Chapter 3: Bambi's Secret Treat
The following days passed in a humid, sticky blur for Clover. Her world had narrowed to the twin spheres of Bambi’s universe, their gravitational pull dictating her every thought. She existed in a state of frantic, panting readiness, her cardigan sleeves chewed from nervous energy whenever Bambi was out of sight.
“You’ve been such a good girl,” Bambi sang one evening, gliding into the living room where Clover sat pretending to read a textbook. Her voice was a conspiratorial whisper. “Way better than a real puppy. You don’t shed. Mostly.”
Clover’s head snapped up, her glasses slipping down her nose.
Bambi giggled, a sound like shaking bells. “I think my bestie deserves a special treat. Don’t you?”
Without waiting for an answer, she took Clover’s hand, her own soft and slightly sticky from lotion, and led her down the hall. The air changed as they crossed the threshold into Bambi’s bedroom. It was warmer, denser. The vanilla plug-in warred with a deeper, organic scent—sweet decay, like compost and perfume. The massive bed was a landscape of rumpled silk, a valley formed by the permanent impression of Bambi’s body.
“Okay, so I saw this thing,” Bambi chirped, releasing Clover’s hand to shimmy out of her flowing sundress. It pooled around her ankles. She stood in just a lace-trimmed bra, her backside a breathtaking, naked monument in the soft light. Each cheek was a pale, freckled planet, the deep divide between them shadowed and inviting. “It’s like, a reverse pillow thing. But better.”
Clover could only stare, her mouth gone completely dry.
“Lie down, silly goose,” Bambi instructed, pointing to the head of the bed. “Right there. On your back.”
Clover scrambled to obey, her limbs clumsy. She laid back against the pillows, the scent of Bambi’s sleep and sweat enveloping her. She watched, heart hammering against her ribs, as Bambi climbed onto the bed. The mattress groaned and dipped profoundly. She didn’t turn around. Instead, she began to kneel, positioning herself over Clover’s face, facing her feet.
The view was catastrophic. From below, the mass of her was incredible, blocking the light. The swollen, pink lips of her pussy were visible, but lower, far more prominent, was the other star—the tight, winking hole Clover worshipped, currently clenched softly. The sheer scale of the cheeks hovered above, a sweaty, fleshy sky.
“Just relax, pet,” Bambi trilled, her voice slightly muffled. “This is your reward.”
She began to lower herself.
The first contact was a soft, damp brush of skin against Clover’s forehead. Then the weight came. It was immense, smothering, total. The two globes settled completely over Clover’s face, sealing her in a hot, dark, musky prison. She could hardly breathe. Every inhale was pure Bambi—salt, skin, a tang of lingering soap, and that underlying, delicious rottenness.
Clover’s hands flew up, not to push away, but to clutch at the phenomenal hips above her, holding on as if for life.
A low, deep gurgle sounded from within Bambi’s gut, vibrating through the flesh pressed against Clover’s ears and nose. Then came the first brap. It wasn’t a giggly release. It was a long, rumbling, deliberate exhalation of gas, dense and humid, directly into the sealed space. The pungent, eggy aroma flooded Clover’s senses. She drank it in, a frantic, muffled moan escaping her as she opened her mouth, letting the foul air coat her tongue.
Bambi giggled, the motion causing a seismic jiggle. “Oopsie. Tummy’s talkin’.”
She shifted, grinding her hips in a slow circle. The wet seam of her backside slid over Clover’s mouth. Clover needed no further instruction. She thrust her tongue out, licking a broad, desperate stripe across the puckered hole. It tasted of salt and profound, intimate musk.
“That’s it,” Bambi sighed, her voice dreamy. She bore down slightly.
Clover’s tongue dove in, spearing into the tight, hot ring. It gave way easily, welcoming the intrusion. She ate with frantic hunger, slurping, kissing, nibbling at the stretched edges. Her nose was buried in the sweaty crease, breathing nothing but her stepmother’s essence.
Another internal rumble, longer this time. Bambi relaxed completely. A series of braps erupted, not sharp, but long, wet, and voluminous. They were less like air and more like a warm, gaseous soup, each one puffing against Clover’s lips and nostrils, each one richer and riper than the last. Clover swallowed them, her eyes rolling back in the darkness, her hips bucking uselessly against the empty air.
“You like that, don’t you?” Bambi cooed, her tone one of delighted discovery. She began to rock in earnest, riding Clover’s face in slow, grinding undulations. “Such a hungry little pet.”
The pressure changed. Bambi’s breathing hitched. The gentle, pleasurable rocking morphed into something more purposeful, a deep, internal bearing down. The hole gaped wider around Clover’s tongue, fluttering violently.
“Here comes… your real treat,” Bambi grunted, her sweetness edged with strain.
The first hot, soft lump pushed against Clover’s probing tongue. It was thick, yielding. Clover’s brain short-circuited, every nerve firing in a symphony of depraved bliss. She opened wider, making a low, guttural sound of encouragement, of worship.
Bami let go.
It was a slow, continuous dump, a warm, soft load that filled Clover’s mouth with a bitter, earthy, profoundly forbidden taste. It kept coming, a seemingly endless expulsion that stretched her jaws and coated her throat. Clover gulped, swallowed convulsively, tears of ecstasy leaking from the corners of her eyes, trapped against Bambi’s skin. She consumed it all, every last bit, her tongue working to clean the emptying hole as the final tremors passed through Bambi’s body.
For a long moment, there was only the sound of Bambi’s heavy, satisfied breathing and Clover’s wet, muffled swallows.
Slowly, delicately, Bambi raised herself. Cool air hit Clover’s wet, filthy face. Light returned. She lay gasping, mouth smeared, eyes glazed behind her crooked glasses, a look of utter, satiated rapture on her face.
Bambi turned and looked down at her, her doll-face flushed and glowing. She reached out and wiped a bit of moisture from Clover’s cheek with her thumb.
“See?” she said, her voice soft and impossibly light. “Way better than a new chew toy.” She laid down beside Clover, snuggling into the pillows, and sighed contentedly. “We’re definitely doing that again. My treat-dispenser needs her snacks, right?”
Clover, still unable to form words, just nodded, turning to burrow her face into the warm, safe curve of Bambi’s neck. The taste in her mouth was all she would ever need.