CW SMUT, YIFF, NONCON
Bunnybait
Hariette couldn't believe she had agreed to this. Her little nose twitched in fear and anticipation. She wore a flowing yellow dress to match her blonde desert-adapted fur, her floppy ears hanging loose and soft around her shoulders. She wrapped her paws around the bars of the literal gilded cage she had been paid so well to stand in. Of course, bunny baiting at greyhound races was barbaric, and of course, most racetracks didn't even use the wooden models anymore, but some rich animals have more tradition in them than respect. Still, the cage would protect her from the boys until they had calmed down enough to get over their more primal instincts.
Not that she was immune to primal instincts herself. Even though the cage would be whirred along smoothly down a track, the idea of staying just an inch above and in front of a pack of sweating, slobbering greyhounds that wanted to tear into her...Hariette couldn't think like that in front of the crowd, whenever her cage lifted. Her dress raised notably over her growing erection and her face flushed, despite the absence of anyone watching her in the little underground backstage area. The cage was rounded, with thin strips of gilded metal bent into elegant arches, forming uncompromising crosses. No chance a Greyhound's jaws could get through those gaps, even if one somehow did catch up to the cage itself. She was safe, and after a little bit of humiliation, she was going to be a rich, rich bunny. Or so she had been told.
She was busy tapping her foot and telling herself comforting lies that everything would be ok, that it was just a job, that she didn't secretly want those tall growling athletic predators to set upon her in front of all those rich animals who had payed to see her dangled in front of them like meat in the name of tradition...there went her dress rising again. She really had to stop letting her mind wander. But what else was there to do in her cage? It was barely five feet across, and only just tall enough for her to fully stand up in. She thumped her foot. She adjusted her dress to show more cleavage. She got embarrassed and adjusted it back. She waited, and her nose twitched, and her fantasies continued.
Eventually, after an embarrassing and largely futile half an hour trying to keep her mind under control, the trapdoors above her opened. She squinted in the hot sunlight of the gorgeous spring day. The crowd was cheering, and she could hear, but not quite make out, the announcer over the stadium's PA. She lifted her long ears and strained to understand what he was saying just as he finished calling out to the audience "...and who *wouldn't* want a prize like this?" Something in his voice sent a thrill through her body. Before she could process exactly what it was about the voice that reminded her, unbidden, of steam and sweat and stink, the cage began to raise with a soft but audible ticking of gears. This was it. Showtime. Race day. Time to be the bait.
Aside from "sit there and look pretty," Hariette had one other job. She was to signal the start of the race! She had been assured it was an honor, although she suspected that the ostensibly traditional pose that she was instructed in was meant to show her off to the crowd. Living bait, a sign of real decadence, proving the beating of her own heart by raising her arms to show off exactly how her dress fell along her curves. Her small chest, the dip of her waist flowing into her wide hips and powerful thighs. She was built to flee. If she was having second thoughts, it was far too late by this point.
The roar of the crowd flooded her long, sensitive ears, stunning her to stillness for a brief but embarrassing second as part of her mind screamed at her to find a burrow and hide. She looked around, instinctually crossing her arms over her chest as she saw row after row of predator staring at her from the crowd. There was something cruel in those smiles, something anticipatory and hungry. Whatever it was, it was amplified tenfold on the faces of the competitors, their noses upturned as they smelled their new prey. The racers' teeth glistened as they licked their chops, getting ready for the rush of competition, the wild thrill of their simulated hunt, and of course, what would come after.
Hariette's heart fluttered looking at those faces. Those dripping maws. Through their athletic wear, she could see that more than one of them was aroused. She couldn't help but feel flattered at the attention of these powerful athletic dogs, and so she ran her paws up along her sides, tracing her own shape as she got into the position to start the race. As soon as she dropped her arms, the cage would start moving and the race would begin.
She wouldn't get the chance. As soon as her arms were raised, panels slid open in the cage behind her. Unyielding metal cuffs shot out, clamping around the poor scared bunny's wrists. She kicked and thrashed, but the mechanism's hold on her was unchanging. Her long lower paws kicked and thumped, she was confused, she was afraid, she couldn't move her arms at all as the cuffs retracted, pulling her inexorably towards the back of the cage. As soon as she was there, other cuffs fit themselves around her ankles, and poor little Hariette was trapped, spread eagle, facing spectators and predators alike. And then came the true signal for the race to start.
The front of the cage dropped back down into the earth. She was wholly unprotected, completely immobile, and vulnerable. And God, she couldn't cover herself up, and she was hard as a rock. She panted for air and strained against the cuffs as hard as her bunny muscles could but it was no use.
Some of the greyhounds waiting to race growled. Some laughed. One even howled a little. She noticed that all of them, to a one, were turgid underneath their runner's shorts. And she was no longer protected by her cage.
