Chapter 5: So much booty
Sunlight, sharp and accusing, sliced through a gap in the cheap pink curtains, landing directly on Arthur’s closed eyelids. He groaned, the sound scraping against a throat raw from… something. Exertion? Disuse? A phantom ache radiated from his lower back, a dull counterpoint to the sharper sting in his hips. The scent that hit him wasn't coffee, but the overwhelming sweetness of bubblegum and synthetic coconut, layered over the stale musk of sex and sweat that had seeped into the very fabric of the apartment overnight.
Movement beside him. Warm, heavy flesh shifting. The familiar, jarring clap-clap as Bambi rolled over. Her face was inches from his, makeup smudged into raccoon eyes, the black leather collar stark against her sleep-flushed skin. ‘DADDY’S LIL BUNNY’. She blinked, slow and deliberate, then stretched, a languid motion that made her exaggerated curves ripple beneath the thin satin sheet she’d pulled over them at some point.
"Morning, Daddy," she breathed, her voice thick with sleep but already dripping with that familiar, saccharine tone. Her hand snaked out, sliding down his chest, over his stomach, finding him with practiced ease. He flinched, but she didn't stop. "Sleep good? Candy and me kept you warm." She squeezed, insistent. "Wanna wake up feeling real good?"
Before he could even form a protest, a weight settled over his legs. Candy, equally disheveled, her own collar askew (‘DADDY’S GOOD GIRL’), had crawled across him. Her breath was hot on his neck. "Gotta start the day right, Daddy," she murmured, her lips brushing his ear, her hand joining her sister’s. "We gotta service you. All day long. Remember? Weekend rules."
"Guys," Arthur managed, his voice a croak. "I… I really gotta piss."
Bambi giggled, her fingers still working. "We'll help! Candy, hold Daddy's thing steady so he doesn't make a mess." Candy shifted, positioning herself lower, her hands encircling him, guiding him upwards. Arthur felt a wave of humiliation wash over him, hot and prickling, mixing with the insistent throb of unwanted arousal they were expertly coaxing. This wasn't intimacy. It was… maintenance. Like feeding a pet.
He tried to push himself up. "Seriously, I need the bathroom."
"Okay, Daddy!" Bambi chirped, bouncing off the bed with another loud clap. "We come too! Gotta make sure Daddy's comfortable." Candy released him, scrambling after her sister. They flanked him as he stumbled towards the tiny, glitter-smeared bathroom, their exaggerated hips bumping against him, the constant jiggle a rhythmic percussion track to his misery.
The bathroom was a claustrophobic nightmare of pink towels, fruity soaps, and discarded lingerie. Arthur stood at the toilet, the twins pressed against him on either side, their hands roaming possessively over his back and chest while he relieved himself. He kept his eyes fixed on the chipped tile wall, trying to block out their cooing.
"See? Easy," Bambi said, patting his hip. "Daddy needs his girls nearby."
"Always," Candy echoed, leaning her head against his shoulder. The collars felt like brands against his skin.
Breakfast was a gauntlet. Arthur shuffled towards the kitchen area, craving silence and maybe a stale bagel. The twins followed, their bare feet slapping on the linoleum. As he reached for the breadbox, Bambi inserted herself between him and the counter. She turned, pressing her back against it, her rear bumping against his groin. "Ooh, Daddy's hungry?" she teased, grinding slightly. "We got something better than bread." She took his hands, placing them firmly on her hips. "Breakfast service, Daddy. Right here."
He pulled back, shaking his head. "I just… I need coffee. Food. Please." The 'please' tasted like defeat.
Candy, already rummaging in the fridge, emerged with a tub of lurid pink yogurt. "We'll feed you, Daddy!" She scooped a large dollop onto her finger, holding it up like an offering. "Open wide for your good girl!" Her eyes held a challenging glint beneath the faux sweetness.
