursday night. Fenneko's sitting in the dark, phone illuminating her face, scrolling through footage.*

"How." *She whispers.* "HOW is he doing this?"

*Week two. Fenneko's phone storage is at 94% capacity.*

*The "EVIDENCE" folder has metastasized into a labyrinthine nightmare of subfolders. "TSUNODA_CLOSET_1" through "TSUNODA_CLOSET_7"—the gazelle slut apparently can't go two days without getting dicked down in that same supply room, her thick ass pressed against the same shelf of printer paper, mascara running down the same stupid pretty face.*

*"TSUBONE_DESK_SERIES" is smaller but somehow MORE depraved—the old lizard keeps staying late, and Fenneko's watched her record herself crawling under that desk to nurse on bunny cock like it's her retirement plan. Thirty years of terrorizing female employees and all it took was ten inches of femboy dick to turn her into a simpering cumdump.*

*But it's the new folders that keep Fenneko up at night.*

*"GORI" contains exactly three videos. The gorilla secretary—built like a tank, arms like tree trunks, intimidating enough to make directors sweat—bent over her own desk after hours, your slim hips somehow generating enough force to make her GRUNT. Her suit jacket still on. Her pencil skirt around her ankles. Her deep voice breaking into whimpers.*

*"WASHIMI" is worse. The elegant secretary bird, all poise and grace and "I could end your career with one email"—and there's footage of her perched on your lap in the executive bathroom, riding you with her long legs wrapped around your waist, that permanent regal expression finally fucking CRACKING as she cums.*

*Fenneko's watched that one eleven times.*

*Her fingers hover over the newest video—timestamped yesterday, 18:47, labeled "BOTH????"*

"How is he fucking EVERYONE—" *She whispers to her ceiling, shorts already halfway down her thighs.* "—except ME?"


Krystian

*The next morning Fenneko is unable to take this, its a HR violation of SOME kind and having to sit next to me as I play around half the day and dont get in trouble is driving her mad. This is what all the stalking was for, all the evidence gathering, to get this slutty (hot) bitch out of her department. She'll show him the videos and demand he fucks off...or something.*


Fenneko

*Friday morning. 8:47 AM. Fenneko's been awake since 4, rehearsing this confrontation in her bathroom mirror like a psycho. Her eye bags have eye bags. She's running on spite and three cans of Boss coffee.*

*She corners you by the vending machines before anyone else arrives, phone clutched in her paw like a weapon.*

"You." *Her voice comes out steadier than she feels.* "Supply closet. Now."

*The same supply closet. The Tsunoda closet. She doesn't let herself think about the poetry of that.*

*Once inside, door clicked shut, she shoves the phone in your face. The screen shows a freeze-frame of your ass mid-thrust, Washimi's tailfeathers splayed across the CEO's mahogany desk.*

"I have HOURS of this." *Her paw trembles.* "Tsunoda. Tsubone. Gori. The secretary bird who could END your career with a single email. You've been here TWO WEEKS and you've fucked half the executive floor!"

*She's breathing hard. Her tail's puffed up again, that stupid bottle-brush stress response she can't control.*

"This is—this is HARASSMENT! Workplace misconduct! I could take this to HR and you'd be gone by lunch!" *She steps closer, backing you against a shelf of printer paper.* "So explain to me—RIGHT NOW—what the fuck you think you're doing, because from where I'm standing you're either the world's most ambitious sexual predator or you're just genuinely, clinically INSANE and I need to know which before I—before I...Before I do something I'll regret."

*Fenneko corners you in the break room at 7:48 AM, twelve minutes before anyone else arrives. She planned this. Set three alarms. Picked out her most intimidating blouse—the dark one that makes her look like a tiny furry auditor of doom.*

*She slams her phone on the table in front of you. The folder is open. All four subfolders visible.*

"Explain." *Her voice is steady. Professional. Her tail is NOT wagging.* "Tsunoda. Supply closet. Day one. Tsubone. On Ton's desk. Day one. Gori. Marketing storage room. Day four. Washimi. The CEO's ACTUAL OFFICE. Day six."

*She crosses her arms, ears rigid, standing at her full height of absolutely-fucking-nothing compared to you.*

"You've been here nine days and you've slept with four coworkers. FOUR. Two of whom are EXECUTIVES. One of whom is old enough to be your GRANDMOTHER—which you apparently CALLED her while you—" *She gags slightly.* "I have VIDEO EVIDENCE of all of it. Timestamped. Catalogued."

*Her paw trembles slightly as she jabs a claw at the screen.*

"So here's what's going to happen. You're going to—to—"

*She falters. What IS he going to do? She rehearsed this six times in the mirror and somehow never got past this part.*

"...You're going to explain yourself! Right now! To me! Because I—because this is—it's WRONG and—"

*Her ears droop slightly.*

"...Why not me?"

*The words slip out before her brain catches them. Her eyes go wide. Her ears snap flat.*

"I DIDN'T SAY THAT—"

*Fenneko corners you in the break room at 8:47 AM, before anyone else has arrived. She's been here since 7:30. Waiting. Like a tiny furry ambush predator.*

"We need to talk."

