Chapter 3: First taste
The scent of cheap vanilla perfume and something unnervingly sweet clogged Arthur’s throat. Bambi’s thigh was a furnace against his arm, her glittery nails digging possessively into his shoulder. Candy knelt before him, a predatory gleam in her wide, artificially blue eyes, her gaze fixed unwaveringly below his belt buckle. Her fingertip traced the straining denim seam.
"Just relax, Daddy Arthur," she repeated, her voice a low purr that vibrated in his bones. "We got you."
Before he could choke out a protest – work, boundaries, sanity – Bambi shifted beside him. Her hand slid from his shoulder down his chest, fingers splaying possessively. "Yeah, Daddy," she breathed hotly against his ear, her candy-pink braid brushing his cheek. "Let us make it all better." Her other hand joined Candy’s, both sets of glitter-tipped fingers now working at the button of his jeans with practiced efficiency.
Arthur froze. His mind screamed warnings – This is insane! They just moved in! What are you doing? – but his body, starved and shocked into submission, betrayed him. The button popped. The zipper hissed down. The cool air of the apartment hit his exposed skin, a stark contrast to the heat radiating from the twins pressing in on him.
Candy didn’t hesitate. Her hand slipped inside, cool fingers wrapping around him, drawing him out into the humid, perfume-laden air. Arthur gasped, a strangled sound lost in Bambi’s giggle.
"Ooh, hello there!" Bambi chirped, leaning over to peer down. "Looks like Daddy was stressed!"
"Poor thing," Candy cooed, her grip tightening slightly, sending a jolt through him. "All pent up." She glanced up, meeting his horrified gaze. That predatory sharpness was back, cutting through the bubbly facade. "We know just how to fix that."
In one fluid motion, Candy rose from her knees. Bambi simultaneously shoved Arthur back deeper into the scratchy pink velour of the couch. He sank, trapped. Candy climbed onto the low coffee table they’d shoved aside, her platform heels clicking on the cheap laminate. Bambi slid off the couch cushion onto the floor directly in front of him, between his knees.
They moved with unnerving synchronicity, a choreographed assault. Candy, towering above him on the table, began swaying her hips. Slowly at first, a hypnotic roll that made the hot pink velour stretch taut over the impossible swell of her backside. Bambi, kneeling on the rug, mirrored the movement, her own exaggerated curves inches from his lap, swaying in perfect counterpoint.
The rhythmic clap-clap-clap started low, a soft percussion beneath the thump of Candy’s heels on the table. Bambi’s hips rolled closer, the fabric of her tracksuit bottoms whispering against his jeans. Candy’s sway intensified, her movements becoming sharper, more defined. She bent forward, placing her hands on her knees, pushing her backside out towards him. The clap sharpened, louder now, a fleshy echo in the tiny room.
"See something you like, Daddy?" Candy called over her shoulder, a smirk playing on her glossy lips.
Bambi answered for him, grinding her hips backwards now, the full, impossible weight of her pressing against his thighs. "Course he does, Candy! Look how tense he is!" She tilted her head back, looking up at him with feigned innocence. "We gotta loosen you up, Daddy Arthur!"
The clapping intensified. Candy dropped lower, her movements becoming pure, aggressive twerks. Each powerful flex sent a shockwave through her body, the exaggerated flesh jiggling violently, slapping against itself with a wet, resonant thwack-thwack-thwack. Bambi matched her, grinding against his legs, the heat of her radiating through the fabric, the rhythmic impact vibrating up his spine.
Arthur was pinned. Physically by Bambi’s grinding weight, mentally by the sheer sensory overload. The clapping thunder filled his ears, drowning out thought. The sickly-sweet perfume choked him. The visual was overwhelming – twin avalanches of flesh moving in hypnotic, demanding rhythm, Candy’s towering display above, Bambi’s intimate assault below. Posters of stoic sci-fi heroes stared blankly from the walls, indifferent witnesses to his unraveling.
"Come on, Daddy," Bambi moaned, grinding harder, her voice thick with performative need. "Don’t be shy. Give it to us."
"Yeah, Arthur," Candy purred, dropping into a deep squat, her backside inches from his face, clapping like gunshots. "We worked so hard moving in. We deserve a little treat, right?" She glanced back, her eyes narrowed, hungry. "Give your girls their welcome present."
The demand cut through the haze. Give it to us. Not a request. An expectation. Payment rendered. Arthur’s breath came in ragged gasps. His body, traitorously aroused by the sheer impossible spectacle and the relentless physical stimulation, throbbed painfully in Candy’s grip. Shame warred with a desperate, clawing need. The loneliness of the past years, the invisible-man existence, crashed against the terrifying reality of being the sole focus of this overwhelming, demanding attention.
"Please, Daddy?" Bambi whined, tilting her hips up, pressing herself fully against him, her voice dripping with faux desperation. "We wanna feel it. We need it."
"Give us your load, Arthur," Candy commanded, her voice dropping, losing all pretense of sweetness. Her twerking became furious, a staccato barrage of flesh against flesh. "Right now. Give it to your dumb bimbos."
The pressure built, a terrifying wave cresting within him, fueled by instinct, overwhelmed senses, and the twins’ relentless, synchronized demand. Bambi’s grinding became insistent, rhythmic pressure. Candy’s grip tightened, her thumb rubbing a cruel circle. The clapping reached a fever pitch, a physical assault on his eardrums.
Arthur’s vision blurred. A choked groan escaped him, torn from somewhere deep and primal. His back arched off the scratchy pink velour. The wave broke, crashing over him with terrifying force, a violent, involuntary surrender. He spilled over Candy’s glitter-dusted fingers, hot pulses onto the worn rug between Bambi’s knees, his body shuddering uncontrollably.
The clapping stopped abruptly. The sudden silence was deafening, broken only by Arthur’s ragged breathing and the hum of the small refrigerator. Candy straightened up on the coffee table, looking down at her hand with a detached curiosity. Bambi stopped grinding, resting her head back against his thigh with a contented sigh, like a cat after a meal.
"Mmm, thanks Daddy," Bambi murmured, nuzzling his leg.
Candy hopped down from the table, landing with a soft thud. She examined her glitter-streaked hand, then casually wiped it on the fluffy pink throw beside Arthur. "Good boy," she stated, her voice flat, devoid of the earlier purr or whine. She looked around the cramped, pink-invaded space. "Now. Where do you keep the snacks? Moving in makes a girl starving." She headed towards the tiny kitchenette, her hips swaying with their usual clap, already rifling through cupboards.
Arthur slumped back, utterly spent, trembling. The scent of sex and perfume hung thick in the air, mingling with the dust and old paper. Bambi remained draped against his legs, humming softly. Candy’s clapping footsteps echoed as she searched. The posters stared. The unpaid bills lay untouched on the desk. The glittery cage felt smaller, tighter. The cost of the fantasy, the terrifying reality of the "no strings," settled over him like a leaden blanket. The invoice had been presented. Paid in full. And the twins were just getting started.