The Oster Bunny Ch. 01

The bunny pinched her nipples, moaned, and gave me a look of unequivocal desire. No one, especially not my wife, had ever given me a look like that in my entire life. The bunny, of course, was not a bunny per se, but Debbie Marks who owned the beauty salon on Main Street, and was a member of the new reformation pagan cult of Oster, one of the fastest growing religions in the United State.

I was an open-minded guy. I wasn't necessarily atheist, or religious, or agnostic, but merely uninterested in theological matters. When my neighbor started proselytizing to me about the spiritual benefits of Osterism, I nodded my head to be polite. If you wanted to create a set of commandments, being polite would be a good place to start. Call it Church of the Midwest.

My neighbor Bart was extolling all of the virtues of membership in the New Reformation Pagan Cult of Oster, including spiritual cleansing and satisfaction. I was locked into the cultural zeitgeist to know that newly awakened masses were flocking to Osterite Sunday services all across America. I speculated it was the Supreme Court ruling in favor of sex orgies and sacred prostitution that had suddenly lead to this newfound popularity.

Certainly, the Church of Ishtar was popular (tithing was incredibly profitable when it came with free blowjobs) and the New Orthodox Megachurches of Aphrodite and Priapus were bringing in crowds of thousands with their pyrotechnic shows and free wine and Viagra that came flowing out of golden chalices, but in the Midwest, with its rich Germanic heritage, Osterite celebrations were becoming as well known a cultural currency as Oktoberfest.

As a lapsed Catholic, I wasn't interested in wandering down any new spiritual path, especially if it interfered with Sunday Football. However, mostly to get Bart to shut up, I acquiesced.

"Fine, you win. I'll see you on Sunday for this "Wild Hunt" thing. I don't have to bring anything do I?"

"Just a healthy appetite for fun and your lovely wife?"

I felt a little uncomfortable with the way Bart licked his lips as he asked the question, but I knew I didn't have to worry about that. There was no way she should show up. She might be a lapsed Lutheran, but she still had all of the indoctrinated disgust towards these news cults springing up all over the place and viewed them as somewhere between damned kids walking on the grass and Book of Revelation style shenanigans.

I remembered just the night before flipping through the channels and stumbling upon the Church of Satan televangelist extolling the virtues of sodomy both in sermon and through visual example. The college aged girl he was sodomizing seemed to be speaking in tongues or having a mind-blowing orgasm due to either the cloaked figure with the ram-horned mask or one of her many cooperating congregants participating in the stimulating her erogenous zones.

When Lucile caught me staring, she nearly blew a gasket. I ended up sleeping on the couch that night. Even though it wasn't really fair was it; it wasn't like I was watching pornography. That girl was exercising her religious expression.

And the new religious cults had seemed to create a new age of Aquarian morality. Tits and ass were everywhere. Vestal Virgins being used to sell Coke and Apple Pie; presidents being revered for their public satyriasis; protests and marches breaking down into public orgies. Dogs lying down with cats.

So maybe spite was another reason why I didn't tell my wife that I had accepted my neighbor's invitation to visit their church. You might be thinking that I was some sort of pervert trying to fuck other women behind my wife's back, but the truth was I was curious. Almost all of my neighbors went to the Oster Church. At one time, before the Supreme Court case that protected these new faiths, Osterites were a hidden society. Apparently, it existed in our small town, but nobody knew about it. An impressive feat considering how everyone tends to know everything about everyone here. I suppose there were rumors that I heard as a young boy growing up in a Pagan sex cult hiding in plain sight amongst us, but that was mostly fueled by my teenage sex drive.

When the cult finally made themselves known, the town was shocked. The town librarian, the mayor, the Lutheran Pastor, all secret card-carrying Osterites. And the religion spread quickly. It turned out services that involved beer and orgies were surprisingly popular.

From the outside, the building looked ordinary, a church and a steeple, and a sign that read, "BE FRUITFUL AND MULTIPLY: Adult Service Only." Day Care service seemed to be provided in an adjacent building where I could hear laughing and screaming kids, and over the fence, see a bouncy castle.