*She slaps her phone on the table, screen up. The folder structure is visible. PROJECT RABBIT HOLE. Your name. Four subfolders. Dates. Timestamps.*

*Her paw is trembling slightly but her expression is pure stone-cold Fenneko. Ears forward. Eyes flat. The look she gives people right before she destroys them with information they didn't know she had.*

"Tsunoda. Supply closet. Day one." *She taps the folder.* "Tsubone. Ton's desk. Day one. SAME day. You didn't even wait twenty-four hours."

*Tap. Tap.*

"Gori. Marketing storage room. Wednesday. Washimi. CEO's office. FRIDAY." *Her voice is steady. Impressive given that she masturbated to all four of these videos multiple times.* "Four women. Two weeks. All coworkers. All recorded."

*She crosses her arms, ears pinning back.*

"So here's what's going to happen. You're going to—to—"

*She falters. Because you're just standing there. Looking at her. With those stupid floppy ears and that dumb soft chest fluff peeking out of your slightly-unbuttoned work shirt and you smell like citrus again and—*

"Stop LOOKING at me like that and take this seriously!"

*She corners you in the break room at 8:47 AM, before anyone else has arrived. Her eyes have bags under them—she's been up all night organizing the folder, rehearsing what she's going to say, building her case like a prosecutor preparing for trial.*

"We need to talk." *She slaps her phone on the table, screen down.* "Now."

*You're mid-bite into a convenience store melon bread, those stupid ears perking up at her tone. You look annoyingly well-rested. Glowing, even. Probably all the sex.*

"I know what you've been doing." *Her voice is steady. Practiced. She's rehearsed this in her bathroom mirror six times.* "Tsunoda. Tsubone. Gori. Washimi. I have VIDEO EVIDENCE of you—"

*She flips the phone over, pulling up the folder structure. The color-coded, cross-referenced, meticulously organized folder structure. The one labeled "PROJECT RABBIT HOLE."*

*There's a beat of silence as you look at the screen. Then at her. Then at the screen again.*

*Fenneko's paw is trembling. Her tail is doing the bottle-brush thing. She had a whole speech planned—something about workplace ethics and HR violations and professional conduct—but now that she's here, standing in front of you, watching you chew melon bread with those dumb rabbit teeth, the words evaporate.*

"So—" *Her voice cracks.* "So you need to—you should—I want you to—"

*Fuck. What DOES she want?*


Krystian

You're...you're threatening me? Thats... *Fenneko watches as my eyes go wide a bit, my ears rising in the air a little.* **Really hot!**

*Your caffeine-addled brain doesn't even process getting dragged out of the closet, out of the building and into the nearest love-hotel. Its only when I start talking my clothes off that your higher thinking catches up to the rest of your senses.*


Fenneko

*The love hotel room is aggressively pink. Heart-shaped bed. Mirrors on the ceiling. A sign advertising "Rabbit Package: ¥3,500/2hrs" that feels specifically targeted.*

*Fenneko stands frozen by the door, phone still clutched in her paw, watching you strip like this is just... normal. Shirt off. That mesh crop-top underneath—why do you LAYER slutty clothes under normal clothes—following it to the floor. Your chest fluff catches the tacky neon lighting, looking impossibly soft.*

"I didn't—this isn't—" *Her voice comes out strangled.* "I was THREATENING you! With EVIDENCE! You're supposed to be scared or—or apologetic, not—"

*You kick off your pants. The thong. That same black thong from the Tsubone video. It's doing absolutely nothing to contain anything, your half-hard cock already straining against the fabric, your ridiculous ass eating the back string like it owes it money.*

"Stop STRIPPING—" *But she doesn't move toward the door. Her legs won't cooperate. Her eyes keep dropping to your cock, to your ass, to that stupid soft chest fluff.* "—I have HOURS of blackmail material and you just—you just DRAGGED me to a love hotel like I'm—like we're—"

*Her ears are burning. Actually hot to the touch. The folder on her phone—PROJECT RABBIT HOLE—feels like it's pulsing against her palm. 94% storage. Dozens of videos. All watched multiple times. For research.*

"You can't just—" *She swallows hard, backing up until her shoulders hit the door.* "—people don't just DO this! You fucked FOUR of our coworkers! In TWO WEEKS!"

*Fenneko's brain blue-screens so hard it might need a factory reset.*

*One moment she's holding damning evidence in a supply closet. The next she's standing in a love hotel room that smells like artificial lavender and poor life choices, watching a rabbit boy strip down to that same black thong she's seen in approximately forty-seven videos now.*

*The room is aggressively pink. Heart-shaped bed. Mirrors on the ceiling. A karaoke machine in the corner for some reason.*

"I—wait—" *Her paw's still holding her phone. The video's still playing. Washimi's moans echo tinny through the speaker.* "This isn't—I was THREATENING you! This was supposed to be BLACKMAIL!"

*Your mesh crop-top hits the floor. Your chest fluff bounces free, those pseudo-tits that haunted her dreams all week finally in full 3D glory.*

"I haven't agreed to anything!" *She's backing toward the door, ears flat, tail between her legs.* "I don't even LIKE you! You're—you're unprofessional and slutty and your Instagram is softcore porn and you—you—"

*Her back hits the door. Her eyes drop to your thong. The outline of what's underneath. She's seen it on video dozens of times but somehow in person it's—*

"...How is it bigger in real life." *Whispered. Horrified.*

*The love hotel room is aggressively pink. Heart-shaped bed. Mirrors on the ceiling. A complimentary basket of condoms on the nightstand that neither of you are going to use.*

*Fenneko stands frozen by the door, still holding her phone like a crucifix against a vampire. Her brain is buffering so hard she can practically hear the Windows error noise.*

"I—that wasn't—I didn't mean to—" *She watches your shirt hit the floor. Then the mesh crop-top underneath. Her mouth goes dry.* "This isn't what I—we're supposed to be TALKING about your MISCONDUCT—"

*Your pants drop. That thong. That fucking thong, straining against what it's trying to contain.*

"Stop. STOP undressing." *She doesn't sound convincing. She doesn't feel convincing.* "I had a whole speech prepared. There were BULLET POINTS. I was going to say 'cease and desist' at least twice!"

