We sell lingerie.

Mira lowered the camera.

“Please clean yourself up and rest out back.” She set a black bag on the box next to the bed. “Put this on. You have sixty minutes before we continue.”

Silke was still sitting naked on the mattress. The semen below her navel had grown cold. Her legs were sticky. Somewhere on the memory card lay her “yes,” right next to her face.

She searched for her own bag. Her cell phone. Peter. Just one message: *It went wrong.* They found nothing. No jeans. No hoodie. No device.

“I’ve locked up your cell phone and your things,” Mira said without looking up. “If you want to run away, then do it naked and with nothing.”

Silke swallowed.

“I want you to be done in an hour. And behave yourself.”

The break was a gift nonetheless. Silke nodded. Mira went outside.

Outside, Mira paid the delivery guy a few euros. Too little for what he’d been inside Silke. Enough for the part he’d played.

“Thanks for playing along.”

“Anytime,” he said. His laugh sounded familiar. Not like the kind you’d hear in a pizzeria. “Why go to all that trouble?”

Mira shrugged.

“If I’d used a real delivery guy, he could have actually infected her. Or it wouldn’t have worked. Or he would have ratted her out.” A quick glance back at the door. “As soon as her identity is out, everyone will know who she is. Then everything’s lost. This way, I have a private model now.”

He snorted.

“Maybe she’ll turn you in.”

“No.” Mira sounded almost gentle. “She’s supposed to be a little scared. That’s all.”

They both laughed outside. “Bye, stiffy. See you at Dad’s. Sunday for dinner.” The footsteps faded away. No scooter. A private car. No delivery.

Inside, Silke turned the water up hot until her skin turned red and the white stuff from her stomach finally washed down the drain. She didn’t want to go out anymore. Not to Mira. She knew she had to.

Mira had her in her grasp. The video. The contract. She stayed under the shower for forty-five minutes, as if water could wash away a signature. Then she stopped. She blow-dried her hair. Put on her makeup.

“Three more minutes,” Mira said through the door.

Silke was still naked.

Mira knew that. A small camera was mounted above the mirror. Not for the nude shots. Not for the exhibition. Just so Mira could keep an eye on her while Silke thought she was alone with the steam.

Silke opened the bag. And was startled. On top lay the rabbit head.

The same one she’d worn at the party. Black fur. Stiff ears. Empty eyes. She took it out. It was her size. Beneath it, the rest.

Black lingerie. A lingerie set. Garter belts. Stockings. Boots with heels that would make a loud clacking sound on the concrete. A thong. The thong had a pearl chain running down the center. Not jewelry to look at. A delicate, cool chain that would run through her cleft, lie tightly over her clitoris, and pull back up at the back. Every step a tug. Every time she closed her legs, a squeeze.

And a plug. A black rabbit tail. Along with an unopened tube of lube, as if that were the polite thing to do. What was Mira up to?

The knocking again. “One minute, Silke.”

She could have put her head back in the bag. Put on the thong without the chain. Left the butt plug behind. She didn’t think things through. She wanted to avoid trouble. To follow the order and protect her identity.

First, the thong. The chain pressed coldly into her slit, immediately found her clitoris, and remained there like an accusation. As she fastened the garters, the metal tightened. Then the stockings. The boots. The corset top that pushed her breasts upward until the soft flesh spilled over the edge.

Lubricant on her fingers. The plug. She exhaled and pushed it inside her, slowly, because the shower hadn’t prepared her for this. The plug was in place. The fur tickled her perineum. When she straightened up, she was open in front and full in back: the chain on her clitoris, the cock between her buttocks.

Finally, the head.

The world grew smaller. Her breath sounded loud in the cardboard ears. Through the eyeholes, she saw the mirror: a naked, soft female rabbit with a chain in her pussy and a black tail between her butt cheeks.

Silke returned to the hall and looked like pure sex.

The rabbit head was in place. The ears stood stiffly upright. Beneath them, her breasts spilled over the edge of her tight lingerie—soft, heavy, impossible to miss. The G-string cut into her skin. The chain lay hidden in the slit and brushed against her clitoris with every step. Behind her, the black rabbit tail bobbed. Her boots clicked on the concrete. They were no longer alone.

