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Epilogue
Most of the bunnies stayed in the Garden, as Sly knew they would.
But even though most remained, he had no trouble at all in meeting his next
deadline. Thanks to faywort, it took him just two weeks to put all but hatchlings
to bed.
Now he had only bunny eggs to contend with. Several, of course, lay
hidden in the warrens under the Garden. Bunny eggs always hatch within a
few days of laying, and the new fays emerge fully grown. Since bunny girls
are Lamarckian critters, these new ladies were as plump as their mothers,
but with no knowledge of faywort. And there were no momma bunnies to teach
them about the magic herb, or other tricks. Only Sly was waiting for them
when they tottered unsteadily into the sunlight. It was a little sad, really,
but some jobs just need doing. Before another week was through, the last
hatched bunny had cried and kicked her life away in the fallow field.
Postscript
Two months later and twenty-five miles away, Farmer Brown was awakened
in the middle of the night by the baying of his dogs. "What the . .
. ?" he exclaimed as he quickly dressed, then picked up his flashlight
and fay-gun and headed out to find the cause of the racket.
At the northern limit of his property, he got an answer. His dogs
were all there, and they had cornered something at the old oak tree. They
couldn't contain their excitement. With the aid of his flashlight, Farmer
Brown saw two astoundingly full-bodied bunny girls, hugging each other tight
and trembling with abject terror as the dogs swarmed around them.
"Boy howdy!" said the farmer. "I didn't know they got
so big!" Then he remembered his gun. He raised it, aimed it, and emptied
both barrels. There was a ka-choom! of rapidly expanding air as two fay-bees
were hurled at the luckless bunnies. The bees zeroed in on their targets,
then stung each girl on her midriff. The bunnies screamed and fell writhing
to the ground.
"Pearl's gotta see this," said Farmer Brown, and ran back
to the farmhouse. Bee-stung and guarded by the dogs, the two buxom beauties
weren't going anywhere. "Pearl!" he shouted when he got back, "You
gotta have a look at this!"
It took some time to convince his wife to leave the comfort of their
bed, but at last, dressed in a nightgown and boots, she came on out with
him to the old oak tree.
"Land sakes," she said. "They're so big . . . and so
pretty!"
"They sure are," said Farmer Brown. He bent down and seized
one of the unconscious girls by her heels to pull her away from the tree.
His back almost gave out. Mrs. Brown quickly helped him, and with more than
a little strain, they hauled their catch onto a smooth expanse of grass a
few feet away. There they laid them out, face up and side by side.
The girls were brown-skinned and raven-haired--Filipinas by the look
of them. It was hard to tell in the dark, but they seemed to be dressed in
white blouses and black heels. "Should we wake 'em up yet?" asked
the farmer.
"Why not?" said Mrs. Brown. "You know how hungry I
get in the middle of the night."
So he shook the hapless pair awake. He had plenty of questions, and
(of course) his two unwilling guests had to answer them all. Their names
were Nina and Negra, and they were lovers. ("Ohhhhh, lovers!" said
Mrs. Brown. She absentmindedly began to stroke the front of her nightgown
with her right hand.). They spoke of McGillicuddy's Garden (the Browns knew
it well), and faywort, and how fine things had been until the fox-man showed
up and caught their leader, Mori. Nina and Negra had decided then to take
their chances in the world outside. Unfortunately, the faywort had worn off
about a week ago. It was an easy matter for Farmer Brown's dogs to run them
down and cut off any escape.
"So," said the farmer, "you thought you'd help yourselves
to my produce. Well guess what, my gorgeous girlies: now we're gonna help
ourselves to you!" And with that, he seized Nina's legs, spread them
wide, and continued to hold her tightly by her ankles. His wife did the same
for Negra. Wailing pitiably, the girls twisted and frantically kicked, but,
weakened as they were by bee-venom, it did them no good.
A normal human being cannot feed on a fay. But Mr. and Mrs. Brown
were something other than normal. Like Sly Foxx, they were hybrids, though
of a different kind. Farmer Brown's tongue now oozed from his mouth a good
six inches or so--and then, from the tongue, a long, thin proboscis emerged.
It was gray, and cylindrical, and it ended in a cluster of sponges and sharp
little hooks. It worked its way into Nina's pussy, and she screamed and screamed
as it did. Mrs. Brown followed her husband's lead, and soon Negra was screaming,
too. The bunnies were kicking now like nobody's business; but the probosces
were long enough (about five feet), that the farmer and his wife could withdraw
to a safe distance. Mr. and Mrs. Brown lay down on their sides (like Roman
banqueters) and put their strange appendages to work.
This kind of organ does two things at once: it pumps an irritant into
the victim's genitals that brings on a series of ultimately fatal orgasms,
and it slowly drains her of all her fluids. It wasn't long before Nina and
Negra were moaning and crying out with the first of their death-spasms.
The farmer and his wife felt a comparable excitement. They had never
tasted bunny fluids as sweet, or as abundant, as these--and they had caught
two lovers as well! The farmer got rock-hard just thinking about it, and
he reached out to give his wife an affectionate tweak on her breast. Mrs.
Brown scooched over to him so that he could slip his hand up her nightgown.
She unzipped his levis and began to squeeze his cock. Soon they were writhing
and moaning, almost as energetically as their prey.
The bunnies suffered spasm after spasm, until the biggest and the
last. They groaned in a fit of pussy-hurting pleasure, gave a flurry of final
kicks--and then they were through. "Oh! Oh! Oh! Oh!" cried the
farmer and his wife, coming in perfect synchrony with the bunnies and each
other. When they'd recovered, they spent nearly an hour sucking out the remaining
fluids.
THE END
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