Empty Easter Basket

Maybe it was all the chocolate I'd eaten, but I had been exceptionally horny all of Easter weekend. It was like everywhere I looked something steered my thoughts toward naughty acts. Cuddly chicks conjured thoughts of warm, intimate touch. Eggs reminded me of my own plump breasts, aching for attention. Candy's sweet taste suggested the contrasting saltiness of cum on my tongue. And bunnies... well, we all know what rabbits are best known for. All weekend long, I was distracted and preoccupied, itching for a roll in the hay.

Typical of John, he was missing when I needed him. The holiday was a big deal to his religious parents, so he had been with family starting (Good) Friday morning through Easter Sunday dinner. In a nominal effort to acknowledge the humanity of its workforce, John's employer, Colossal Co., had granted employees an optional half-day on Easter Monday. While John had hesitated to take the time off - knowing that any time away from the office would mean an exponentially-increased workload when he returned - he had relented after I inundated him with a weekend-long barrage of texts.

Now it was Monday afternoon and it felt like forever since I'd been fucked. With the long, religious holiday weekend, John and I hadn't seen each other since Thursday, and that night had ended frustratingly - and without sex - when he broke my microwave. While I was changing in my room, I had invited him to heat a plate of leftovers for himself. John, trying to be chivalrous, had tried to reheat the whole containers of lo mein and sesame chicken for us, without noticing the foil liner to the takeout boxes. After hitting the "reheat" button, he'd walked away to take a work call, and so hadn't seen the ensuing sparks and fire until it was too late to save. When I'd returned, the kitchen was filled with acrid smoke, so that had ended any thoughts of bedroom activities for the night. Maintenance had been scheduled to come fix it this morning, but they hadn't shown up.

John didn't know the plans I had for him and our Easter Monday afternoon together. I'd only told him to come over as soon as he got off work. While my libido had me careening off the walls, I'd talked myself into some season-themed - if also a bit silly - shopping, and I expected he would enjoy the sweet treat.

Patting myself dry following my shower, I hung up the towel and stood naked at the vanity to do my makeup. I circled rich, coral lipstick onto my pouty lips, then puffed soft pink blush on my cheeks. After applying a generous, floral dousing of John's favorite perfume, I brushed smoky shadow in a wing behind each eye, finishing with dark eyeliner and mascara. John loved elaborate eye-makeup, and I was sure he'd enjoy today's show.

Returning naked to the bedroom, I dug through wads of pink tissue paper into the festively decorated shopping bag, seeking my purchases. Bending at the waist in front of the full-length mirror, I ran my hands excitedly up my silky-smooth legs, then allowed my fingertips to linger for a tantalizing extra second on the velvety outer lips of my bald-shaved muff. My heart fluttered excitedly, and I hurried to dress, casting a quick glance at the bedroom clock. It was two thirty; John should be off from work and on his way!

Stepping through the leg-holes of the romper, I tugged the sequined white fabric up my legs. Shimmying my hips into the elastic material, I pulled the strapless neckline up my tummy and fitted the stretchy top over my swollen bust. Turning in front of the mirror, I plucked the tapered, cheeky bottom from between my buns and fluffed the cottony white tail that sat atop my tailbone. I stepped into a pair of glittery white four-inch open-toed heels, watched the line of my legs lengthen and tone as I ascended the shoes. Finally, for a sexy, holiday lark, I affixed the white-fur headband with its long, fluffy bunny ears over my auburn locks.

The long-eared figure in the glass cut a lusty profile more evocative of Jessica Rabbit than Peter. The glittery fabric of my costume sparkled and winked in the afternoon sunlight as it bowed tightly over the sumptuous curves of my tits and ass. The shimmering romper was matched by the twinkling of the sequins on my high heels. Meanwhile, the cottontail rode adorably atop my perky buns, and the white bunny ears waved and bent innocently above my made-up face. I shook a few strands of long, red head free of the band, draping them seductively over my eye.

I felt warm longing in my belly that sank lower and seeped swelteringly between my legs. The thought of having my body touched and my gash filled made me groan out loud. Running my hands over my fabric-molded bulges, barely compressed inside the sequined bodysuit, I craved for my delicate hands to be replaced by stronger, masculine ones. My snatch quivered in anticipation, and I hoped that once John was here and inside me, his stamina would hold out long enough to satisfy my urgent, animal needs.

