You tell your tist you wanna do petplay, and as they take you under and start cooing about how you'll be such a sweet little bunny for them, the part of your brain that's still aware realizes you never actually clarified what pet you wanted to be.
Groggily, you try to correct your tist, only to get shushed and told they know what's best for you, and that they know you truly wanna be a good bunny for them, in such dolcet tones that melt away every last piece of resistance.

















