Article: 288543 of talk.bizarre From: "Nikolai Kingsley" <firstname.lastname@example.org> Newsgroups: talk.bizarre Subject: rabbitworld Date: Sun, 1 Dec 1996 00:56:41 +1100 Organization: anarchartists Lines: 225 Message-ID: <email@example.com> Having cleared his weekend work-list by delegating a host of minor tasks to bots and good viruses he thought he'd look up Maeve, a net-friend with whom he'd been email-chatting for years. They'd grown quite close, exchanging confidences, helping each other over rough spots and occasionally collaborating on multimedia fantasies. They'd once been isolated in a talk-channel for two hours, due to some odd topological net-failure; he used to say that you never really knew someone until you'd both been stranded in a broken-down car in a snow-storm, and that had been the digital equivalent. She regularly sent him updates to a list of VR-systems that she frequented. Checking the latest version of the list, he recognised some of the names: Treksystem, SCA-3, AD-Police (he recalled the time he'd visited that one; his legs had been blown off by a rogue Genom Boomer in the first five minutes), LearyLunar, Purplehaze, Archaeorgaanapocalypsia (and he'd heard some decidedly odd things about that one). According to the rough schedule she'd included, she was probably on the last system on the list – Elil-Hrair-Rah. "Sounds vaguely Moorish," he mused, visions of cool, dimly-lit tents piled with jewelled pillows, arabesques (whatever an arabesque was), eight-foot-tall hookahs with Cthuluoid masses of pipes leaking heavily-scented purple hashish smoke, languid yet passionate women in silks and sandals with kohl-darkened eyes, and dalliances which would, most likely, end up giving him sand in every crevice. His fantasies had quite gotten away with him by the time he found a link to Elil-Hrair-Rah, so he was completely unprepared for the actuality: The VR-system dumped him in a spherical cave about three metres across; he landed on his hands and knees on the floor, which was lined with soft, dark soil. It wasn't wet or muddy, but he could smell traces of moisture in the air. Looking around, he noted an exit near the ceiling; an oval hole. There were no obvious light-sources; it was dark, but he could see enough to climb up the rounded side of the wall and into the tunnel. It sloped uphill at about fifteen degrees, winding around in a spiral (almost like an underground staircase) twice before opening up in a larger room with several exits. It was more brightly lit than the first had been although there still wasn't any obvious source of light; he resolved to stop worrying about such a trivial detail. Entering the larger room, he stood up and examined his VR-form. The coded flags for this system told him that he'd be expected to assume a specific shape (like the stylised Manga images everyone used in ADPolice or the various alien races in the Star Trek universe); the software had taken his standard preferences (which closely resembled his physical body) and morphed them to fit Elil-Hrair-Rah's template. In this particular virtual world, he was roughly humanoid. His body was covered with soft, light grey fur, creamy white down his front; his fingers – three of them – seemed shorter, somehow more closely fitted together. He had expected to see leathery pads on the palms, but either the model didn't cater for it or rabbits didn't actually have them. His feet were longer – he was standing up on his toes – and touching his face (also covered with fur) he found bristly whiskers, a soft, triangular leather spot for a nose above the odd bifurcation of his upper lip. Reaching up further... Two long, floppy ears. "I'm a wabbit!", even down to the fluffy tail behind. He had to admire the seamless conjoining of human and lepine forms; the minor differences didn't interfere with his regular body-map. It felt entirely natural. At the far end of the room was a pool of water set near another tunnel leading straight up. Approaching it, he detected the scent of fresh air from above; light from the outside world also made its way down the tunnel, illuminating a circle about two metres across. This was to let him view his reflection in the water, he surmised. It looked like him. Some features were blurred by the fur, but he recognised himself even with the Schifferesque overbite and the ears. He grinned, wiggled his nose and preened his whiskers. He was beginning to wonder what people did on this system (nibble carrots? Steal turnips from Farmer Gregory?) When a distant thumping sound reached him, like hundreds of feet drumming on the ground above. For some reason, it triggered a warning feeling; apprehensively, he stepped back from the upwards tunnel. The sound grew louder, as if being taken up by others; then suddenly dozens of rabbits (he couldn't imagine them as people, even if they were as anthropomorphised as he was) stormed into the room from tunnels around the ceiling. They leaped over each other in confusion, gradually disappearing down other tunnels, their cotton-tails wagging behind them; within seconds, he was alone again. He glanced about in confusion, wishing this system had provided a primer, or some documentation, even a read-me file, when one last rabbit bounded into the room from above. An Angora doe, lovely long white fur worn like a fluffy jumper over Rubenesque curves, one of her ears standing upright, the other jauntily cocked at about four o'clock. She crouched where she'd landed, looking about in frantic consternation before noticing him. Head to one side, she narrowed her eyes as if trying to remember where they'd met before. This gesture recalled the time he'd spoken to Maeve over a low-resolution video link... The images had been crudely pixelised and with a slow frame-update rate, but body language had come through clearly. They stared into each other's eyes for a moment, then she said slowly, "Peter?" He smiled, recognising the American accent. "Maeve!" "Peter Rabbit!" she giggled. They bounded towards each other and hugged, kneeling in the soft floor of the warren; he felt a warm, inward glow that he'd last felt while tripping at a nightclub with strobe lights in his eyes. The scent of moisture came back slightly stronger, mixed with an odd aroma that he had trouble placing; he associated it with clean, warm clothing fresh out of the spin dryer on a rainy day, with dizziness and being woken up on a cold morning in a warm bed with a close friend and – "Come on," she urged him, "the Dogs are overhead." reluctantly, they separated; she leaped down a tunnel