Checking the clock again, I gauged that John would likely be arriving any minute. I unlocked the front door, then retreated to the bedroom and splayed on the mattress, tossing myself across the bedspread as I decided on a seductive pose in which to greet him. My unfamiliar tail gave me trouble, but I rolled onto my stomach and scrambled onto my knees to boost my tufted bottom into the air. Aligning diagonally across the bed, my head faced the bedroom door. Sloping my back, I rested my upper body on my elbows, my breasts dangling inches above the quilt.

My springy tits fought the elastic concealment of my halter as gravity tugged at them below my ribs. Upon reaching the door to my bedroom, a visitor would be greeted by an eyeful of my pale, dangling breasts, billowing from beneath my costume. The ears and tail would appear as playful embellishments on a shamelessly sexual figure. I raised my legs, hoisting the sparkling heels and playfully crossing my ankles in the air behind me.

In the stillness of my empty apartment, I heard the elevator chime in the hall. I focused my smoldering, come-hither eyes on the doorway to the bedroom, ready to draw John in as he entered. Steps outside in the hall stopped at my front door, followed by a sharp knock. 'Why is John knocking?' I pondered inwardly but didn't dissect. The poor man was polite to a ridiculous fault.

"Come iiiiiin!" I called invitingly, a sultry undertone drawing out the second syllable. As I spoke, the "plunk" of a text sounded from my phone on the nightstand. The noise and flash drew my eyes as the text message popped on the screen. Riveted, I leaned forward to see the phone.

I read John's text, "I'm SO SORRY! I got stuck at work. Going to be a little bit late for our date! <3" Then who was at the do-

"Uh... You called maintenance?" The burly, wide-eyed repairman filled the doorframe of my bedroom.

"Fuck! Get out!" I screeched, charging off the bed and across the room, slamming the door in the poor, confused man's face.

Collapsing my back against the closed door, I hyperventilated, feeling my heaving tits threaten to burst out of my top as they rode my violently careening ribs. That wasn't Mr. Miller, the building's kindly, if sometimes unreliable, superintendent. That would have been uncomfortable enough, but the man who had seen my please-fuck-me getup was a total stranger. I reddened and shook my head in embarrassment.

At the same time, my naughty excitement lingered - even amplified! An exhibitionist thrill spread a naughty smile across my lips. Calming my breathing, I listened for activity on the other side of the door. I heard two deep, hushed male voices.

"What the fuck just happened?" from further down the hall.

"Well, she wasn't expecting 'us'... she's dressed as some kind of slutty bunny or something..." the man nearer to the door answered. His words dripped with surprise and amusement. His companion's question was unintelligible through the door.

The first man responded cheerily, "Yeah, I guess, hot enough... Great tits, though. They almost made me glad Miller's hip gave out." This was followed by a short bout of chuckling from both.

"Oh! They think I'm hot..." I thought to myself. "Well, my tits, anyway..." Smirking mischievously, I pondered that I might have some wicked fun with my visitors. Just a little bit of teasing; some harmless play to keep me warm until John got home to fuck me.

I grabbed the white, satin robe off the hook on the back of my door, gathering it over my chest. The sheeny fabric clearly revealed an outline of my bodysuit beneath, and the sweep stopped high up on my thigh; it covered more than the outfit I'd been embarrassingly exposed in but left plenty of ammunition for an inquiring imagination. I cinched the cord around my waist and opened the door, prepared to meet the workmen and hopefully get my microwave fixed with my newly available afternoon. If the price of a working microwave was that minor, costumed humiliation, I guess it was one I was willing to pay.

Cracking open the door, I extended my neck and pushed my face through the gap to lead my exit from the sanctuary of the bedroom. The nearer man had his back to me; his figure filled the short hallway from which my bedroom and bath doors diverged. His ears pricked at the creaking hinges, and he turned toward the sound. He had dusty brown hair and wore scuffed jeans and a grey work shirt bearing a name patch identifying him as "Cliff".

As I inched out of my room, the other man in the foyer came into view. Similarly dressed to Cliff - but with a "Brock" patch - he was taller and thinner than his burly partner, with two-days stubble on his jaw and cheeks. Brock carried a clipboard in one hand, a metal toolbox in the other.

"Well, heh-low." Cliff accented each syllable cheekily. I smiled welcomingly, feeling the draft from an overhead vent prick up goosepimples on my exposed chest.

"Hi... uh, sorry," I didn't know why I was apologizing, but the noise tamped down a rising tension in the apartment. "I must have written it down wrong; I was expecting you guys this morning..." I hadn't really expected 'them' at all; I'd expected Mr. Miller, and four hours ago, at the time I had scheduled the job. "Is Mr. Miller sick?"

