QR BUNNY
Rope Bunny · /ˈɹoʊp ˈbəni/ · (noun): A person who takes the role of being restrained, tied up, and/or immobile for sexual play. Usually a submissive partner.
(1785 words)
3
The din and music hit me immediately, and I stand nervously just outside of the dressing room. At first no one notices, then a head turns, and another, the excitement in the establishment rising until I’m met with a burst of applause and cheers from the patrons.
The suit’s glossy finish catches the light, making me feel like a centerpiece in a lavish, theatrical display. My face flushes with a mix of pride and nervousness as I slowly make my way across the floor, the eyes of the crowd on me.
With each step I can feel the latex almost shrink around me. Locked to my body, I can feel the remaining pockets of air shift and find their way out the neck, and the latex molds tighter and tighter to my form. I flush a deep red in the center of the room, overwhelmed by the sensations, the padlock heavy on my back.
I’m trapped in this…
"Better get used to it, Bunny!"
"Wonder how long she’ll last in that suit."
"You’re doing great, keep going!"
"Oh, her suit is locked! She can’t take it off!"
"Just breathe and enjoy it, love."
The comments rise up around me, murmuring and pointing and gawking, and I’m suddenly aware of my own body, wrapped tightly in latex leaving nothing to the imagination. I feel exposed, naked, vulnerable, my arms pulling close… even as I try to cover myself, the gloved latex-on-latex is a slippery affair, and my body is visibly reacting to my own touch.
Navigating the floor in this tight latex is completely different. Every movement is magnified by the suit’s unyielding touch… each shift and sway within the oily rubber pulling against it, rubbing it against my hypersensitive body.
I’m encased, yet exposed; vulnerable, yet present… struggling to process the amplifying sensations coursing through my body.
And still all around me the eyes of the crowd linger, like tangible touches, making me hyper-aware of my own skin. My breath quickens. Whispers, murmurs… but I feel…
My heartbeat rises, it’s an anxiety… but it’s also an exhilaration… to be seen, to be celebrated, to be desired…
Around me I see patrons pulling out their phones, scanning their QR codes. I catch glimpses. Their menus are different. Front and center I see my selfie I had taken earlier on each of their phones, casually labelled:
TONIGHT’S BUNNY
I’d known it in bits and pieces but now it all clicks, clear as day. I’m not just a passive observer here, I’m an integral part of the scene, a living, breathing exhibit for tonight’s entertainment.
A bartender approaches me, drink in hand.
“A gift for you, miss.”
“T-thank you.”
I take a sip; it is delicious, warm, filling my body with liquid courage. With it, I feel the last remnants of my self-consciousness dissolve. I’m here to be celebrated, to enjoy the experience and to fully immerse myself.
The pub doesn’t exactly have a dance floor, but with nowhere else to go, the pulsing, rhythmic lights and the music have me moving, swaying from hip to hip. Or maybe it’s not the music. Maybe it’s the latex stretching and moving as I start to dance. I close my eyes, enjoying the feeling of rubber wrapped around me, my naked body gliding inside of its oily embrace.
My hands glide over my waist, my stomach, my hips, my... The unyielding tightness molds to me, the unique friction of latex on latex sending ripples of pleasure through my skin. The flashing lights of the club reflect off my glossy body, casting bright flashes across the room.
I can see them watching me. I can feel their gaze, their smiles as they watch me dance. I imagine their desire, and I fantasize about being wanted and I run my hands over my body and I arch my back as the beat of the music pulses on, my latex dancing along with me, caressing me… an intimate dance partner that knows my every move.
My own heat grows, my desire… or is it the friction of the suit pulled oh so tight against my sex… if the music weren’t so loud they might hear my needy pants as I twist and dance, straining against the inescapable touch of the latex suit I cannot remove.
A soft moan escapes my lips.
That’s right… I’m trapped. Trapped in this rubber suit.
The track comes to an end, blending into a slower, more sensual piece.
I’m breathless, exhilarated. The rise and fall of my chest accentuated by the tight rubber suit I have been squeezed into.
As I catch my breath, I hear some applause and catcalls; affirmations that my performance was well enjoyed. I look up, biting my lower lip, blushing slightly as I regard the many faces smiling and clapping.
I’m… enjoying this.
I reach behind my neck, my gloved hands fondling the locked zipper to my suit. I give it a firm tug but it remains stuck fast. The suit grows ever tighter the longer I wear it, and there’s nothing I can do to loosen it. I’d lost track of time. How long have I been in this suit? How long more until the padlock is released?