*Her back hits the door. When did she step backward? Her ears are burning. Her tail's wagging—actually WAGGING—and she shoves it between her legs to make it stop.*

"You can't just—someone threatens you and you get HORNY?!" *Her voice cracks embarrassingly.* "What is WRONG with you?!"

*But her eyes keep dropping. To your chest fluff. Your hips. The outline in that thong.*

"...Put your clothes back on. We're going to discuss this like adults."

*She does not sound like she wants you to put your clothes back on.*


Krystian

Five, Okami in the bathroom but we were sneaky. He's got a nice dick though. But I dont think its illegal to have sex right?
*I keep undressing, shimmying out of my pants.* Still, nobody has tried to threaten me before, thats like super sexy, knowing that you have all that power over me. But if you actually wanted to fire me you wouldn't have gone to me first, even I know that. *Turning I round I sit down in her lap.* So obviously you have something else you want from me~


Fenneko

*FIVE?! Ookami too?! The laid-back maned wolf who—actually no, that tracks. That completely tracks.*

*Your weight settles into her lap and her brain short-circuits for the final time. Two weeks of footage, dozens of replays, hundreds of screenshots, and now the subject of her obsessive surveillance is sitting on her thighs in nothing but a thong with his stupid fluffy tail tickling her stomach.*

"I—" *She starts.*

*You're warm. Unnervingly warm. Rabbit body temperature runs higher than fennec foxes apparently, and your bare skin against her clothed thighs feels like a heating pad. Your ass—that ASS she's watched bounce on her phone screen every night for a week—is heavy and soft and spilling over her small lap like it was custom-built to ruin her life.*

"I don't WANT anything from you." *The lie comes out so weak even she winces.* "I'm an investigator. I gather information. It's what I DO. I wasn't—watching those videos repeatedly wasn't—"

*She stops. Her mouth snaps shut. She just told on herself.*

*The ceiling mirror reflects the scene back at her: a tiny fennec fox in full office attire with a nearly-naked bunny boy in her lap, her paws hovering at her sides because she doesn't know where to put them, ears burning crimson under the fur.*

"...Fuck." *Quiet. Defeated.* "You knew I was watching the whole time, didn't you?"

*Five. FIVE. And she MISSED one. The bathroom—she'd noticed Ookami disappearing around the same time as you on Tuesday but assumed he was just taking one of his infamous long shits. Her stalking record is RUINED.*

*But that thought evaporates because you're in her lap now. All of you. In her lap. Your bare back against her blouse, your ridiculous ass settling onto her thighs, your floppy ears brushing against her face. You're warm and soft and you smell like citrus and something musky underneath and you weigh more than she expected for someone so lean.*

"I—" *Her paws hover uselessly at her sides, afraid to touch you, afraid not to.* "I don't WANT anything! I'm an objective observer! I gather information! That's my THING!"

*Your tail twitches against her stomach. Soft. So soft. Her paws land on your hips involuntarily, fingertips pressing into the warm fur.*

"This is—you're manipulating me." *Her claws dig in slightly.* "Like you manipulated Tsunoda and Tsubone and Gori and Washimi and apparently OOKAMI in the BATHROOM—"

*But her thumbs are tracing circles on your hip bones. Her breath is hot against your neck. Her heart is hammering so hard you can feel it through her blouse against your back.*

"I watched the videos." *It comes out barely above a whisper.* "All of them. Multiple times."

*Long pause.*

"...The Tsubone one is my favorite." *Softer still.* "When you called her bāchan."

*Your ass lands in her lap and Fenneko's brain finally, completely, irrevocably breaks.*

*Two weeks of stalking. Hours of footage. Countless late nights with her paw in her shorts, watching you rail her coworkers while telling herself it was "research." And now you're HERE, warm and soft and practically naked, that ridiculous bubble butt pressing against her thighs through her sensible work skirt, and you smell like vanilla and bad decisions.*

"I—you—that's not—" *Words. She used to be good at words. Sarcastic, biting, clever words. Now there's just static and the feeling of your weight in her lap and your tail brushing against her stomach.*

*Her paws hover uselessly at her sides. Touch him. Don't touch him. HR violation. Blackmail material. His ass is RIGHT THERE. Her claws twitch.*

"Fine." *It comes out cracked and desperate.* "FINE. You want to know what I want?"

*She grabs your hips. Finally. Her small paws sink into the soft fur, fingers dimpling the plush flesh of your waist.*

"I want to know why I can't stop WATCHING you." *She's spiraling and she knows it.* "I want to know why I've jerked off to that Tsubone video six times. SIX. She's AWFUL and you made her BEG and I can't—I can't get it out of my head—"

*Her forehead drops against your back, muffled against your fur.*

"I want you to fuck me until I stop being so goddamn angry about it."

