STORY 6

The damn fan in the bunny head had stopped working hours before, and Willow’s ass was hurting from the hard plastic seat. Adding insult to her twin injuries of overheating and sore backside was the seemingly endless line of children waiting to get their picture taken while sitting on her lap.

On the Easter Bunny’s lap.

Greg, Willow’s husband, ran a photography and events company that made big bucks during holidays like Easter and Christmas. Not big enough bucks to pay people well enough to want to sit in a sweltering furry costume for hours on end while kids fidgeted around on their knees. This was evidenced by the fact that neither of the other two “Easter Bunnies” had reported for work today, the day before Easter and the biggest Easter Bunny day at the Town Centre Mall.

Bunnies were supposed to only work in four-hour shifts because the temperature inside the costume could get overwhelming, and that was with a working fan inside the head. Willow also wore a vest filled with ice packs, but the ice typically melted within the first hour.

And Willow had been stuck inside the damn costume for almost eight now.

Willow could see the big clock hanging on the wall in the jewelry store near the Easter Bunny’s setup. She didn’t do anything immediately after seeing it was time for her four-hour shift to be over, but after a bit, she started using the hand signals she and Greg had worked out to let him know something was wrong. He’d come over to her and whispered through the bunny head that her relief was running late.

“Shouldn’t be much longer,” he’d said. That was almost four hours ago, and her relief had never shown.

And now the third shift bunny hadn’t shown either.

“Just hang in there,” Greg whispered in between kids when Willow started up with the hand signals again. “We’re killing it in sales today.”

“Hang in there?!” she exclaimed, not caring that it must have been loud enough for the kids at the front of the waiting line to hear. “I’m not going to sit here for another four hours!”

Greg shushed her and snapped, “Not much choice in the matter. This is our last big push!”

“Why can’t one of them get in the suit?” Willow asked, nodding the big bunny head toward the two female employees of his who were taking turns operating the camera and doing photo manipulation on a laptop. “Or you, for that matter?”

Ignoring her, Greg walked back over to join the two girls near the camera and laptop, motioning for the next kid to go sit on Willow’s lap.

Willow watched the boy approach, her rage building.

“Fuck this,” she whispered, standing up before the boy could reach her. She shoved the bunny head up and off of her head, gasping in great

breaths of air as she did so. Ignoring Greg’s protests, she pulled off the furry gloves covering her hands and kicked off the ridiculously oversized bunny feet. Finally, she slipped out of the rest of the costume so that she was standing there, in full view of a massive line of children and their parents, wearing nothing but a black sports bra and matching athletic shorts. Every inch of her skin was covered in sweat and her hair was so wet from it, it was like she’d just stepped out of the shower. She probably smelled awful, but she wasn’t brave enough to take a big whiff.

The boy who had just had his hopes of quality time with the Easter Bunny dashed fell to his knees and started bawling. He was quickly joined by several other kids in the line, at least the ones whose parents didn’t have the brains to pull their kids out of line and walk away. Willow saw flashes of light and looked up to see a couple of the waiting dads taking pictures of her with their phones.

That part made her blush, in a good way.

“Willow, what are you doing?” Greg asked for perhaps the tenth time. “I am done,” she snapped. “Done with working for free, done with

risking heat exhaustion, and done with this fucking holiday. And if you say one more word, I just might be done with you.”

With that, she stormed off, heading for the nearby vacant store that served as the Easter Bunny changing room to get her clothes, shoes, and car keys.

Cursing Greg and the Easter Bunny costume under her breath as she headed for the exit, she passed by the mall’s community room where, a few months prior, she’d had a memorable experience inside a giant gift-wrapped box after another fight with her husband. Just like that time, there was now black paper covering the windows so you couldn’t see inside. And just like then, there was now a paper banner hanging above the doors leading into the room.

Last time, the banner had read, “The Dad Zone--giving bored men something to do while their wives shop.”

The “something to do” had consisted of TV, video games, and a girl-- Willow, as it turned out--inside a makeshift gloryhole (the aforementioned gift-wrapped box). The new banner read, “CONTROL, Inc Submissive Training Workshop.” Underneath that unlikely yet potentially exciting title were the words, “Hosted by the Town Centre Tramps.”

“Town Centre Tramps.” One of the girls in the “Dad Zone” had mentioned that phrase the last time Willow had been in that room, but she didn’t press her for more information. Willow decided she had to know more about these Tramps and this “CONTROL, Inc.” event.

But, if things were going to turn out like last time, she really needed a shower first. Before this day turned into a clusterfuck, Willow had intended on going to the gym after her bunny shift. Her gym bag, with a change of clothes, body wash, and shampoo, was in her car. She didn’t feel like working out after the day she’d had, but she could head over to the mall’s Planet Fit? Yes! gym and take a quick shower. Then, she’d come back and see what this “submissive training workshop” was all about.

As she walked out to her car, she wondered if there was a membership form she needed to fill out to join the Town Centre Tramps.