I stepped out of the shower and saw the dreaded Easter Sunday outfit Sir had planned for me. A text arrived: "Good Easter Bunnies stay caged and wear their special uniform. No protesting. Send photos." Blushing, I locked the pink cage under my white y-fronts, then dressed exactly as instructed - a crisp short-sleeved white shirt, baby pink bow tie, and a light blue seersucker shorts suit, held up by light pink braces. White knee socks with garters encased my legs and shiny brown T-bar shoes buckled on to me - a style only seen on girls now but one junior boys used to wear in times of old. The mirror reflected a painfully prissy, neatly arranged little boy. I felt the familiar hot wave of embarrassment wash over me.
Sir’s next instruction was non-negotiable: go to the local supermarket first, buy a proper picnic lunch and some Easter chocolate, then eat it in the sun like a good bunny. It was a hot day, so most people were casually dressed in cargo shorts and t-shirts. I felt horribly conspicuous as I walked to the supermarket in my full Easter outfit. I hesitated approaching the sandwich aisle as a large group was gathered there, but after two laps of the shop admitted I had to blushingly make a dash to buy my food. The big queue at the self checkout had me further embarrassed as I scanned sandwiches, fruit, and foil-wrapped Easter chocolate. Strangers glanced my way while I paid quickly, cheeks burning with mortification.
In the park, I followed Sir’s detailed photo instructions to the letter. First shots with just the straw boater, then the bunny ears alone. Then I took the daffodils I’d bought, tucked their bright heads into the brim of the boater, and placed the whole ridiculous creation back on my head as an Easter bonnet. It looked even more infantile and embarrassing than I’d feared - frilly, decorative, and perfectly humiliating.
While I posed in the bonnet, a middle aged lady walked past and smiled warmly. "You look very cute in your outfit, for your little photo shoot."
“Oh, thanks,” I replied softly, my face flushing the exact shade of my pink bow tie.
I removed my jacket as instructed, revealing the short-sleeved shirt and pink braces in full view, and took several more photos. Then I moved to a quieter grassy spot by the canal. I sat neatly on the grass in the Easter bonnet, legs pressed together like a proper little bunny, and captured the final shots.
Every pose reminded me how neatly the outfit clung, how obvious the cage felt beneath the light fabric, and how completely I had surrendered my dignity. I tucked into my chocolate for comfort.
By the time I walked home still fully dressed in my Easter finery, the mixture of embarrassment, obedience, and helpless arousal left me feeling deliciously small, exposed, and owned - Sir’s obedient, blushing, caged little bunny.
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