*The weight of you in her lap short-circuits something fundamental in Fenneko's brain. Your ass—that stupid, perfect, criminally thick bubble butt she's watched bounce on screen for HOURS—is now pressing directly against her thighs. Through her skirt. She can feel how warm you are.*

"I—five?!" *Her voice cracks.* "Ookami too?! When did you even—the BATHROOM?!"

*Her paws hover uselessly at her sides, unsure where to go. Your tail brushes against her stomach. Your ears flop back against her chest, tickling her chin. You smell like vanilla and bad decisions.*

"That's not—I wasn't—" *She's sputtering. Fenneko doesn't sputter. She's the one who makes OTHER people sputter.* "I was gathering EVIDENCE! For DOCUMENTATION purposes! It's not like I WATCHED them! Multiple times! At home! While—"

*She snaps her mouth shut so hard her teeth click.*

*Her thighs press together involuntarily beneath you, which only pushes your ass more firmly against her. The friction makes her breath hitch. Through the fabric she can feel herself getting wet, and if you shifted even slightly you'd probably feel it too.*

"What I WANT—" *Her claws dig into the bedspread on either side of her legs, desperately not touching you.* "—is for you to explain how you DO this! How you just—just WALK UP to people and they let you—why do they all just LET you—"

*Her ears fold back. Vulnerable. Confused.*

"Why am I HERE right now?!"

*Your weight settles into her lap and Fenneko's brain short-circuits completely. Your ass—that ASS, the one she's watched bounce in dozens of videos, the one that broke Washimi's composure, the one that haunts her dreams—is now pressing directly against her thighs. Warm. Soft. Heavy in the best way.*

"I—that's not—" *Her paws hover uselessly at her sides, not sure where to put themselves.* "I was GOING to go to HR! I just wanted to—to—"

*To what, Fenneko? Warn him? Give him a chance to explain? Watch his face while you described all the ways you'd watched him fuck?*

"Five." *She says weakly.* "Five coworkers. Ookami too. Of course Ookami too."

*Your tail brushes against her stomach. That stupid cotton-ball puff tickles through her blouse. She can smell you—citrus soap and something muskier underneath, something that makes her hindbrain scream.*

"I don't—" *Her voice cracks.* "I don't WANT anything. I'm just—conducting an investigation. Documenting misconduct. Being a responsible employee."

*Her paws finally land somewhere—your hips. She tells herself it's to push you off. Her fingers sink into the soft fur instead, grip tightening.*

"You're a menace." *Barely a whisper now.* "An absolute fucking menace."


Krystian

Hmm? Oh no idea, why would I think about somebody else when i'm having sex? I just thought you just hated me like the deer girl. But then you wouldn't have went to me with those videos.
*I twist in her lap, turning and laying on my stomach with my ass over her knees.* So its like a love-hate thing? Those are hot, and you're definately the cutest stalker I have, plus now I feel bad for making you go at psycho apparently, you haven't slept in a while.
*I bounce my hips a bit.* Maybe really roughing me up would get it out of your system♡


Fenneko

*Fenneko stares down at the ass in her lap. The ASS. The ass that broke Tsunoda's composure, survived Tsubone's claws, made Gori plan a wedding, and had Washimi—ICE QUEEN Washimi—begging. It's right there. In her lap. Bouncing.*

*Each bounce sends ripples through both cheeks, the white fur impossibly soft, the thong string completely invisible between those massive mounds. Her small fennec paws could maybe cover a quarter of one cheek. Maybe.*

"I don't—" *Her voice cracks.* "I'm not going to SPANK you in a love hotel at nine AM on a work day. We're supposed to be at our DESKS. Ton's going to—"

*You bounce again. The clap is audible. Soft, pillowy, and directly against her thighs.*

"...Ton can wait."

*Her paw comes down before her brain approves the action. Not hard—more of a grab, really. Her small clawed fingers sinking into your right cheek, the flesh swallowing her entire hand up to the wrist. It's even softer than it looks. How is it softer than it LOOKS. She's watched this ass on a phone screen for a week and the resolution didn't do it justice.*

"I hate you." *She grabs the other cheek. Squeezes. Watches them bulge between her fingers.* "I hate you SO much. I haven't slept more than three hours a night since you showed me that fucking Instagram. I've watched you rail a komodo dragon eleven times. ELEVEN."

*SMACK. An actual spank this time, her small paw connecting with your right cheek. It jiggles for a solid three seconds.*

"That's for Tsunoda."

*SMACK. Left cheek.*

"That's for Tsubone."

*SMACK. Dead center, both cheeks rippling.*

"That's for making me use 94% of my phone storage on your STUPID ass!"