Arthur stared at the yogurt, then at Candy's expectant finger, then at Bambi still blocking the counter. The apartment seemed to shrink further. He opened his mouth. The yogurt was sickeningly sweet. Candy beamed. "Good Daddy!" She scooped another dollop. Bambi, not to be outdone, dipped her own finger into the tub and pressed it against his lips. "My turn! Mine's sweeter!"
He endured the sticky, finger-feeding, the twins giggling and taking turns, their bodies constantly touching him, adjusting him. Every attempt to move independently was met with cheerful obstruction and redirected hands. Getting dressed was a farce. They insisted on 'helping', pulling his worn t-shirt over his head, their hands lingering, then 'adjusting' his sweatpants with invasive tugs and pats near his groin. "Gotta make sure Daddy's comfy everywhere," Bambi explained, giving his crotch a final, proprietorial squeeze.
The morning bled into a haze of relentless contact. He tried to sit on the garish pink couch to check his phone for work shifts. Candy immediately straddled his lap, facing him, grinding down. "Daddy's lap is my seat," she declared, kissing him sloppily. Bambi perched on the armrest, running her fingers through his hair. "We gotta keep Daddy relaxed. No boring phone stuff." He gave up.
He stood by the window, staring blankly at the brick wall of the adjacent building, seeking a moment of quiet. Bambi pressed against his back, her arms snaking around his waist, her hands slipping inside his pants. "Daydreaming about us, Daddy?" she whispered, biting his earlobe. Candy leaned against the wall beside him, one hand rubbing his chest, the other trailing down his stomach. "Bet you are. Bet you can't think of anything else."
The shower was the worst. They insisted on joining him in the cramped, steaming stall. There wasn’t room. Their enormous posteriors bumped against him, against the walls, against each other, the clattering echo amplified by the tiles. Slippery hands were everywhere – washing his back, his chest, sliding lower with aggressive thoroughness. "Gotta get you really clean, Daddy," Candy purred, soap suds sliding down his thigh as her hand moved between his legs. Bambi pressed her slick body against his front, her breasts mashing against his chest, her own hand joining the invasive cleaning. "Especially here. Needs extra attention." The hot water pounded down, but it felt like drowning. He closed his eyes, bracing his hands against the damp tiles, enduring the suffocating, soapy assault. Their giggles bounced off the walls, mingling with the drumming water. The collars, wet and heavy-looking, remained buckled tight.
He finally escaped the bathroom, towel wrapped tight, feeling scoured raw inside and out. He needed air. Space. He spotted his wallet on the cluttered coffee table, half-buried under a fluffy pink unicorn. Bills. Rent was due. The coffee shop paycheck… it wouldn't cover last night's pizza, let alone everything else. Panic, cold and sharp, cut through the fog of exhaustion.
He lunged for the wallet, fumbling it open. Empty. The single twenty he’d had yesterday – gone. Only receipts remained. Pizza. Liquor store. A hefty charge from a lingerie shop he didn’t remember visiting.
Bambi emerged from the steamy bathroom doorway, a towel barely containing her, water sluicing down her collarbone onto the black leather collar. She saw the wallet in his trembling hand. Saw his face.
"Ooh, checking your money, Daddy?" she chirped, tilting her head, a flicker of something sharp in her wide blue eyes. "Don't worry. Candy and me… we took care of some things yesterday. Needed some cute new outfits. For you." She stepped closer, leaving wet footprints on the lurid purple rug. "A good Daddy provides, right? That’s the deal." She reached out, not touching him, but her gaze held his, the ditzy veneer thinning for a terrifying second. "You are a good Daddy, Arthur. Aren’t you?"
Arthur stared at the empty wallet, then at Bambi’s expectant face, the water dripping onto the collar that marked her as his possession. The scent of bubblegum and damp leather filled his nostrils. The silence stretched, thick and heavy, broken only by the relentless drip-drip-drip from the bathroom tap. The words ‘no strings’ echoed in the hollow space where his money used to be.