Chapter 36: The Living Room Display
The living room held its breath for a full minute after Nat’s bedroom door clicked shut. The only sounds were the tinny laughter from the muted TV and the uneven rasp of Chris’s breathing as he fumbled with his sweatpants, yanking them up over his agonizing erection. He didn’t look at the girls. He just turned and half-walked, half-stumbled down the hall towards the bathroom. The sound of the lock engaging was a sharp, final punctuation.
Annika let out a long, shaky breath she hadn’t realized she’d been holding. “Jesus fuck.”
Bambi was curled into a tight ball on the futon, her knees drawn to her chest. Her wide eyes were fixed on the spot where Chris had been standing, on the tiny, glistening spot on the floorboards. “She made him drip on the floor,” she whispered, her voice a mixture of horror and awe.
“She made him a floor,” Annika corrected, her mind replaying the image of Nat leading him by his cock like a leash. A hot, complicated twist of jealousy coiled in her gut. It wasn’t about having Chris anymore. It was about being the one who reduced him to that.
From the hall, they heard the shuddering groan of the old pipes as the shower turned on. A cold shower. On command.
“He’ll actually do it,” Annika said, more to herself than to Bambi. “He won’t jerk off. He’ll just stand there under the cold water.”
Bambi uncurled slightly. Her fingers traced the line of a tattoo on her ankle—a delicate chain of thorny roses. “Have you ever… I mean, with him… was he ever like that with you?”
Annika barked a short, humorless laugh. “With me? With us? No. Christ, no. He was the one in charge. Fun, charming, gonna give you the best fuck of your life—on his terms. You ever seen that thing soft? It’s still fucking impressive.” She shook her head, black hair swaying. “But what she just did… that wasn’t about a fuck. That was about dismantling him.”
Bambi’s gaze drifted to the hallway. “I want to see.”
“See what?”
“What happens after the cold shower.”
They waited. The shower ran for a long time. When Chris finally emerged, he was dressed in clean jeans and a grey t-shirt, his hair damp and dark. He looked stripped bare, his usual playful energy replaced by a hollowed-out vigilance. He moved quietly towards the kitchen, avoiding eye contact.
Annika stood up. “Chris.”
He paused, his back to her. His shoulders were tense.
“You okay?” The question felt absurd even as she asked it.
He turned his head slightly, just enough for her to see the ghost of a wry, broken smile on his profile. “Do I look okay, Annika?”
He didn’t wait for an answer. He grabbed a bottle of water from the fridge and disappeared into his room, closing the door with a soft, definitive click.
The apartment settled into a thick, afternoon silence. Bambi scrolled on her phone without seeing it. Annika pretended to watch the game. The power dynamic had been violently redrawn, and the air itself felt charged, waiting for the next spark.
It came from Bambi. She put her phone down. “I’m going to ask her.”
“Ask who what?”
“Nat. I’m going to ask her… how she did that. I want to learn.”
Annika stared at her. Bambi’s submissive streak wasn’t a secret; it was in the way she dressed, the way she listened, the slight dip of her head when someone assertive spoke. But this was different. This was seeking out the flame. “You’re crazy.”
“Maybe,” Bambi said, standing up. She adjusted her crop top, took a deep breath, and walked down the hall to Nat’s door.
She knocked, softly.
“It’s open,” Nat’s voice called from within.
Bambi stepped inside. Nat was at her desk, typing on a laptop. The room was neat, intellectual—shelves of books, a schematic for some engineering project pinned to the wall. It was a stark contrast to the crude scene she’d orchestrated an hour before.
“Hey,” Bambi said, her voice small.
Nat took off her glasses and rubbed the bridge of her nose. She looked tired, but her eyes were sharply focused. “What’s up, Bambi?”
“I… I wanted to talk about what you did. With Chris.”
A slight smile touched Nat’s lips. “Educational, right?”
“Yeah. But… how? He’s… he’s Chris. How do you make someone like him just… obey?”
Nat swiveled in her chair. She assessed Bambi—the nervous posture, the eager eyes. “You understand what he wants,” she said simply. “Not what he says he wants. The deep, stupid, animal want. For him, it’s not just about coming. It’s about being allowed to come. It’s about permission. I control the permission. Therefore, I control him.”
Bambi swallowed. “Could you… teach me?”
Nat was silent for a long moment. Then she stood up and walked to her door, pushing it until it was almost closed. “It’s not a theory lesson. It’s practical.” She turned back to Bambi. “You’re submissive. You like to be told what to do. This is the inverse. It’s about telling someone else what to do, and knowing they’re dying to do it.”