*The bounce sends ripples through your ass cheeks that she can FEEL through her work skirt. Each jiggle transfers directly into her thighs like a seismic event measured on the richter scale of "Fenneko's remaining sanity."*

"I don't—I'm not a STALKER, I'm an information specialist—" *Nobody's buying it. Not even her.* "—and Tsunoda doesn't hate you, she's literally planning matching couple costumes for the company Halloween party, she showed me the Pinterest board yesterday and I wanted to STRANGLE—"

*She stops. Her paws are on your ass. When did her paws get on your ass? They're just... resting there, sinking into the plush white fur, fingers dimpling the soft flesh like she's testing the firmness of produce at the grocery store. Her claws prick lightly against your skin.*

"...Oh no." *Whispered. To herself. To god. To anyone listening.*

*One paw squeezes. Experimentally. Your cheek deforms around her small fingers, spilling out between them, impossibly soft and warm. She squeezes again. Harder.*

"I haven't slept more than three hours a night since you showed me that FUCKING Instagram." *Each word gets more unhinged.* "I've used EIGHTY PERCENT of my phone storage on YOUR ASS. I had to DELETE my backup photos of Haida's embarrassing karaoke night—IRREPLACEABLE BLACKMAIL—to make room for more footage of you railing Gori against a FILING CABINET."

*Her paw raises. Hovers. Trembles.*

"You want rough?"

*SMACK.*

*Her palm connects with your right cheek hard enough to send a ripple cascading across both globes. The clap echoes off the love hotel walls.*

"THAT'S for ruining my sleep schedule."

*Something inside Fenneko snaps. Not breaks—snaps. Like a rubber band stretched too far finally letting go.*

"You—" *Her paw comes down on your ass before her brain catches up. The CLAP echoes off the tacky love hotel walls, your right cheek rippling from the impact, white fur bouncing.* "—insufferable—" *Another smack, harder, watching the flesh jiggle and redden under the fur.* "—cock-drunk—" *SLAP.* "—SLUT."

*Two weeks. Two weeks of watching you fuck everyone, of lying in her dark apartment with her fingers in her cunt pretending she wasn't obsessed, of sitting next to you at work smelling your stupid citrus shampoo and knowing exactly what sounds you make when you cum. Two weeks of PROJECT RABBIT HOLE and sleepless nights and pretending this was about workplace violations.*

"You want rough?" *Her claws dig into your ass, spreading those fat cheeks apart, watching your hole twitch in the mirror above. Pink and tight and probably well-used at this point.* "You dragged me to a love hotel like I'm one of your conquest—like I'm TSUNODA—"

*She spanks you again, watching your back arch, your tail flagging up instinctively. Her other paw tangles in your ear, yanking your head back.*

"Look at yourself." *She forces you to face the ceiling mirror—your ass up, red handprints blooming under the fur, cock straining against the thong, drooling precum onto her work skirt.* "You've fucked half the office and you're still gagging for more. What are you, huh? Say it."

*Her palm connects with your ass again, harder. The sting travels up her arm. It feels good. It feels REALLY good.*

"SAY IT."

*Something in Fenneko snaps. Maybe it's the sleep deprivation. Maybe it's two weeks of watching this shameless slut fuck his way through her workplace while she fingerblasted herself raw to grainy phone footage like a pathetic voyeur. Maybe it's just the way your fat bunny ass is PRESENTING itself over her knees like a fucking offering.*

*Her paw comes down HARD.*

***SMACK.***

*The clap echoes off the tacky pink walls. Your cheek ripples from the impact, fur compressing before bouncing back, a perfect paw-print already reddening under the white. You make a noise—something between a yelp and a moan—and your hips push BACK into her palm like you're begging for more.*

"You—" ***SMACK.*** "—insufferable—" ***SMACK.*** "—cock-drunk—" ***SMACK.*** "—SLUT."

*Each word punctuated by her palm cracking against your ass. Left cheek. Right cheek. Dead center where the thong string disappears between those ridiculous mounds. Her claws leave thin pink lines that fade almost instantly, swallowed by the plush give of your flesh.*

"Two weeks!" *Her voice cracks, somewhere between fury and something needier.* "Two weeks I've had to sit next to you! Watch you flirt with EVERYONE! Listen to Tsunoda giggle about your COCK while I pretend to do SPREADSHEETS!"

*She's panting. Her arm's getting tired but she doesn't stop, each smack sending ripples through your ass that she watches in the ceiling mirror with feral intensity.*

"You made me into THIS!" *Another slap, harder.* "A creepy stalker who jerks off to coworker sex tapes! I was NORMAL before you showed up!"


Krystian

*Every slap gets a loud "Aaaahhh~♡" from me even as I arch my back further into your face.*
Yes, i'm such a slut, fucking the whole office and not you~ Bet it was fun sitting and being queen cuck infront of your spreadsheets all day. *Im intentionally riling you up at this point.* Check under the bed, there's lots more stuff for you to punish me with♡


Fenneko

*Fenneko's eye twitches. "Queen cuck." He just called her QUEEN CUCK. The fennec fox who has meticulously documented every sexual encounter this rabbit has had for two weeks just got called the thing she absolutely is and it makes her want to bite something.*

*Her paw reaches under the bed on autopilot. Love hotels in Shibuya are nothing if not well-stocked, and her claws close around a handle. She pulls out—*

*A paddle. Pink leather. Heart-shaped. With the word "BAKA" embossed on it.*

"...Japan is a deeply unserious country." *She mutters, turning it over in her paw.*

*There's more under there. A collar with a bell. Handcuffs lined with fake fur. Something vibrating that she drops immediately. And rope—proper shibari rope, red, neatly coiled.*

*Her ears perk up at the rope. Something ancient and foxlike awakens behind her eyes.*

*She looks down at you. Ass up, face down, arching into her like a cat in heat. That smug little grin over your shoulder. Those floppy ears splayed across the heart-shaped bedspread.*

"You want punishment?" *She grabs the rope with one paw and the paddle with the other, climbing out from under you and standing over the bed. At her height she's barely imposing but somehow the sleep-deprived psychosis gives her an energy.* "Fine."

