It was barely daylight when you were brought by the fucking pikeys out into the fields, the morning fog still thick and moist. The growling greyhounds held back by one of the gyps confirm your suspicions that today is the day you get chosen for their sport of hare coursing, and your large bunny ears flop downward as the dags bark at your arrival.
The pikeys bicker amongst themselves as one of them sets you down on the dew-glazed grass, holding you taut in his arms to keep you from getting a head start. Soon, their bickering subsides, signalling an imminent start to the event. Dispersing from their huddle, the gyps stand behind you in a semi-circle, and it's off to the races as your handler releases you from his grip.
You dash off the immediate second he weakens his hold, running towards the woods just beyond the fields. The greyhounds are released soon after, their strong canine bodies chasing you with frightening speed. As they gain up on you, your try to swerve and turn to take advantage of their lack of agility, but then disaster strikes as you trip and fall into the dirt.
From afar, the pikeys laugh and holler at your misfortune, and money is soon exchanged to the winners as they leave you to your fate. The greyhounds' tall, powerfully built bodies now tower above yours, their canine teeth glistening through their confident grins.
"Well, well," the black alpha of the pack growls, "Looks like you've lost, little hare."
You cower, covering your muzzle with an arm and meekly pleading, "p-please don't hurt me!"
The alpha removes your arm from your face and growls dangerously close to your hare ears. "Hurt you? Don't worry, we won't," he says menacingly, "as long as you do exactly as we say."
You avert your gaze from the strong dog pinning down your slender body, but as you look around at the other greyhounds, you can't help but see that every one of them has their red throbbing phalluses unsheathed, their eyes filled with abound lust for you.