Chapter 10: Bambi arches back against the sybian, her shaved pussy glistening under the studio lights as Erna adjusts the vibrations - 'Louder, whore, let him hear what real pleasure sounds like.' Chris's cage strains against its confines while Annika traces the bulge with a ruler, giggling as she announces, 'Three more inches than Micha's pathetic dick - and just as useless.'
The denial had crystallized. It was no longer an absence but a solid, permanent thing inside Chris, a shard of cold glass in his gut. Nat’s voice, cold and academic, looped in his dreams. Your pleasure is incidental. He existed in a suspended state, his body a museum of unmet need, every nerve ending tuned to a frequency of silent expectation.
When the new request came, it was from an unknown profile: a stark black square with the single initial ‘E’. His heart, a weary percussionist now, gave a dull thud. He knew. Samantha had told him her friend Erna was curious, that she might ‘borrow the toy’ for a demonstration. The permission was its own kind of humiliation. He was a library book, a tool in a shared shed.
He clicked accept.
Erna’s face filled the screen. She was all sharp angles and dark intelligence, her hair a severe, sleek black bob. Her smile didn’t touch her eyes. “Christopher. So good of you to join us.” Her voice was a smooth, poured concrete, promising solid, immovable control.
The camera panned back, revealing the space. It was a downtown loft, all exposed brick and steel, but the area she showed was something else entirely. A plush, deep crimson carpet, low ambient lighting, and a sumptuous leather chaise lounge. It was a stage.
On the chaise, curled like a cat, was Bambi. She was tiny, a riot of colorful ink and chaotic hair, her eyes wide and submissive. She wore only a simple collar and a pair of tiny black shorts. She waved kittenishly at the camera, a smirk playing on her lips.
“You remember Bambi, Samantha’s eager little pet,” Erna said, walking into frame. Her hand came to rest possessively on Bambi’s head. “She’s been such a good girl lately. So very good. Mistress Samantha said she could have a reward. A big one.”
Another figure stepped into the light. Annika. She looked impossibly young, porcelain skin contrasting with her long black hair. She wore a short pleated skirt and a cropped top, an outfit of exaggerated youth. She chewed gum, popping it as she looked at Chris’s feed on a tablet in her hand. “Eighty-seven days,” she sang, her voice a bratty, melodic taunt. “Eighty-seven days since your useless balls were allowed to do their job. That’s, like, practically a season.”
“Annika will be our statistician,” Erna said, her fingers threading through Bambi’s hair. “And our commentator. Bambi here… she will be our living, breathing contrast. Our lesson in permitted pleasure.”
Bambi preened under the attention, arching her back. “I love serving Mistress,” she chirped, her eyes on Chris. “And I love showing off for her good boy who can’t have any.”
“Let’s begin,” Erna said. She didn’t ask. She commanded the air in the room. “Bambi, show him how a proper, owned submissive greets her mistress’s friend.”
Bambi slid off the chaise onto her knees on the plush carpet. She shuffled forward on her knees until she was before Erna. With deliberate, worshipful movements, she nuzzled her face against Erna’s thigh, then began to kiss the material of her trousers. “Thank you for allowing me to perform, Miss Erna,” she murmured, her voice dripping with faux innocence.
“Good pet. Now, the reward. Annika, the toy.”
Annika bounced over, carrying a sleek, vicious-looking vibrator, a heavy, wand-style device. She handed it to Erna with a theatrical flourish.
“You will make yourself come, Bambi,” Erna instructed, placing the wand on the chaise. “You will use this. You will come as many times as you can. You will be loud. You will be messy. You will show our observer what he is missing. What he has been designed to facilitate but never to experience.”
Bambi’s eyes glazed with immediate lust. She grabbed the wand, her small hand looking childlike on the large handle. She fell back onto the chaise, spreading her legs wide, offering a direct, obscene view to the camera. She was already wet, her neat, tiny slit glistening under the lights.
“Day eighty-seven,” Annika chanted, circling the chaise like a vulture. “He’s probably leaking right now. A constant, sad drip. Like a broken faucet.”
Chris was. He sat rigid, his hand fisted at his side, watching as Bambi brought the humming head of the wand to her clit. The moment it touched her, her whole body jolted. A sharp, genuine cry tore from her throat.
“Oh, fuck! Oh, god, yes!”
The sound was a scalpel. It was raw, unmodulated pleasure. The absolute antithesis of his own silent, clenched agony.