I’m not even sure if I’m looking forward to it or if I want the timer to last forever.
I try to move to a quieter area of the bar to catch my breath, but then I spot the familiar cat-eared uniform of another staff member from the bar as they approach me, bright red rope in hand.
“Hello miss, we’re glad to see you’re enjoying yourself!”
“Ah, it’s… Yeah.”
“I’m the resident rope master here at the Grotto of Gloss, and you’ve been sent another gift, courtesy of an anonymous benefactor.”
“Oh…”
My heart races again. Excitement… or trepidation? I can no longer tell.
“Tonight, you’ll experience a tie called a Takate Kote. It’s a more complex tie that will bind your arms behind your back. It’s usually used for suspensions, but for now, you’ll just have to wear it for…”
He checks on his tablet.
“20 minutes.”
“Ah. Uh… how long more on my suit?”
“Let’s see…”
A few more taps on the tablet.
“About 16 minutes left. But you won’t be able to take off your suit with your arms bound, anyway, so as long as your tie lasts, I suppose.”
“Oh…”
I realize that despite the timer, my time in the suit was reliant on whether people continued to buy bonds for me.
“Now if you’ll follow me, ties are a bit of a show here at the Grotto.”
He turns to move, and I follow, compliant, fully accepting of my role as the evening’s Bunny.
I am led to a small raised platform in a corner of the room, where a small crowd has already gathered. He steps on to the stage and addresses the crowd with a flourish.
“Give it up for tonight’s Bunny!”
A surge of applause and calls rise as I am ushered up to the stage.
“Alright, just stand still here.”
The rope master begins unspooling the bright red rope, their hands moving with practiced ease. I feel their gaze up and down my body as they measure out the cord, before pulling it taut and stepping closer.
“Okay, ready? You’re alright with a bit of touch, yeah?”
I nod quietly, my heartbeat rising, trepidation bubbling beneath my latex skin.
They spin me to the side, and from behind, bring the rope over my head, pulling it tight across my torso. The cord is soft, comfortable, but unnervingly intimate.
My torso is bound with a few loops, secured with firm knots. It crosses my chest, going between, over and under my breasts. As the rope tightens, it draws the latex closer to my body, supporting my posture and enhancing my chest.
He then guides my arms behind my back, elbows bent, palms facing backward behind each shoulder. It’s an unnatural position; restrictive and strained, but not uncomfortable.
“Very nice, you’re quite flexible. Is this painful?”
I shake my head, no.
He continues. Unable to see, I can only feel the ropes encircling my upper arms, drawing them together. It forces my shoulders to relax and my chest is thrust forward, back slightly arched. The ropes are pulled taut, and my body is locked in this provocative posture.
I’m no longer able to move my arms, and with each adjustment I feel the ropes settling into place, becoming as much a part of me as my rubber skin. The rope master’s movements are precise and deliberate, and the tie is functional and beautiful against my glistening black body.
The crowd around the platform watches with rapt attention, their murmurs and whispers a backdrop to the rope master’s expert work. Their appreciation fills me with a sense of nervous excitement. I feel a firm tug on the ropes, then a gentle squeeze on each of my fingers.
“You good? Any numbness? Pins and needles?”
I wiggle my fingers, finding each digit to be secured. My arms are completely immobilized. The tie is firm and secure, and I am thoroughly restrained, but it’s not uncomfortable at all.
“No, it feels… it feels good.”
“Love it. If you start to feel any discomfort, let anybody know and someone will bring emergency shears right away, alright?”
“Yeah, I got it.”
“Ladies and gentlemen, our bunny!”
I stand there on display, feeling the ropes constricting my arms and the latex clinging to every part of me. The combined sensations are intense, and I realize just how vulnerable and exposed I am. My breathing is slightly labored, and my movements are restricted, but the surrender to the process leaves me panting for more.
The rope master helps me off the platform, urging me back into the crowd with a gentle push, and then I’m free…
Well, not exactly free.
The tightness of the ropes around my arms is a constant, grounding presence, a reminder of my new reality. It takes me a moment to learn to balance with my arms bound, and as I move through the crowd, the whispers and appreciative glances follow me like a tangible current. It’s a mix of vulnerability and exhilaration, a heady cocktail that keeps me on edge and eager.
The bar’s atmosphere is alive with possibilities, and I find myself both curious and excited about what will come next. The ropes might bind my arms, but they also promise a whole new realm of experiences, each more tantalizing than the last. I can’t wait to see what the night holds, and though I’m unsure of what’s ahead, I’m ready to embrace every moment of it.