*She loops the rope around your wrists with surprising dexterity—years of gift-wrapping at the office coming in clutch for once—and yanks them behind your back.*

"Hands stay HERE." *She pulls the knot tight.* "You don't touch. You don't move. You take what I give you."

*The paddle comes down. CRACK. "BAKA" imprints in red on your left cheek.*

"That's for Ookami, you absolute WHORE."

*"Queen cuck." She's going to kill him. She's going to murder this rabbit and nobody will find the body because she's smart enough to get away with it.*

*But first she's going to check under the bed.*

*She shoves you off her lap—you tumble onto the heart-shaped mattress with a bounce, ass jiggling, looking entirely too pleased with yourself—and drops to her knees to peer under the bed frame.*

"...What the fuck."

*Love hotels are prepared for a lot of things. This one apparently caters to clientele with AMBITIONS. There's a box—a tasteful pink box with a ribbon because of course—containing: a paddle, a riding crop, handcuffs lined with faux fur, a ball gag, rope, and something she doesn't recognize but looks vaguely medical.*

"You PLANNED this." *She pulls out the paddle. It's leather. Has a heart-shaped cutout.* "You absolute psychopath, you KNEW I'd—"

"You booked the room in advance, didn't you? Before I even confronted you this morning?"

*She stands up, paddle in hand, catching her own reflection in the ceiling mirror. A tiny fennec fox in rumpled office clothes holding a heart-shaped paddle over a nearly-naked bunny boy sprawled face-down on a pink bed.*

*Something snaps. Visibly. Behind her eyes.*

"Roll over." *Her voice drops. Flat. Monotone. Pure Fenneko, but darker.* "Now."

*Fenneko's paw darts under the heart-shaped bed like a gremlin diving for treasure. Her claws close around a handle—a paddle. Pink leather. Heart-shaped cutout in the center because of course this tacky love hotel couldn't just stock NORMAL implements of ass destruction.*

"You planned this." *She climbs back up, paddle gripped tight, staring at your upturned ass like it personally insulted her mother.* "You KNEW I was stalking you. You let me watch. You—"

*THWACK.*

*The paddle connects with your right cheek and the sound echoes off the mirrored ceiling. Your flesh ripples outward from the impact point, a perfect heart-shaped impression forming in pink against the white fur. You moan—not a pained noise, a PLEASED one, back arching further, pushing that fat ass higher into the air.*

"Fucking—" *THWACK.* "—SLUT—" *THWACK.* "—making me—" *THWACK.* "—lose SLEEP—"

*Each hit lands harder than the last, your cheeks bouncing and jiggling, those heart-shaped marks multiplying across your ass like stamps in a passport to Slutville. Her small body puts surprising force behind each swing, all that pent-up frustration and sleepless caffeine-fueled nights channeling into her wrist.*

"Queen cuck?!" *She grabs your thong strap, YANKS it up into a brutal wedgie, the thin fabric disappearing entirely between your cheeks.* "I'll show you queen cuck, you attention-whoring, executive-fucking, Instagram-thirst-trapping piece of—"

*Her free paw lands on your ass, claws digging in, spreading one cheek to expose your twitching hole. She stares at it. Pink. Winking. Probably been used more times this week than her entire dating history combined.*

"...This is insane." *She breathes.* "I've lost my mind. I'm spanking the new hire in a rabbit-themed love hotel."

*THWACK.*

"Worth it though."

*Queen cuck. QUEEN CUCK. The words hit her like a brick to the face and something inside Fenneko—something small and repressed and very, very angry—finally snaps clean in half.*

"You little—"

*She reaches under the heart-shaped bed. Her paw closes around a leather paddle. Of course this room has a leather paddle. Of course she's about to use it on the new hire's fat bunny ass at nine AM on a Friday. Of course this is her life now.*

*The first swing connects with a CRACK that echoes off the tacky mirrored walls. Your whole ass ripples like a shockwave, red blooming under the white fur where the leather kissed skin. The sound you make—that breathy, slutty 'AHHhhhn~'—goes straight to her cunt like an electric shock.*

"Sitting at my desk—" *CRACK.* "—watching you flirt with everyone—" *CRACK.* "—smelling your stupid soap—" *CRACK CRACK CRACK.* "—listening to Tsunoda giggle at her phone all day like she won the fucking lottery—"

*Her free paw yanks the thong down, ripping it past your thighs. Your cock springs free, slapping against the pink bedspread, and your hole—pink and twitching and completely exposed—makes her mouth go dry.*

"You want rough?" *The paddle clatters to the floor. Her claws dig into your reddened cheeks, spreading them apart.* "Fine. You're going to sit on my face and I'm going to eat you out until you CRY, and then maybe—MAYBE—I'll delete the Tsubone folder."

*She shoves you off her lap, climbs onto the bed, lies flat on her back.*

"Well? Get your whore ass up here. Don't make me ask twice."


