The sear of stage lights.
The whistles and claps of the crowd.
The feeling of sweat, rolling down his back.
The insistent, undeniable boom of bass as it punched through speaker mesh.
The feeling of hands - grabbing Bunny, groping Bunny, squeezing Bunny’s dense, firm muscle. Spanking him as he passed, making his ass bounce and redden; one of two parts of his body that had any fat on it. The other part got its fair share of grabs too.
As he passed between two groups, one patron gripped his wrist and tugged him into his lap - already hard, cockprint visible even through his jeans - and pinched Bunny’s nipples. He moaned - just about managing to keep the drink tray steady, unable not to writhe at the touch.
“Your tits are looking good, Bruce. Fresh pump?”
“Goooood. Putting on a real show for us tonight, huh?”
He slapped Bunny’s chest, making his pecs jiggle, mixing pleasure and pain - and then shoved him back towards the table waiting for their cocktails.
“Bring those tits back here when you’re free. I’ve got a big tip waiting for you.”
The men laughed - and Bunny did too, smiling broadly, back in control of the situation. The patrons loved to talk about his “tits”.
It was all part of the job - stage dancer, server, and fucktoy at Club Bunny. A boutique new “gay dance club” in the heart of the city, speakeasy-style hidden in plain sight behind an unmarked storefront… but for a place like this, word of mouth (and word of what that mouth do) spread fast. Soon, business was booming.
He’d actually been one of the Club’s first customers. He’d been a nobody, then - but then again, everybody was nobody sometime… until they got somebody’d **by a benefactor.
Until they got Bunnified.
Being Bunnified meant leaving your old life behind. In fact, it meant forgetting you’d ever really had one; it made your past a mush of images and feelings, a blank black spot that felt AROUSING to press against, like a cock sliding into a freshly lubed Bunny -
…What had he been thinking?
He set the drinks tray down and nodded his thanks to the customers - there was a Birthday Bro at the table, a tall man in a stupid, polkadot party hat. Bunny lingered, pretending to straighten the tray while the Birthday Bro’s eyes undressed him. And when it had been long enough, and that hunger was starting to turn sharp, he treated the table to a luxurious, slow turn - and added a little shake at the end. He heard Birthday Bro suck in a breath at that, hissed through teeth. Bunny turned back and winked.
“I’ll see you in the VIP later,” he mouthed - and sauntered off, passing again between those lines of waiting hands whose rough skin complemented his soft, smooth so nicely…
Before coming to the Club - he’d been nobody.
More of a loser, weaker and smaller than the Club even let in these days; the standard had been lower, when the Bunnies had been fewer.
But then he’d been… shown the truth. Bunnified.
Shown how much better, how much nicer life could be if he embraced that call of vanity; embraced the path of becoming bigger, and sluttier, and prettier, and bunnier through allll the means at the Club’s considerate disposal.
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I've been doing a 500-word a day flash fiction thing for a bit now. Was happier with this one more compared to a lot of them... ! Might do a sequel/follow-up. For now, enjoy it as a vignette.
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