Their eyes crawled over the slinky fabric of my robe, an almost palpable sensation on my skin. The men exchanged a look, then Cliff spoke.

"Oh, that's more than ok." He chuckled crudely, almost certainly picturing my bulging rack on ripe, dangling display. With a sharp click of his tongue, as if manually changing topics, he continued. "Miller, well, that old man fucked up his hip first thing this morning trying to lift an oven by himself." He chuckled again and turned to cue Brock to join him. "Anyway, Miller's out for a while... In the meantime, we came over from another building to cover for him. Man, we've been playing catch-up all day." Cliff brushed a theatrically exhausted hand across his brow to underscore how hard they'd been working.

An upwelling of pity for the old 'super' rushed through my hormone-fueled emotions. In my mind, I had a hard time imagining him without a pre-existing limp. Amid my confused wash of sympathy and jumbled memories, I momentarily forgot my visitors' purpose in my home - and my flimsy outfit.

"The, uh, microwave broke on Thursday night? And that's... in the kitchen?" Brock spoke for the first time, reading from his sheet. He hadn't shared Cliff's first, unobstructed view of my goods on display, but he clearly enjoyed the present show. However, the heft of the worklist on his clipboard was obviously weighing on him as he sought to progress with their chore.

"Ahh. Well, no rest for the wicked." Cliff sighed and gave me a wink that left me feeling naked and exposed all over again, and flipped my stomach naughtily.

Cliff extended an inviting arm pointing me through the apartment. I turned and led them from the hallway through the living room and to the kitchen. As I walked in front of them, I felt the sweep of my robe brushing high on my hamstrings, threatening to rise higher and bare my springy tush. A warming smile spread as I strutted atop my heels, imagining them staring at my cavorting bum.

I reached the kitchen and spun towards the workers, feeling the robe pinwheel out from my butt. My heels clicked crisply on the tile floor as I leaned my rump against the cabinet. Bracing my hands on the counter edge, I pushed my shoulders forward and plumped out my rack.

"Can I get offer you guys something to drink?" They both declined, so I pointed out the obvious malfunctioning appliance.

Embedded above the stove, the microwave was a dead black rectangle. Scorch marks scarred the glass. Brock opened the door and a smell of burned wiring again filled the kitchen. Cliff let out a low whistle and examined me incriminatingly.

"This 'just happened', huh?" He asked. I nodded unbelievably. "You didn't put any metal in it; it just died a fiery, electromagnetic death all on its own."

My head bobbled atop my neck again. The transferred motion wobbled my breasts beneath the white satin robe. Beyond its tight elastic lip, the bodysuit offered little support to my bust, leaving my bouncy tits to rollick unrestrainedly as I moved.

The workers exchanged a skeptical, nonplussed glance. Cliff stretched and reached into the cabinet above the microwave, unplugging the device, then unscrewing the top mount while Brock supported the base. Together, they carefully tilted and lowered the appliance then rested it on the counter.

Brock leafed through the stack of paper on his clipboard, showing something at the bottom of a page to Cliff. Their eyes roamed from the ruined device to the paper, to my ripe chest, and then back to each other's stare.

Cliff took a deep breath. "Do you have a copy of your most recent lease handy?" I gave a confused look and shrugged my shoulders; my mounds rippled their bafflement.

"Yeah, I guess it's somewhere in my desk. Why?"

"When new ownership took the building over, they updated the tenant liability terms." Cliff explained. I nodded sluggishly, wary of where the discussion seemed headed. "Where a tenant is responsible for damage to the unit, the tenant is liable for the cost of repairs and/or replacement."

I frowned and crossed my arms over my rack; no more free show if you're only giving me bad news!

"Do you know Bartholomew Abbott? Old guy, fucking loves plants. I think he lives on your floor..." Brock interjected. I blushed, recalling my intimate familiarity with Mr. Abbott, but calmly nodded my head. "He broke his dishwasher like three times in a year, all replaced for free. That kind of abuse is what caused the policy change."

"But I already told you th-" Brock cut me off.

"That's not true. Well, look, we're pretty convinced that you put metal - foil, a travel mug, a fork, whatever - in there and it caused the fire." Brock shook his head scoldingly.

"Fine..." I conceded and blew frustratedly at the suddenly-irritating lock of red hair dangling across my eye. Fucking John and that goddamn tinfoil! My giddy arousal was declining under the wave of bad news. "So, what am I looking at?"