and he followed her cautiously, keeping his eyes on her nicely rounded behind as it bobbed into the darkness. They followed the tunnel down into another large room with several exits, where some of the others had stopped; Maeve gestured that he should follow her further down and they ended up in a room deep in the earth, very much like the one he'd arrived in. He didn't stop in time and bumped into her, which turned into a very affectionate hug from behind. After a few awkward starts, they laughed, stopped trying to talk over each other and just hugged. "This is very weird," he said. With his hands clasped over her belly he could feel her laughter reverberating through her body. "I've seen some of the systems you frequent – Giger, Summermouse, Moebius-Incal..." she replied. "Yeah, but at least they're documented. Coming in here was like jumping into a lake with a blindfold on." She wriggled closer, nestling her behind into his lap. "So, how's the water?" she asked rhetorically. He blushed beneath his fur as he felt a surge of desire flare up in the pit of his stomach. Taking a deep breath he got a lung-full of that scent, which was even stronger in the close confines of the room. "Uh... Oh." She half-broke from their embrace, turned around to face him. He admired her fur, pure white with the faintest ultra-violet tinge, her amaranthine eyes; he found his gaze dropping to her breasts... Just like a fluffy white jumper; he could almost see the faint impression of nipples. "You didn't see the documentation for this system? You don't know what season it is?" Her wide-eyed look of surprise softened when she saw his confusion; she turned away, grabbed his paws and placed them underneath her breasts, snuggling back into his embrace. "It's bunny season, you silly boy," she said, emphasising her meaning with another sensual wriggle. Blushing again, he felt the start of an erection and realised – innate knowledge that was part of the body-map Elil-Hrair-Rah came with – that if he let it go much further, it would poke out of the sheath at his crotch. Maeve took both his hands and moved them up from her belly to her softly furred breasts, pushing his palms against her nipples and pressing gently. With a suppleness that wasn't entirely human she half-turned her head, leaned back and they kissed over her shoulder, rubbing whiskers and causing her to arch her back with pleasure. He moaned softly, restraining a full hard-on with an effort that was entirely wasted when she reached back and rubbed his sheath. He couldn't prevent it, then; she squeezed the furry pouch and with a twinge of relief it emerged. He had no idea of the usual proportions of rabbit genitalia, but his penis fit comfortably in her hand until she started sliding the sheath back and forth over the base; it swelled to the point where she could only just maintain her grip. Awkwardly, he moved one hand down between her legs, slid his middle finger between them. Everted from their fur covering, her lips were just as swollen as his erection, pressed together tightly, hot and slick with fluid. He knew where that arousing scent was coming from, now. She leaned forward on her hands and knees, her tail high like an inverted comma. His shyness fought with the desperate urge she was encouraging, and lost. Carefully he guided his erection under her tail and into the wetness that her tightly-squeezed thighs presented to him; the lips parted stubbornly and then closed around the head with a stronger grip than her hand had shown. "Now I've got you," she murmured, her voice thick with desire. He pushed towards her, at first with short strokes and then more confidently as more of his erection slid from his sheath. The scent was almost overpowering, now; dizzily, he felt himself losing control and his hips took over. He started thrusting more quickly, gripping the curve of her hips for leverage. On the inward stroke his shaft pressed up along the upper wall of her vagina – where the system had mapped her g-spot to – and her lips pushed his sheath back; on the outward stroke, the lips grabbed the head, squeezing it. With her ears thrown forward, her elbows out, her breasts brushing the ground, she slammed her hips against him with a motion that would have been impossible for humans; it was so fast that the rubbing and squeezing sensations blurred together into a slowly elevating sensation ramp. He could sense being propelled, inevitably, towards orgasm; ever the polite lover, he tried to hold off until she came first. It had been his experience that once he'd come, it was more or less over for at least ten minutes. Thankfully, the system's sensation filters allowed him the control he needed; before he knew it, she accelerated her movements, losing coordination slightly and causing a slight side-to-side motion which almost brought him off. With a choked "ah-h-h", thigh-muscles spasming, she shoved back against him hard, her arms straight, throwing her head back, her ears flopping behind and missing his nose by less than an inch. He held her tightly, riding it out, her lips squeezing him almost painfully; she shuddered into a series of contractions about half a second apart, then settled back to the floor and kept on thrusting. His eyes wide, he didn't have the presence of mind to wonder; in any case, his orgasm followed hot on the heels of hers. It was (needless to say) unusual; instead of a steady peak to a brief plateau and then collapse, it was more like a steep sine-wave; the orgasmic contractions eased back into the rhythm of their coupling, the heat washing through his body without interrupting. He felt the fluid pulsing along the underside of his shaft and into her, but he didn't feel that he was going to "shake for about thirty seconds and then fall over on his side", as she'd once described real-world rabbit copulation to him. Within minutes, she'd come again, and again just before his second orgasm. It took a bit of fine-tuning, but they'd managed to synchronise before they ran out of energy. Their last – eighth – climax drained them both; he slumped over her back, panting. "Oh, I cain't do it no more!" he gasped in a corn-pone accent. She laughed as well as she could, being just as short of breath as he was. They collapsed in a furry heap on the scuffed floor of the warren, huddled together, their heaving sides pushing against each other. Eventually their breathing returned to normal; as he was casting about for something clever to say, she beat him to it: "Care for a carrot?" He stared at her for a second and then collapsed with laughter.