“I’m sooo fucking tired playing second fiddle to that fat asshole.”

“I know, baby,” Jess patronizingly replied while filing her nails. “You’ve mentioned.”

“Who the hell does he think he is?”

“Well… he’s Santa Claus.”

“Fuck Santa. Screw Saint Nick! I’m the motherfucking Easter Bunny,” EB raged while on yet another bourbon bender. “I bring people chocolate. I get people laid.”

“You do indeed, darling.”

“And that smug son-of-a-bitch is no goddamned saint. Why hasn’t that elfophile been arrested? Where’s the blow back? Where’s the #ElfMeToo movement? Keeping all those elves prisoner in Santa’s Workshop. Call it like it is – it’s a fucking elf sex dungeon. There’s got to be stories. Lots of them. Teflon mother-elf-fucker. Where’s the justice, Jess?”

Jessica calmly inspected her meticulous sanding work, gently blowing the dust from her nails, and then nonchalantly transferred her focus to her other hand.

“Babe, remember when you were investigated for unhealthy food practices? People claimed a batch of eggs tasted like shit. That was Nickie’s doing. His people stoked the Twitterverse bonfire, saying you were cutting corners and your product was rabbit pellets wrapped in colourful tinfoil. Remember that? He attempted to rebrand Easter Eggs as Bunny Bon Bons.”

“AAAHH! Right! That rat-motherfucking-bastard!”

“Hun,” Jess now softly spoke while gently stroking one of his long ears in an attempt to harness the motivating rage she had masterfully engineered. “Getting all Frank from Donnie Darko on his ass is not productive. If you want to bump Nickie off and become number one, you’ve gotta do what rabbits do best?”

EB’s eyes widened with pending carnal intent.

“Are you suggesting… “

“You’re the best I know, you ever ready buggar,” Jessica seductively said while sensually grinding her fluffy-tailed behind into her big bunny’s bulge. “It’s time to share with the world that magnificent cock of yours. Take what should be yours and make Easter great again.”

≈ ≈ ≈

It was nice to be naughty, and Mr. E. Bunny quickly confirmed that naughtier’s nice. He wondered why he and Jess hadn’t strategized like this sooner. She was smart. Maybe he just wasn’t ready.

If you make people feel like they’ve lost something, or worse, like that something has been taken away, they want it back, even if the reality of that lost concept is unfounded. The perception is their reality.

Make Easter Great Again.

It was bloody fucking brilliant!

With the support of his wife, there was next to zero downside. No backlash from the big guy either. Easter was Jesus adjacent and the resurrection’s timing, coincidental, but Christ was in the damn holiday name. What an albatross!

After some deep knee bends, and a disciplined hydration regime, a rejuvenated Easter Bunny embraced his new mantra. He was convinced top spot was destined to be his. He even had visions of new songs sung and old standby’s rewritten. His favorite revision was, I Saw Mommy Fucking The Easter Bunny.

Utilizing the time travel worm hole that he, Santa, and their younger, more flamboyant brother, the Tooth Fairy, shared, EB set out for success. During that fateful night, EB satisfied one slutty or needy recipient after another. The moans. The screams. The innumerable orgasms. It couldn’t have gone better. He dined on more beaver than Canada had nickels, and stuffed more pussy and ass than his duplicitous brother filled stockings.

You’ll be kissing my crack now, Santa old boy!

The marketing pièce de résistance was that, in addition to his customary treats, each woman received a special promotional gift. However, he wasn’t done. The Easter Bunny had one final pivotal stop.

He humped the old broad like she hadn’t been laid in years. Like a champ, she grunted like a pig when taking it up the ass and still begged for more. EB slapped that jelly so hard that she got whiplash when her floppy tits smacked her face. In the history of carnal warfare, never before had fucking the enemy been so satisfying.

Finally, to keep all the gooey bunny goodness inside, EB completed his needle-moving conquest by inserting the parting gift: a pinkish glass butt plug with M.E.G.A. engraved on the circular stop. Then, during their post-coitus snuggle in the Claus’s king-sized sleigh bed, EB helped Carol reach another high. She took a few hits from his Kinky Kush blunt before he climbed out of bed.

“Will I see you again?” his glossy-eyed, sexually-satisfied sister-in-law cooed while rolling onto her belly and playfully tapping together her swollen ankles.

“Possibly,” EB replied while straightening his tie. “Unlike my brother, I’m not limited to cumming only once each year. But I promise you this, if you help me, you’ll never need to dress as an elf again.”

≈ ≈ ≈

“You didn’t.”

“I did.”

“Isn’t that too personal?” Jess asked. “Carol’s your brother’s wife.”

“Stuffing your stocking with a candy cane-shaped g-spot vibe and a dildo with his white-haired head and grinning face on the end is too personal,” EB replied, vehemently defending his actions. “This was strictly business. I was in her to win her.”

“But those toys were in response to his Christmas card order. Granted, convincing the printers to switch the ‘n’ to the end of his name was funny. But Satan Claus on a Christian holiday… When he finds out about Carol, he’ll be relentless.”

They both then saw the latest CNN polling numbers scroll across the bottom of their television screen. EB adjusted the bag of frozen peas on his aching nut sack as they both read and listened until the report was finished.

“Whatever you did seems to have worked. The good news is that you’re numbers are up. Women thirty-five to seventy-five claim that Easter is now their favourite holiday. The bad news is that you still trail Christmas in every other demographic surveyed. You know what that means?”

“What?”

“It’s the men. Babe, next year you might need to swing both ways… “

“Whatever it takes, Jess, I’ll do it to win.”

This story is protected by International Copyright Law, by the author, all rights reserved. If found posted anywhere other than Lushstories.com with this note attached, it has been posted without my permission.

Copyright © 2015-2019 Ping. All rights reserved. All stories and poems are written by, and the ‘soul’ property of, Ping, and his real life alter-ego. No portion, in whole or part, can be borrowed, linked, or reproduced without their expressed written consent. Please don’t steal our stuff, just ask us if you want a copy. Thank you for your consideration.

<a href=”https://www.lushstories.com/stories/flash-erotica/-mega-.aspx”> M.E.G.A. </a>





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