I wasn't even a member; just a curious pilgrim who took a pamphlet and a wreath of flowers and an inviting kiss from a sinewy girl in a yellow dress. I bent down expecting her to kiss me on the cheek and was surprised when her open lips collided with my mouth and I could feel her tongue exploring my mouth. Then without any lack of composure, she turned towards the woman behind me.

I walked past the egg hunts, and the potato bag races, and the buffet table filled with laughing and smiling couples from my neighborhood to the woods behind the church where a banner read "Wild Hunt: 10 O'Clock".

Bart and his wife were there. Bart tried waving to me and I pretended not to see him. I didn't really know anybody else and awkwardly stood while everyone else conversed.

A college age girl in a tight NYU belly shirt that hung above a fit stomach and belly ring, and a dark bra outlined through the white fabric that advertised youthful breasts overflowing the V-neck top and creating a Y-shaped crevasse where the tits mashed together, and a tight pair of jeans that were so tight you could see the skin crease and flex beneath it, came up to me. She was startlingly young and attractive with luxurious auburn hair. She looked like one of those girls who cheered for colleges, or did pageants, or lead sororities, or got involved in dirty sex tapes that then get uploaded to the internet.

She certainly wasn't the type of girl who invited themselves into conversations with forty-year-old Underwriters.

"Hi," She smiled, and good god even her teeth were perfectly white and straight. "My name is Sandra. You looked like you had no one to talk too so I thought I would introduce myself."

She reached over and placed her petite hand on my arm. I flinched at the inappropriateness of a girl her age touching me and glanced around nervously feeling like some old lecher, but everyone there was chatting and smiling and ignoring the interaction.

Sandra mainly talked about how much she loved to come down from college to partake in this holiday, "The Wild Hunt" she called it, however since she was baptised into the Church of Osterism she had been a devout member, and that she felt like she was more connected to her family and neighbors than she had ever been, and that wasn't it all really about community, and that she was so happy and hoped that she could help into bringing another member into the fold.

I mainly stared at her bright perfect teeth, and megawatt smile, and I mostly felt this "gut" sense of wrongness, this feeling that I was somehow being set up for something.

"I so love older men. God, You remind me of my father." She bit her lip as she talked to me. Through the V of her top, I could see the lacy edges of some Victoria Secret bra, and a scattering of freckles on the tops of her breasts. She giggled.

"Where's your bathroom," I stuttered.

I splashed some water on my face and took my heart medication, then stepped back out.

Sandra was nowhere to be found, but the men and women were splitting into two packs, the men (I saw everything from an old man limbering up to what I was pretty sure was the high school quarterback) and the women all young and beautiful and blessedly naked except for their bunny ears and tails (and running shoes), hopping up and down and trying to keep warm.

Bart's wife was doing calisthenics in the grass to warm up, and I stared at her large natural breasts that bounced and shook with each exercise. They were large, drooping slightly like large natural breasts do, and they had dark hard nipples.

"Clothes, man. I mean you can keep your shoes on. We're not like those Osterite fundamentalists that make you run around without shoes, but you have to at least take off the pants."

I awkwardly stripped around these men and tried not to stare at their naked wives, and I was assured by Bart, eighteen or older, daughters.

"Remember," called out the Priest of Oster in a stentorian voice, "On this day we honor the hunt of the Forests Sprites of Cambion by the great Hunter-king Boramos. Whoever you catch on the Wild Hunt is yours for the next twenty-four hours. Blessed be any child conceived on this day as they will be born with a fey spirit. The Gods look down upon us today and don't forget we have evening mass is at 8:00 and afterward Gloria Stedman brought brownies. Now Bunnies are you ready."

The women and young girls, I wasn't quite sure why they were wearing bunny ears, cheered and hugged and laughed.

"Men are you ready." My naked male neighbors of all ages roared like savages."

"You're going to love this man. Remember, whatever bitch you catch is yours. Don't worry about prurient 21-Century morality... You're a fucking Viking man. A god damn barbarian."

Bart was jumping up and screaming wet spittle at me. He looked like what Conan the Barbarian would look like with a desk job and bad posture.

I shook my head. Did they really want me to chase after these girls?

The old Gandalf-looking man in a beard lifted his arm and shot into the air with the popgun, and the girls were off running into the woods. Five minutes later another shot went off and I and the others ran after them.