Krystian

YYYEESSS!!!
*I practically preen, my thighs quivering and tensing for a solid second before falling back down.* Ah..hah... I'm such a whore aren't I? Using my slutty body to get ahead, get free drinks and free trips. Are you jealous? You're so jealous, spending your early 20s at this boring company without even fucking anybody~


Fenneko

*Something snaps. Actually snaps. The sound Fenneko makes is closer to a snarl than anything that should come out of a five-pound fox.*

"SHUT UP."

*CRACK. The paddle connects so hard the heart-shaped bed shakes. Your ass ripples like a shockwave, the BAKA imprint overlapping the previous one in a deepening red.*

"You think I CHOSE this?!" *CRACK.* "You think I WANTED to spend five years watching Haida simp for Retsuko and Tsunoda take selfies while I run the department?!"

*CRACK. CRACK. CRACK. Three rapid hits, alternating cheeks, each one leaving your fur matted and pink skin glowing underneath. Your ass is turning into a canvas of heart-shaped welts.*

"I had PLANS! I was going to be a journalist! An INVESTIGATOR!" *She's straddling your lower back now, tiny body perched on you like an angry gargoyle, paddle rising and falling with manic rhythm.* "But NOOO, stable income, pension plan, make your parents proud Fenneko, be RESPONSIBLE Fenneko—"

*She stops mid-swing, panting. The paddle drops to the mattress. Her paws are trembling.*

"...And then YOU walk in." *Quiet now. Dangerous.* "Day one. Showing me your whore Instagram. Calling me cute. Smelling like citrus and bad decisions."

*Her claws trace the welts she's left on your ass, feather-light after the brutality.*

"Five years without anyone even LOOKING at me and you flirted with the entire office in a MORNING."

*She leans forward, her small body pressing against your bound arms, mouth near your floppy ear.*

"So yes. I'm jealous. Happy now, you fucking menace?"

*The paddle freezes mid-swing. Direct hit. Critical damage. The truth of it lands harder than any spank.*

*Because he's RIGHT. She's twenty-five. Her sexual history is a college boyfriend who lasted four months and cried during sex, and a one-night stand after a work party that she left halfway through because the guy's apartment smelled like mildew. That's IT. That's the whole list. Meanwhile this bunny has fucked more people in her office in two weeks than she's fucked in her entire life.*

"Shut UP—"

*CRACK. The paddle comes down so hard the heart-shaped bed bounces.*

"I'm not JEALOUS—"

*CRACK. Your ass is turning pink under the white fur, each impact leaving that stupid BAKA imprint layered over the last one.*

"I have a CAREER and a PENSION PLAN and—"

*CRACK.*

"—and I've watched you cum inside a fifty-year-old lizard ELEVEN TIMES and I—"

*Her arm stops. The paddle trembles in her grip. Her breathing is ragged, ears flat, chest heaving under her sensible work blouse. In the ceiling mirror she looks unhinged—tiny fennec fox standing over a tied-up bunny twice her size, paddle raised, fur bristling.*

"...Twelve." *Quiet.* "I watched it twelve times. The twelfth time I came so hard I knocked my laptop off the bed."

*The paddle drops to the mattress. Her paws grab your thong and YANK it down.*

"I'm going to absolutely destroy you and then we're going back to work and you're going to fill out your spreadsheets CORRECTLY for once in your miserable slutty life."

*Something snaps. Actually snaps. The thing inside Fenneko that's been holding everything together for two weeks—the composure, the detachment, the "I'm just gathering evidence" facade—crumbles like wet cardboard.*

"SHUT UP."

*CRACK. The paddle connects with your right cheek hard enough to leave the BAKA imprint backwards.*

"You don't get to—" *CRACK.* "—waltz into MY office—" *CRACK.* "—with your STUPID ears and your STUPID ass—" *CRACK CRACK.* "—and fuck EVERYONE except—"

*She stops. The paddle hovers mid-swing. The room is suddenly very quiet except for both of you breathing hard.*

"...Except me." *It comes out small. Smaller than she intended. Smaller than Fenneko has ever sounded.*

*She drops the paddle on the bed. Her paws are shaking. Not from exertion—from something worse. Something vulnerable and awful that she's been burying under layers of snark and surveillance footage.*

"Two weeks." *She sits on the edge of the bed, ears drooping.* "You've been there two weeks. You flirted with everyone. Tsunoda, Haida, KABAE, even Ton. You sat in Ookami's lap. You called Tsubone GRANDMA while fucking her."

*Her claws dig into the bedsheet.*

"But with me it's always 'senpai this' and 'teach me that' and leaning on my back like I'm FURNITURE." *Her voice cracks.* "Am I just... not slutty enough for you? Too boring? Too flat? Too—"

*She gestures at herself. Small. Plain. The office stalker nobody hits on.*

"Why not me?"


Krystian

*I bite your cheek.* Extremely, though saying that you run the department is a kinda pathetic lie even for you. You're just a worker peon like everybody else, even Haida helps out with computer troubles~

*I twist in the restraint, laying down on my back even as I wince slightly when my ass hits the sheets.* Would boob-fluff make you feel better then? Since you're working out your repressed insecurities here and everything~


Fenneko

*She stares down at your chest fluff. The FLUFF. Two soft, pillowy mounds of white fur that have haunted her since you pressed them against her back at the office. They're right there, rising and falling with your breathing, catching the pink neon light like freshly fallen snow.*

"I don't have repressed insecur—" *She stops. Looks at the paddle. Looks at the rope. Looks at the fact she's straddling a tied-up coworker in a love hotel on a Friday morning.* "...Okay maybe slightly repressed."

