The little bunny was the perfect embodiment of a woman in this modern world. But she was also perfectly feminine, with a desperate need to be desired, protected and taken by a man. Need, not want. Alone, she was both beautiful and sad.
He gazed at her image and had to have her, but also protect and save her. The contradiction seemed simply right to him. He traveled through the night. She had fallen asleep when he arrived. She was too beautiful to resist. Her scent, the musk from her pussy, was intoxicating. Her skin so warm and smooth, nipples engorged on his touch. He slid her panties down and his raging erection into her. Suddenly woken startled and confused she struggled at first, but it was pointless. The weight of his body pinned her down, his hands on her breasts and sex, his cock pressing on her cervix.
He flipped her over and dived into her. His tongue flicking along her labia, into her vagina, even encircling her anus. Her thighs trembled and clamped around his face. He hooked her delicate legs over his shoulders, held her wrists above her head, and entered her again. Pounding her pussy so powerfully and deeply with each thrust. Wild horses couldn’t pull him off her. Finally he came deep inside her, collapsed onto her, and the red mist cleared. He held her in his arms, kissing her tenderly. Was he her lover, her protector, her rapist, her soulmate?
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