Give Marco your condoms and promise not to worry about it tonight — put on the bunny outfit and head to the next house.

2 Breedmore Lane living room, Maplewood Suburbs, at 10:27 PM on Friday October 31, 2024

I reach into my purse without hesitation. Two foil wrappers — my last two — drop into Marco's open palm. He closes his fingers around them with a slow, satisfied smile.

"Good girl," he murmurs, and something hot and liquid pulses between my thighs at the words.

I pull the bunny suit on while he watches. The latex is cool and tight against my freshly-scrubbed skin, the bodysuit squeezing my small breasts into a shallow cleavage it didn't know I had. The crotch is a narrow strip of glossy black that presses snugly against my still-swollen pussy — I can feel how wet I already am again, the material already clinging to my folds. The fluffy tail bobs behind me, absurd and obscene. The ears make me look like a pornographic cartoon.

"Perfect," Marco says, handing me my purse back — lighter now, emptied of protection. He kisses me on the mouth, tasting of bourbon and my own cunt. "Have fun out there, bunny."

The October air hits me like a slap when I step outside. The latex offers nothing against the cold — my nipples harden instantly, visible through the tight material, and the crotch panel is already damp against my bare pussy. I'm wearing nothing underneath. My thigh-high boots click against the pavement as I walk.

House #3 sits at the corner — a modest two-story with orange string lights draped across the porch and a jack-o'-lantern flickering on each step. A sign on the door reads: FORTUNE TELLING — $5. Through the window I can see candlelight and movement.

I knock. The door swings open immediately — like someone was waiting.

The man inside is tall and lean, early thirties, with sharp cheekbones and jet-black hair slicked back from a high forehead. He's wearing a fortune-teller's costume: a deep purple velvet robe, open at the chest to reveal a lean, defined torso. A thin gold chain hangs between his collarbones. His eyes are pale green — almost luminous in the candlelight — and they rake over my bunny outfit with undisguised hunger.

"Well, well," he says, his voice a low, smooth baritone. "A lost little rabbit. I'm Callum." He extends a ringed hand. "Come in. Let me read your fortune."

The interior is transformed — heavy curtains blocking the windows, dozens of candles casting dancing shadows, incense smoke curling toward the ceiling. A round table draped in black velvet holds a crystal ball and a spread of tarot cards. A velvet chaise lounge sits against one wall, piled with silk cushions.

Callum guides me to the table, his hand warm on my lower back. "Sit. We'll begin with the cards."

I sit. He shuffles the deck with long, practiced fingers, then lays three cards face-up between us.

"The Tower," he reads, tapping the first. "Sudden upheaval. Something broken open." His green eyes meet mine. "The Lovers." He taps the second. "Union. Two becoming one — or more." A slow smile. "And the Devil." The third card shows a figure chained to a throne, horns rising. "Bondage. Restraint. Being held against your will by something you secretly desire."

He leans forward, candlelight catching the gold chain at his throat. "Your fortune is very clear, Luna. Tonight you surrender control. You've already begun — I can smell the cum on you. Two men have filled you tonight."

My breath catches. He knows.

"Here's how this works," Callum says, rising from his chair with fluid grace. He moves behind me, his hands settling on my shoulders. "I'm going to blindfold you. Then I'm going to give you a reading you'll never forget. The trick is —" His fingers trace down my arms, finding my wrists, pulling them gently behind my back. Soft silk wraps around them, binding. "— you won't know what's coming next."

A black silk strip covers my eyes. The candles vanish. His hands guide me up from the chair and I feel the velvet chaise against the backs of my knees.

"Lie back," he whispers against my ear. "Let the cards decide what happens to you."

I'm falling backward onto silk cushions, wrists bound behind me, blindfolded, wearing nothing but latex and boots — and my pussy is throbbing.