Bambi worked the wand in frantic, tight circles. Her hips bucked off the leather. Her free hand clawed at her own small breast, pinching a nipple. “Yes, yes, yes! This is for you, Mistress! This is for Miss Erna! This is what a good slut gets!”
Her back arched violently. Her mouth fell open in a silent scream for a second before a broken, guttural wail erupted. Her thighs clamped around the toy, her body convulsing in a wave of intense, uncontrained orgasm. Chris could see every muscle in her slender abdomen contract, could see the flutter of her inner lips around nothing. It was violently, disgustingly real.
“One!” Annika yelled, clapping her hands. “That was a quick one, Bambi! Greedy!”
Bambi whimpered, the wand still pressed against her, her body twitching with aftershocks. She was panting, a sheen of sweat on her pale skin. She looked directly at the camera, her eyes half-lidded and triumphant. “See, Chris? That’s what it feels like. You must… you must have forgotten.”
Erna stood, arms crossed, a scientist observing a perfect reaction. “Continue. Don’t let the sensitivity stop you. Push through. Show him the depth of what is being withheld.”
Through gasps, Bambi obeyed. She moved the wand again, crying out as the direct stimulation on her oversensitive clit bordered on pain. But she didn’t stop. She ground herself against it, her moans taking on a desperate, sobbing quality. “It’s so much… it’s too much… I can’t…”
“You can,” Erna stated, coldly. “You will.”
“Day eighty-seven,” Annika sang again, perching on the arm of the chaise, staring at Chris’s frozen image on her tablet. “He’s so hard it probably hurts. I bet it aches. A big, stupid, aching monument to nothing.”
Bambi’s second peak built differently, a slower, deeper climb. Her moans became throaty, guttural. “I’m gonna… I’m gonna come again… fuck, I’m coming for Mistress, I’m coming for all of you!” She screamed, a raw, shredding sound, as another, somehow stronger orgasm racked her. This time, a squirt of liquid ejaculate sprayed from her, darkening the leather beneath her. She shuddered uncontrollably, the wand falling from her limp hand.
“Two!” Annika proclaimed, popping her gum. “Messy.”
Bambi was sobbing, but they were sobs of sheer, overwhelming sensory overload. Her body was a live wire, jerking with sporadic tremors. She was ruined with pleasure, utterly spent and yet still radiating the echoes of it.
Erna picked up the wand, turned it off. The sudden silence was louder than the screaming. She looked into the camera, right at Chris. Her wicked smile finally reached her eyes. “Observe the state of her. The trembling. The tears of satiation. This is what you exist to create in others. This is your purpose. Not your own release. Your own release is irrelevant, a distraction from your true function.”
She turned to Annika. “The final part of the demonstration. The count.”
Annika hopped up, grinning. She walked right up to the camera, so her pale, youthful face was all Chris could see. “Eighty-seven days,” she whispered, her voice sickly sweet. “Know what I was doing eighty-seven days ago? I was deciding if my boyfriend got to cum. I said no. Just because I could. It’s fun.” She traced a finger on the screen over his lips. “Mistress Samantha says I get to decide something about you soon. I’m thinking… no. I’m always thinking no.”
She stepped back. Erna took Bambi’s chin, lifting the exhausted girl’s face to the camera. “Tell him what he is, pet.”
Bambi gathered the last of her energy, a vindictive, submissive glee in her bleary eyes. “You’re… you’re just a tool. A dildo with a heartbeat. I get to feel. You just… wait.”
Erna gave a single, satisfied nod. “Dissection complete. You are dismissed, Christopher. Samantha will be in touch.” The call ended.
The silence in his room was a physical void. The ghost of Bambi’s screams echoed in the marrow of his bones. His own arousal was a mockery now, a crude, dumb mechanism next to the symphony of forced pleasure he’d just witnessed. Annika’s bratty voice infested his thoughts. I’m always thinking no.
His phone buzzed. A text from Samantha. ’Erna’s report was exemplary. Bambi came four more times after your call ended. She’s asleep now, perfectly used. Your discipline is making so many people happy.’
A follow-up text. ’Annika has asked for veto power. I’ve granted it. For the next month, any permission you receive from me or anyone else can be overturned by her. A single word from her, and you stop. No matter how close you are.’
Chris stared at the screen. The shard of glass in his gut twisted. He was no longer just owned. He was a contested territory, a plaything in a hierarchy of control he could never hope to understand. His purpose, as Erna had so cleanly defined it, was to be the engine for others’ pleasure, a silent, straining pump denied its own pressure valve. He looked down at his body, at the thick, veined evidence of his irrelevance. It wasn't just denial anymore.
It was erasure.