I caught another glance between the two. Brock cleared his throat and pointed at a line on his page. I watched Cliff's eyes blink and narrow, as if he was doing his math with them.

"Well, with a replacement - these are specialized, custom units, so that's five hundred bucks - then parts, labor, rush service - I assume you want this done tomorrow?" I nodded in confirmation. "Yeah, that's going to run you... eleven seventy-five."

"What?! That can't be right!" I spluttered. "Twelve hundred dollars for a microwave?!" My arms flew out and up from my sides, waving for emphasis and sending my jugs bobbling jovially once more.

Brock pretended to look away, flipping pages on his pad while peering subtly (he thought) over the top of the page. Cliff smiled and shrugged objectively. I returned my hands to their grip on the counter.

"If you want it fixed, that's what it'll take. Unless..." Cliff held up a finger telling me to 'hold on' as Brock leaned in for a private conversation.

The pair spoke quietly, glancing at me - or my body - periodically. The discussion must have lasted less than a minute, but still seemed that they dragged it out artificially. Conspiratorial smiles spread across each of their faces as they quietly separated. Cliff feigned a re-inspection of the dead appliance. They both held off speaking, and the room filled with a gluey tension.

"So... is someone coming over for an Easter egg hunt?" Cliff changed the subject unexpectedly. I twisted my face bewilderedly.

"...eggs..?" Brock bunny-hopped past me for demonstration. "Ah, fuck..." I fought the urge to smack my forehead at the obvious joke. In my frantic bustle of hiding and dressing, and then showing the damage and lying about its cause, I had forgotten I was wearing the costume rabbit ears. Grinning wildly, Brock playfully hip-bumped me on his way by, then settled on my other side, placing himself between me and the exit. I blushed in my newfound self-consciousness of my silly getup. Newly re-aware of the costume, I felt the tufted tail pressing into my butt as I leaned against the cabinets.

I squirmed impatiently and felt the resulting shift and jostle of my bosom as I moved. The two sets of male eyes returned to my chest. Brock stood close enough to me that the short sleeve of my robe swept against the fabric of his shirt. Knowing that the strangers noticed the jiggling of my rack, I felt a sticky heat returning between my legs.

"Okay, so 'unless'... what?" I encouraged Cliff to finish his earlier thought.

He loudly cleared his throat before resuming. "You see, we have to fill out forms for the work order. So, that includes ticking a box whether the repair is due to 'tenant damage' or 'no fault'; that's for the billing department." I nodded. Cliff stepped closer, now an arm's length from me. "So, my point is, the building'll bill you twelve hundred bucks or whatever for the new unit and repairs, *unless* you can convince us that this wasn't your fault that it broke."

"And how am I supposed to 'convince' you of that?" I crossed my arms in front of me again, this time folding my forearms beneath my bust to give my jugs a plumping boost. My tits struggled robustly against the stretchy edge of the bodysuit, their pale tops swelled alluringly into the open "V" at the front of my robe.

"Well, me and Brock have been working really hard all day." Cliff placed sticky emphasis on 'hard', and I barely stopped myself from rolling my eyes at the juvenile insinuation. "So just a small show of appreciation would most likely persuade us."

Four eyes fixated on my supple chest. Smiling flirtatiously, I gauged that expanded teasing would get the job done. I reached to the neckline of my robe, delicately plucking one folded side between my fingers and bending aside the satin. As the shimmering fabric pulled away, the bulging upper dome of my breast came into view. Brock pushed against my other side, gawking down the robe's neck.

"Don't forget, there's two of us!" Brock protested that my robe on his side remained in place.

I nodded gamely and pulled away the other glossy fabric fringe. My skin shone ghostly pale under the kitchen lights, and the concealed curves of my breasts fought the hold of the elastic, shimmering romper. Continuing my teasing - yes, it was only teasing, I maintained to myself - I unknotted and released the belt on my waist, feeling the freed halves of my robe drift apart and open. My heart was beating a mile a minute with the rush of giving the seductive show to strangers. It felt like every thundering pulse rippled through my heaving breasts.

The workers' engrossed response to my show re-lit the hot, wet throbbing between my legs. Their hands slowly but confidently stole across my spandex tummy and ribs, then to the bulging shelf of my rack. I sucked in a gratified breath through my teeth at their touch. A hot flush poured across my face and chest, as an excited buzz inflated dizzyingly in my skull. As the workmen fondled my breasts, I struggled not to get too caught up; I had invited this attention, but this had become a little more than teasing.