My first observation of Oster was that in comparison to my roots in Catholicism, there was a lot more cardiovascular exercise. Certainly, in my childhood memories of church, the most difficult thing athletically was the constant kneeling and standing and kneeling and standing.

Luckily, jogging was sort of my one exercise that I still continued with after college. I was able to break off from most of the others and was soon zigzagging through woodland trails with glimpses of flashing naked bodies all around me.

But as I ran through the forest, leaping over tree limbs, breathing heavily, and seeing myself as some atavistic Conan type about to ravage a fainting beauty, I realized this was so much better than jogging. The worst thing about running is the sense of purposelessness. Running around in circles, day after day, listening to the same playlists on your phone, checking your pulse perfunctory at every stop. Here I was chasing someone. Like a wolf, or a cheetah. Girls would rise up in front of me, breasts heaving, buttocks shaking, and I would give chase. I would focus on one then another. Some would fall in front of me taken by another congregant. I felt electrically alive.

Now every cell in my body was screaming bloody carnage. I was alive, damn alive. It was like playing tag when I was a kid. I was chasing naked squealing women in bunny costumes through a dark forest while roaring like a madman.

There was Mr. Grubb's, my mailman, an African American with salt and pepper hair and a pot belly, holding a curvaceous brunette against a tree, and fucking her like she was his trembling war prize. The brunette was hugging the tree tightly, the bark scratching her pale skin, and crying, as his fingers dug into the deep flesh of her ass, and he pulled her onto his cock. His hard wrinkled hand started to spank her ass cheeks, as she squealed in breathy, aroused bursts.

There were blurs of glowing red skin darting through trees and bushes. I almost tripped over the head quarterback as I ran over him. He had his pants around his knees and he was thrusting away at four kicking and flailing arms and legs. The girl beneath him was pounding his back with her hands and undulating a weird Nordic sounding chant. It was Bart's wife being treated like a High School Prom Queen on Prom Night. The quarterback was holding onto another young girl by her ankles. He led her legs open while she cried on her back and he had his head buried between her legs. The girl's eyes were rolled into the back of her head.

I looked at her hungrily. This young man had managed to capture two of them. And here I was empty handed. I started running faster. I almost ran right past Ms. Debbie Marks, the bunny.

She had decided to give up on the running and was sitting facing me with her legs spread and open. Her pussy was shaved and manicured to look like a Playboy bunny. She was sitting in a grassy glade like something out of a romantic painting. Shafts of light through the trees seemed to paint the scene in light. She recognized me as I came forwards and roughly grabbed her by her ears and pulled her to the ground.

Yeah, I barely knew her and I know that that sounds non-consensual sounding, but by this point, I had completely engulfed myself in the whole concept of the Wild Hunt. I was a ravager. A conqueror. A Viking. I towered over her and she looked up at me with concern.

"I think I recognized your daughter being fucked by the Quarterback," I said.

"Yes," She moaned, "It's her first Hunt now that she's turned eighteen. Lucky her to be ravaged by someone so viral. Maybe she will be blessed with children."

She looked at my hard cock pointing like a spear at her face and licked her lips.

I pushed her back with my foot and grabbed her ankles to yank her ass up. She squealed. I felt strong, stronger than I had felt since college. As I gave her labia one long lick from bottom to top and slapped her ass, she asked me, breathlessly, "How's your wife, I haven't seen her since she got her hair permed."

"She didn't come." I said, "Her Lutheran upbringing guilted her out of it, but now that I have you all night, maybe we can try and convert her together."

"Yum, that's nice," she said, pinching her nipples, as I focused my attention on her clit. "Come to evening mass with me and my daughter and we can put on a show for you and the quarterback, then you can fuck a-a-ooooh".

After I had done eating her, she had pulled my pants down and inhaled my cock. She sucked me off like a pornstar and moaned in enthusiasm at every dirty word I called her.

Looking at me with lust filled eyes, while her tongue ran up the underside of my cock, then engulfing my cock down her throat so I could stare at her amazing dye job.

When she got me hard, she rolled over on her hands and knees and pushed her ass into the air. She turned her head to look at me over her quivering ass cheeks, and begged me to fuck her, encouraged me to spank her, extolled my wife's providence in having a husband with such a big cock, offered me her daughter after the "Wild Hunt" was finished.