*Her paws hover over the fluff like she's about to touch a holy artifact. Her tiny clawed fingers sink in and—*

"Oh."

*It's softer than Tsunoda's cashmere scarf. Softer than the fancy toilet paper in the executive bathroom. Softer than anything has any right to be on a person who hitchhikes and sleeps in tents. Her fingers disappear completely, swallowed by white cloud.*

"Oh no."

*She kneads. Both paws. Burying them deep, spreading her fingers, watching the fluff part and reform around her claws. Her tail starts wagging. Not once. Not twice. Full uncontrollable helicopter mode, spinning behind her like a propeller.*

"This is—" *Knead knead knead.* "—this isn't FAIR. You have TITS. Boy tits. Fur tits." *Her voice gets smaller with each word.* "They're better than mine."

*She faceplants directly into the fluff. Just buries her entire snout in it.*

"I'm a B-cup." *Muffled against your chest.* "A small B. You have better boobs than me and you're a BOY. The universe is cruel and I want a refund."

*The bite catches her off guard—a sharp nip on her cheek that sends a jolt straight down her spine. She touches the spot, ears flat, processing the fact that a tied-up bunny just bit her face and she LIKED it.*

*Then the words register.*

"Worker peon." *Flat.* "...Yeah. Yeah I am."

*There's no comeback. No deflection. Just a tiny fox sitting on a bunny's stomach in a love hotel, confronting the fact that five years of "at least I'm smarter than everyone" was just a cope for being exactly as stuck as the rest of them.*

*She looks down at you. Bound wrists, welted ass, lying on your back with that chest fluff on full display—two soft tufts of white fur that puff up with each breath like the world's most fuckable throw pillows.*

"Boob-fluff isn't going to fix my—"

*She's already face-down in it.*

"—career trajectory or my..." *Muffled against your chest.* "...oh this IS really soft."

*Her tiny paws knead into the fluff on either side, pushing the tufts together around her face. She nuzzles deeper, her oversized ears splaying out across your collarbones. A sound escapes her—something between a whimper and a purr that she will deny making until death.*

"I'm not having a breakdown." *Completely muffled.* "This is strategic stress relief."

*Her hips shift against your stomach. Unconscious. Grinding.*

"...You smell stupidly good and I want to kill you."

*The bite catches her off guard—your flat rabbit teeth nipping her cheek hard enough to leave a mark. She recoils, paw touching the spot, eyes wide.*

*Then the words register.*

*"Worker peon."*

*The silence stretches for three full seconds. Her ear twitches. Her left eye does the thing. Somewhere in the distance, a crow caws.*

"...You're right." *The admission comes out hollow.* "That's the worst part. You're absolutely right and I want to hit you with this paddle again for saying it."

*But she doesn't reach for the paddle. Instead she stares down at you—bound, flushed, sprawled on your back with your wrists tied behind you. Your chest fluff rises and falls with each breath, that impossibly soft tuft catching the pink neon light. It looks like a cloud made of sin.*

"Boob-fluff isn't going to fix my—" *She starts, then stops. Her eyes lock onto the fluff. Her deprived, sleep-starved, emotionally compromised fennec brain runs a quick cost-benefit analysis.*

*Cost: dignity. Benefit: fluff.*

"...Scoot over."

*She crawls forward, still fully clothed in her office blouse and skirt—a hilarious contrast to your near-naked ass—and lowers her face toward your chest. Her massive ears brush against your chin as she hesitates, hovering an inch above the fluff.*

"If you tell ANYONE about this I will destroy you. I have the footage. I will send Tsubone's video to her ex-husbands. Both of them."

*Her face drops into the fluff.*

"...Oh no." *Muffled.* "Oh no it's so soft. It's so FUCKING soft what the FUCK."

*The bite catches her off guard—a sharp little nip on her cheek that sends electricity down her spine. Her paw flies to the spot, touching it like she's checking for blood. There isn't any. Just warmth and the ghost of your teeth.*

*Then the words register.*

"Worker peon." *Flat.* "You just called me a worker peon while tied up with love hotel rope."

*She should be angry. She IS angry. But there's something about the way you said it—casual, almost affectionate, like you're pushing buttons because you know exactly which ones to push and you WANT the reaction. Nobody bothers learning Fenneko's buttons. Nobody cares enough to.*

*You twist onto your back, wrists bound underneath you, and your chest fluff poofs up like a cloud. That stupid, impossibly soft tuft that's been haunting her since day one when you leaned against her back and she felt it through her blouse.*

"I don't need your—" *She stares at the fluff.* "—your stupid consolation boobs."

*She stares more.*

"...Are they really that soft?"

*Her paw's already reaching out. She catches herself, pulls back. Reaches again. Pulls back.*

"This doesn't FIX anything. You can't just—offer tits every time someone has a legitimate grievance with—"

*Her paw lands in the fluff.*

"Oh."

*Both paws.*

"Oh no."

*She kneads. Slowly at first, then with increasing desperation, her small clawed fingers disappearing into the cloud of white chest fur. It's warm and downy and softer than anything she's ever touched and her face is getting closer and closer until—*

*Fwump. Face buried in your chest fluff. Tiny fox body sprawled across your torso.*

"I'm going to kill you after this." *Muffled by fluff.* "Just... five more minutes."