Silvia, the thirsty bunny baker.

Considering how their first meeting went, Sasha came prepared.

With a freshly-bought leather wallet full of local tender, stuffed into a pocket of his bluejeans. Equipped for pastry-based ambushes, he followed the directions in Silvia’s note, and passed rows of pastoral family homes to find hers.

It wasn’t hard, when the house was so pink. A pastel coat of paint slapped over a frame whose architecture looked more boxy and modern than the old legacy brickwork to either side. Since subtlety wasn’t a word native to usagi or nekomata languages, the mailbox out front sported a stylized pair of bunny ears.

The real trick was finding a time she was home, and so Sasha was out for a walk far past dusk today. The sun had settled down and blanketed the land in boundless new-moon night, as well as the chirping of crickets. Swinging lanterns guided him down the lane, and most of the houses sported electrical lightning out front.

This was no big city; nobody was out this late, nor should have been.

During daylight hours, Silvia Richter could only be found in one place. However thrilling their tryst had been, depositing a load of seed directly into her chest and then having her go wait on customers, their business now would require privacy.

Ding, dong.

Eventually, after enough times hitting the button and hearing chimes on the other side, he heard a clamber of activity. Followed by the click of a lock, and that door swung open… to reveal a shortstack bunny capped with a cute fluffy pink beret… who was absolutely caked in thick white material. Even her ears were dripping with what appeared to be, hopefully, cake batter.

She was wearing an apron, though one clearly sized for the average nekomata girl, which left her woefully under-equipped. Her white shirt underneath, with all its plunging cleavage, similarly offered little modesty. Or protecting from flying dough and batter. From this high angle, looking right down into her messy cleavage was inevitable.

It looked for all the world like he’d already given her a second load.

Her girly, shirt pink skirt twirled about with her continuous low-grade movement and shuffling about, as Silvia cleared the dough from her eyes and saw it was him. Her expression lit up, and she tossed herself forward into his arms in a great big hug.

Getting all that mess on him, too.

“Hello, Silvia.”

“Sasha! You came! To my house! At this hour! I’m gonna go ahead and assume that you wanna give me a full belly.”

Sasha nodded, matter-of-fact about this momentous charge. “If you’re still willing.”

Silvia stared up at him. “Ready, willing, and able. Anytime. Seriously. This might seem sudden or whatever, but my people aren’t known for beating around the bush. So, like, yes. Let me go make sure all the ovens are off, and then you can give this bun a bun in the… yeah, you get it. After that, I’m gonna give you a full belly too!”

At his look of concern, she skipped off, giggling.

“With food, dumb-dumb!”

Oh, right.

He had indeed been assaulted the moment he set foot inside this house with more than a bunny eager for his cum. By incredibly delicious, hunger-fueling scents. Along with more than a little smoke and steam. This home of a baker, much like her store, was rich in the beautiful smells of her craft. Not just the wholesome stuff of fresh-baked of bread, but sweeter notes especially dominating. Likely because of the same reason she was dripping with batter.

“Hang on there!”

Sasha reached down, brushing at the flower on his button-up and watching it fall to dusty hardwood floors thick with clutter. Left on his own in the entranceway, he closed the door and then politely kicked off his shoes.

Before he could settle into the living room’s central lowered area, with a small table and pillows rather than the usual sofa-television arrangements common to the village, he heard Silvia crashing back in like an artillery round.

An exceptionally well-shaped charge full of blasting energy.

With her apron removed, there was no way to pretend her chest was even slightly covered. That plunging v-neckline puffy white shirt did little more than present an easy method of access… as Silvia proved, when she reached down, and pulled out her breasts for him on the spot.

Her nipples were hard, large and stretched as a natural consequence of capping such enormous mountains of lewd flesh. Their pink faded into the pale tone of the rest, and so the flecks of powder and cream did little more than accent this light-colored banquet. As well as suggest to him that licking those huge breasts would be a new experience. A very profitable activity for both of them.

Words were pointless here.

He was on her, leaning forward to account for their height difference, mouth attached to one of her nipples like a suckling child. No little baby could have gathered her short, topheavy frame up in strong arms so well, though, and held her close, feeling the racing of her heart.

She tossed her head back, which would have thrown off her beret. However, on account of the holes poked on it to let her floppy, long ears through, it was more or less skewered, tossing about as she filled her house not just with sweet scents, but the lovely moans of a woman having a great time.

Directly licking baking ingredients wasn’t recommended, but best judgment had fled the very first time he’d laid eyes on her massive rack. By now, he was driven purely by a desire to get it in his mouth, to squeeze it with his remaining normal hand, and feel the tactile sensations, and in turn provoke another wave of sordid moans.

He would have fucked her tits again, right there, and was in the process of dropping trow when she put up a hand to stop him.

She gasped, as taken by the whirlwind of their lusts as he was, “I’d love that. But you’re here for something else, right?~”

Sasha’s white cat-ears twitched, and his face heated up. “Right. I got caught up…”

"That’s only natural. Men lose their ability to think when they lay eyes on the girls.”

Silvia huffed pridefully, pushing those bare breasts up against the growing, pulsing bulge in his jeans. Pressure was building by the second, blood pumping hard to try and keep up. As if to encourage that, Silvia reached down, and cupped a hand beneath each breast to hold them up. Said hands looked like they’d vanished in the wealth of tit-flesh.

“Speaking of. If I don’t have your kids right now, I’m gonna go fucking feral.”

Sasha pulled off his clothes, starting with the glove over his gleaming metal skeleton of a hand. He bit down, and pulled it off with a smooth, and by now well-practiced motion. “We just met, you barely know anything about me.”

“We’ll have the rest of our lives for that stuff,” Silvia huffed. “C’mon.”

You’re the first person who’s taken my prosthetics in stride.

On to the bedroom, and a reinforced queen-size with an eager, dripping-wet blonde.