The platform she was stuck to began to whirr off on its track and the race began! The wind whipped her ears and her dress off towards the racers, all bounding down upon her, all looking for their bite. The cage was still faster, but as the first curve came up, she noticed her ears streaming less, her dress beginning to settle. She was slowing down! Her predators weren't.
Hariette shrieked as the snapping jaws of the frontrunner closed around the bottom of her dress, the cage keeping her delicate flesh just out of reach of the ravenous Greyhounds. The beast growled and tore her dress with his mouth. It ripped up to her thighs, the dress damningly short now, its ragged edge cementing Hariette's status as a piece of bait meat.
The greyhound that had ripped her dress had slowed to tear it, giving up his place at the front of the pack. He stood still as Hariette whirred away and held up his trophy to the crowd, who laughed and jeered appreciatively. He went back to running as Hariette picked up speed again.
The wind blew her now short dress aside, and she saw on a massive screen above the stands that the camera had zoomed in on the small wet patch on her white panties at the tip of her swollen cock. Hot and stinging tears pricked her eyes, both from the wind of the cage's speed and from the humiliation of being exposed to a crowd of thousands, but there were butterflies in her stomach and she knew that some small part of her loved every second of the attention. As she approached the second curve, the big mean greyhound that had taken her dress had somehow managed to retake the lead.
He was all sinew and tooth, a grey stripe across his right eye the only thing that broke up his shining black coat. The other greyhounds seemed to slow around him, or part for him, and Hariette realized, belatedly, that this wasn't a race. Not really. They were hunting her in a pack, having fun, toying with the dumb bunny who wanted easy money.
And her cage slowed again. This time she knew it was coming, but it only made the anticipation sharper, the fear more real. The leader of the pack caught up at a jog, her cage slow enough that he could almost just walk up to it. He jumped and his paws scrabbled as he clambered onto the platform with her. The cage slowed and the audience gave an oooh as the greyhound stood tall above the immobilized blonde bunny. The cage moved at a crawl as sappy, romantic music played over the stadium's speakers.
Hariette's eyes widened as the greyhound leaned in. Her heart pounded. He was going to bite her throat. She was a wild thing again, terrified and wanting to flee, she couldn't think, she couldn't breathe, she couldn't-
Everything stopped for her. The greyhound's maw closed around her lips, his long tongue plunging its way deep into her throat. She wanted to push him off and she wanted to pull him closer and she wanted to take him in private and ride him until her legs gave out. And all she could do was stand there, stand there as the cage grew still and he stroked her cock and took her throat with his tongue. She moaned and tried to lean into him. He grabbed her throat in one paw and shoved her back into the cage. She wasn't a participant. She was fucking prey.
She was running out of air. Maybe he would kill her. Her head was getting fuzzy, she could no longer think in words. Concepts were outside of her abilities too. All she could know was the burning humiliation of being taken like this, made worse, or was it better, by the feeling of the crowd's lascivious gaze upon her and her unembarrassed predator.
The moment could've lasted an eternity or mere seconds. She felt the greyhound stop slowly running his paw up and down her shaft as he used that paw to clutch at the neckline of her dress. He pulled his tongue out from her throat, leaving her to cough and splutter and drool all over herself, and then he jumped down. As he did, she felt the fabric of the dress pull against her back, almost cutting into it, until it finally gave.
She was staring at herself on the jumbotron. The greyhounds stared at her, unabashedly erect. The cage was at a standstill, the taste of her mockingly romantic kiss still deep inside of her mind and throat. The fur on her chest was wet with drool, a mix of her own and her new beaux's. She was wearing only her underwear. The cage sped up, and she felt more exposed than she had ever felt in her life. She needed to breed. She was a rabbit, this was how they survived predators! She needed to fuck she needed to feel what those greyhounds felt like shooting inside of her and she couldn't even touch herself because of the goddamn cuffs. Whatever she was before the race, she was something entirely different already. Now, she knew, if she was free of her restraints she could ignore the crowd of onlookers. She just needed release.
As the cage came to the final stretch, the greyhounds bayed and ran and leapt and snapped at her, their razor teeth always snapping shut a hair's breadth from her. She looked around, still dazed by the events of the day, but something caught her eye. As she approached the finish line, she noticed that the cage's track continued on past it. It curved unfeelingly away, ending only once it had reached a sign which had evidently been put up during the race. On the sign was a picture of her, taken during that span of time where her mind was gone and all she could think of was that tongue fucking her mouth like the greyhound was trying to drink her from the inside out. Her eyes glazed, drool dripping from her mouth, her head and paws hanging limply, her cock throbbing and her panties wet. Stamped over the picture of her were two simple, exhilarating words: "grand prize."
She tensed up, but her attempts at fighting the cuffs were more obligatory than spirited. She knew that she should want to hide, to curl up into a ball and never be seen in public again. But she also knew what she actually wanted. She wanted to be offered up. She wanted to be helpless. She wanted to be taken every way she could think of and some she couldn't, in front of this crowd, letting everyone see how much fun the once-shy bunny could have being slutted out as a prize to be taken.