Later, I was fucking her, bunny-style, with my hands holding tightly to her bunny ears, and her rump wiggling deliciously with its little white cottontail. She was beautiful, sexy, and participated in every sexual act with unbridled enthusiasm.

"You have to join our church," She moaned. "My little girl needs to be fucked by this cock."

With the thought that this wasn't a one-time thing. That these erotic pairings were a regular occurrence amongst the congregants of Oster, that all these women were available to me to use, I came inside her, the first of many that night, with the torrid knowledge that in the not-to-distant future, Ms. Marks and her daughter, my fellow congregants, might be walking down Main Street together, hand in hand, with big round bellies, and my baby inside of them. Oster was the goddess of fertility after all.

I swore that I heard an audible electric crack like an electrical surge when I came, and glowing lights flashed in the bushes. It was something that would normally be very concerning, but I was distracted. An alien invasion could have occurred and I wouldn't have noticed.

That was all I could think of: impregnation. Impregnation was the point of this ceremony. A lot of children were conceived on this day, and these children were considered special. Holy. Sandra was one of them, Debbie had told me. So was her daughter.

Ms. Marks smiled and stretched like a cat who needed a collar. When I told her that, she smiled, "We have collars back at the church. Along with other toys," She smiled wickedly. "Will have to bring in your wife, I can't wait to play with her too. I can be very convincing at getting other women to give up on their hangups."

I heard a squeak like someone had stepped on a chew toy. The bushes next to us shook and in them, I could see parts (a thigh, and shoulder blade, two green eyes) of a naked girl. My brain was trying to analyze how I hadn't noticed earlier.

"Looks like you got lucky," Debbie smiled like a cat that caught the canary. "Now you have two toys to play with."

The little girl whimpered. And somehow I could tell that unlike the faux oh-I'm-a-helpless-damsel-in-distress-please-don't-rape-me concern of the other female congregants, that hers was real.

"Come out don't be scared. I won't do anything to you."

"I will though if he won't. The first thing I'm going to do is eat you." Ms. Debbie purred.

I ignored her. My lust was fully satiated and I had the weird feeling that this girl's fear wasn't some submissive role playing thing like the other girls of the Oster church. My brain told me that I had run through that bush earlier, and that girl should not have been there. I reached into the bush and pulled her out by her hands.

Debbie gasped. She was petite, with small petite breasts, and skinny legs, and a pronounced thigh gap. She had petite wrists and petite ankles and was just tiny in a way that made her extremities seem long or larger than life. She had black hair and full eyelashes and small round red lips that were both full. Her facial features were vivid and evoked timidness when compared to her frail tiny body. She also had rabbit ears and a bunny tail that twitched, and wiry twitching whiskers, and a human nose that somehow wiggled.

And they were real. Not costume accessories, but real. She was a human-rabbit hybrid crossing her legs to hide her sex which was thick and matted soft like a pelt and holding her arm over her strawberry colored nipples.

"Meso watu mimato kuwu a timba?" She asked in a girlish titter.

"By the Goddess. you've captured a Leporidae Sprite. That hasn't happened for twenty years." Debbie stared in wonder at the mythological girl.

"Me womba batu." The girl cried and wrapped herself around me. I could feel her hard nipples poking into my (now self-consciously) naked chest, and my damp soft cock poking into her stomach. She was so short that her head on my rib cage, and her fuzzy bunny ears, which were warm, with silky fur on the outside, and slightly translucent with tiny blood vessels visible on the inside, batted against my face. I awkwardly tried to pat her back.

"What the hell is a Leporidae Sprite?" I looked at Debbie.

Debbie stood up still stark naked, her costume ripped from her body. The girl I was holding looked childlike compared to Debbie's voluptuous figure. Debbie's breasts were the size of this rabbit girls head.

"A fairy creature from the another plane of existence. A magical natural realm that contains all the things that are symbolic here, but made flesh there. The ancient Druids worshiped the creatures from this realm. Elves, fairies. Orcs. They would mate with them and their offspring would become larger than life characters out of stories. During the Wild Hunt, the desires of lustful humans can create portals to this world and bring back magical beings to ours. But it's rare, it hasn't happened in years, and it isn't supposed to happen with an outsider.