Her phone buzzed Five o’clock. The limo driver: Waiting.

The limousine smelled of leather and champagne. Amy sat alone in the back seat, her bunny tail pressing awkwardly against the cushion. She didn’t know the driver.

He really didn’t talk much.

The partition was up. Outside the tinted windows, campus faded into unfamiliar streets, then into empty stretches of road.

She tried to start a stream but her signal dropped.

“Limo’s got no reception,” she muttered to no one. “Cool. Cool cool cool. Not ominous at all.”

She recorded herself, content to share with the stream.
“Hi Chat!” She showed off herself in her bunny costume, sitting in the limo, holding a glass of champagne. “I’m heading to The Soup Kitchen.

Talking to her camera and getting into character helped with the tingling nervousness in her stomach.

Twenty minutes. She continued to record.
She went on about the thrill of mystery, of not knowing what lurks ahead—it made her horny, a thrill she hadn’t felt in a while.

Thirty minutes. The car slowed.

Outside, a low building spread across a manicured lawn, no signage, no windows.

Just a heavy wooden door and a valet stand. The valet wore a chef’s apron and nothing else. “Kinky” she thought. She looked around. The whole compound was walled.

She had been busy chatting away she hadn’t noticed the guarded entry gate.

The car door opened. “Ma’am.” A hand extended—white gloves, formal posture.

Amy’s eyebrows went up. How elegant.

The doorman wore a tuxedo jacket and a pair of tailored pants that left little to the imagination.

“Your ticket, please.”

Amy fumbled her phone. The golden ticket loaded. He scanned it with a device that beeped green.

“Welcome to The Soup Kitchen, Bunny.

Please enter and await your pairing.”

Pairing.