The cage whirred into its place as the pack of greyhounds crossed the finish line. The leader, the one with the stripe over the eye and the plunging, lolling tongue sauntered across it first, grinning a cruel grin. As much as he tried to paint himself as the picture of predatory domination, he couldn't keep his tail from wagging as he noticed the warring expressions of fear and excitement on his grand prize's face. She was going to be good.
As the pack of dogs stalked towards her, she couldn't stop her feet from twitching as she tried, again, to run. Her struggles were, like the rest of her ordeal, broadcast to the crowd. Their scornful laughter was becoming familiar, but it seemed to fade out as she saw the effects her twitching was having on the hunting pack. All of them had their eyes locked on her, all of them were drooling, and she noticed that the leader's teeth were shining as he growled hungrily.
The cuffs unsnapped and the cage tilted forwards, dumping her nearly-nude form unceremoniously onto the dust of the racetrack. The crowd fell silent and everything was silent for a beat. Then Hariette finally let her instincts take over and began to bound away, as fast as she could. One step, two...WHAM.
The air was knocked out of her as she was tackled to the ground by the dog who had won her. If she couldn't already guess who it was, his growl in her ear and his tongue luxuriously making its way up her neck and the side of her face that wasn't being pressed into the dirt by the greyhound's weight left no room for doubt. She'd never forget what that tongue felt like.
"Don't. Run." He growls, his hot breath tickling the inside of one of her luxurious ears. As if she could. As if she wants to, really. His jaws close gently around her bra strap, and he tugs until it comes loose. She knows he will flip her over and expose her tits to the world eventually, but she has no way of knowing when, no way of determining what he'll do to her. His mouth moves back to her ear. "I. Won. You."
He reaches down and yanks her panties down around her ankles. Her cock grinds uncomfortably into the ground, the Greyhound's comparatively massive size and weight giving her only the barest room to wiggle and try to grind some pleasure out of the unpleasant surface.
Her pathetic wiggling draws more laughs from the crowd, but the greyhound on top of her doesn't have that kind of wherewithal anymore. He grabs her around her waist and drags her ass into the air. She feels warm spit fall onto her perfect hole, the only lubrication she'll be getting, and then his tip.
She's getting fucked in front of thousands. At first, he pushes in slowly, the warmth and width of his cock wonderful even through the pain it brings, maybe even because of it. Then he reaches the knot. Her front paws scrabble in the dust as he continues to thrust in, stretching her out as slowly as he feels she deserves. He gives her a hard spank as he forces the knot all the way through. "I. Said. Don't. Run."
She wants to collapse flat against the ground, she wants the moment to never end, she wants to run for her fucking life and then he speeds up. She almost misses the luxury of her first knotting as he slams his cock deep into her spread hole, holding her waist up as he fucks her to his heart's content. Over and over again, the shaft then the knot then the knot then the shaft. She moans and sobs and screams and scrabbles and every time she tries to make her way out from under the cruel predator he spanks her again. The crowd loves it. Hariette begins to go back to the same space she was in when he kissed her, that floating feeling of emptiness and sensation. He knots her thoughts out of her and leaves her a squirming, hurting, cumming animal begging with her body for more more MORE while her words completely fail her. Finally, he finishes, pulling out and flipping her over as he does. He marks her as his, splattering her now exposed to the world chest with his cum. She lies, shaking and staring into the distance, a blissful smile on her tear streaked face. She thinks she's done. Then the leader beckons. The other contestants stalk towards them.
They fuck her as a pack. They pick her up and pass her from dog to dog. They knot her asshole, stroke her cock, fuck her throat and never ever forget to hurt her if she tries to run. She tries to run often. They fuck her without shame, each in turn coming wherever he wants. She's left sore, leaking, covered in jizz, spit, handprints, toothmarks, drool. Her fur is matted from the mixture of fluids and dust, her left eye is glued shut from her winner's cum as he takes a second round, and she thinks it might never end.
And then, almost as soon as it started, it does end. Her winner is holding her, picking her up. "Last. Time." He clutches her in both arms and then brings her down onto his cock. He fucks her like a toy. He clamps his teeth around her neck, not enough to hurt her but more than enough to remind her that he could at any time. All she can do is whimper as she's raised up and down and up and down, slamming into the Greyhound's hips, her ass already red and stinging from the cruel treatment of the pack. She doesn't squirm anymore. She can feel something building, feels a pressure in her crotch, something warm and beautiful and tingling. And as her winner fills her one last time, taking his prize the way he really wants, she finishes hard. She cums and screams and screams and screams. The leader drops her onto the track.
Nude, filthy, exhausted, sore, and humiliated beyond her wildest imaginings, she lays in the dirt and jizz for a while. The crowd begins to bore, and starts to file out of the stadium, having gotten their money's worth. She just lies there, as day turns to night, and wonders how hard it would be to get a full time job at the races.