A blonde woman stood by the lighting stand with a portfolio. Next to her was a burly Black athlete, broad shoulders, tight shirt, his gaze too polite for what Silke was wearing.

The blonde sized her up from her boots to her ears.

“That’s the model.” A pause. “Isn’t she a little too… uh… fat?”

Mira replied without raising her voice.

“No. She’s just a woman. We’re advertising lingerie here that every woman wants to wear. This is going to be amazing. We can pull it off. We’ll send you the standard footage and the bonus footage tomorrow. Then you can decide if it was worth the money.”

The blonde nodded—professional as ever—and thanked her. Mira turned to the man. “Go ahead and undress while I explain to Anna what we’re doing.”

He nodded and went behind the folding screen.

Silke stood stiffly. Through the eye holes of the mask, the room felt smaller. She stepped up to Mira, so close that only their ears separated them.

“What’s going on here? What’s with the mask? And who is Anna?”

Mira smiled thinly.

“Don’t play dumb. I know you were the one wearing the mask at the party. I had plenty of time to study your body.” Her gaze slid over the chain, the tail, and the soft belly above the thong. “Today I need the bunny girl. How did that go again? A rabbit out of a hat. And you need a name. Anna.”

She laughed softly.

“We’re doing a photo shoot for a client. My first job. Don’t mess this up. I’ve found you a model. No one will recognize you. He’s wearing an elegant mask, too.”

Fabric rustled behind the folding screen. Anna flipped through her portfolio and acted as if a masked woman were a normal part of a lingerie campaign.

“First shoot,” said Mira. “The two of you in bed.”

They walked over to a new bed. Fresh sheets. Bright light. No pizza box. But right in front of the window again. He came from the other side.

Naked.

Just the elegant mask. Black, narrow, expensive. Beneath it, the body of an athlete: dark, defined, his cock already half-erect between his thighs. Silke stopped at the foot of the bed. Something about that cock looked familiar to her. The shape. The veins. Was that the one from the closet?

She forced her voice through the fur. “Why is he naked?”

Mira was already adjusting the light.

“Because we sell women’s lingerie here.”

“On the bed. Anna on the left. You on the right. Lie down first. Hands visible. Don’t cover the chain.”

Silke knelt down on top of it. The plug shifted. The chain tugged. She lay on her back, her ears pressed against the pillow, her breasts hanging over the edge of the corset. He lay down next to her. Skin against garter belt. His thigh was warm. His cock rested heavily against her hip, bare against the fabric, and grew harder just because she was breathing.

Mira clicked the shutter.

“Closer. One leg over hers. That’s what sells the panties.”

He obeyed. The weight of his thigh opened her up a little. The chain tightened across her clit. Silke clenched her teeth so no sound would escape from the mask.

“Hand on your breast. Not under the fabric. We’re selling the garment, not the flesh. Officially.”

His hand rested on her soft breast, firmly, right where the edge dug in. Anna watched with her head tilted slightly, as if checking whether “thick” was still marketable. Mira photographed both: what looked like the catalog shot, and what was happening underneath.

“A kiss on the neck. Don’t put your mouth on the mask.”

His lips found Silke’s neck beneath the furline. Warm. A brief flick of the tongue. His cock twitched against her thong, pushing the chain deeper into her slit. Silke got wet. Immediately. Embarrassingly so. The rabbit’s tail fit tighter as she clenched her cheeks.

“Good,” said Mira. “We’ll get to the regular material in a moment.”

“Extra material,” Mira said more quietly, just for the bed. “Move the thong to the side. Don’t take it off. The chain stays on your clit. Tail next to it. Don’t go in yet. We’re still in the teaser phase.”

He hooked the thong to the side. The chain stayed where Mira wanted it, a shiny line across Silke’s bare, shaved slit. His cock lay next to it, dark, thick, the head already wet. Silke stared up through the holes at the flashes of lightning.

She recognized the cock.

Not sure. Only her body knew something her mind couldn’t quite process.

Mira leaned over her, smiled into the mask, and squeezed.

“A rabbit girl out of a hat. First job. And you’re already dripping on the merchandise.”

“In a minute,” said Mira. “This first. So the customer understands why you don’t take off your underwear.”