“I don’t know if I can do that.”
“Let’s find out.” Nat’s tone was clinical. “Go get him. Tell him to come here.”
Bambi’s heart hammered against her ribs. “Now?”
“Now.”
Bambi left the room. She walked to Chris’s door, her palms slick. She knocked.
“Yeah.” His voice was flat.
She opened the door. He was lying on his bed, staring at the ceiling. He turned his head.
“Nat wants you. In her room.”
A flash of something—fear, anticipation, raw need—crossed his face before it shuttered again. He sat up slowly, as if his body ached, and followed her without a word.
Back in Nat’s room, Nat pointed to a spot on the floor in front of her desk. “Kneel.”
Chris knelt. The obedience was instantaneous, robotic. It made Bambi’s breath catch.
Nat looked at Bambi. “He’s hard already. Just from being summoned. Check.”
Hesitantly, Bambi stepped forward. She reached out a trembling hand and pressed her palm against the front of Chris’s jeans. The thick, rigid length of him bulged against the denim, hot even through the fabric. He flinched at her touch but didn’t pull away. A low groan escaped him.
“See?” Nat said. “He’s a simple machine. Input command. Output arousal.” She walked over and stood beside Chris. “Unzip him.”
Bambi’s fingers fumbled with the button fly. She got it open, reached in, and pulled his cock out. It sprang free, fully erect, veins prominent. A pearl of pre-cum already glistened at the tip.
“Good,” Nat murmured. “Now, tell him what you want him to do.”
Bambi’s mind went blank. Her mouth was dry.
“Use your words,” Nat prompted, her voice a quiet, steady force.
“I… I want you to lick me,” Bambi whispered, the words barely audible.
“Louder. He’s not a dog, he’s a tool. Tell the tool what to do.”
Bambi took a shaky breath. “Lick me. Get on the floor and lick my pussy.”
Chris’s eyes, dark with desperate hunger, flicked up to Nat. Seeking final approval.
Nat nodded. “You heard her.”
He moved with a speed that startled Bambi. He lay back on the floor, and she, following an unspoken cue, straddled his face, lowering herself onto his mouth in her tiny shorts. She didn’t have to guide him. His tongue was already searching, lapping at her through the thin cotton, his hands coming up to grip her thighs, holding her in place.
The sensation was electric. His tongue was relentless, wetting the fabric, pushing against her clit. Bambi moaned, her head falling back. She looked at Nat, who watched with the analytical detachment of a scientist.
“He’s good at that, isn’t he?” Nat said. “Now make him stop.”
“Wh-what?”
“Make him stop. Just as he’s getting into it. Pull away.”
Bambi, her body singing with the beginning of pleasure, forced herself to lift her hips off his mouth. Chris made a frantic, muffled sound of protest, his tongue chasing her retreating heat.
“Tell him ‘not yet,’” Nat instructed.
“Not yet,” Bambi parroted, her voice gaining a sliver of strength.
Chris lay panting beneath her, his cock jutting obscenely from his open jeans, glistening with his own spit and pre-cum. The need on his face was absolute.
“Now,” Nat said, her eyes locked on Bambi’s, “ride him. But don’t let him come. You decide the pace. You decide the depth. He’s just the flesh and bone you use to get yourself off. Understand?”
Bambi nodded, a fierce, new understanding dawning. She shifted off his face, yanked her shorts and underwear down her legs, and positioned herself over his throbbing cock. She notched the head against her entrance, already slick from his mouth. She sank down onto him slowly, taking just an inch, making him feel every fraction of her tightness.
Chris arched his back, a strangled “Fuck!” tearing from his throat.
“No,” Bambi said, finding a strange, cold clarity. “You don’t get to ‘fuck.’ You get to be still.”
She began to move, a slow, grinding rock of her hips, taking him deeper by tormenting degrees. She watched his face contort, felt his hands clutch at her hips but not direct her. She was in control. She set a rhythm that brought her closer to the edge while denying him the friction he craved. When she felt his muscles begin to lock up, his breath hitching in that familiar, pre-climax pattern, she stopped completely, squeezing him tight inside her.
“You close?” she asked, her voice surprisingly steady.
He could only nod, his jaw clenched, eyes screwed shut.
“Yeah,” she breathed, a smirk touching her lips. “Too bad.”
She started moving again, a fraction faster, building herself back up while he trembled beneath her in a state of suspended agony. The power was a drug, purer than any orgasm. She came with a sharp, shuddering cry, her inner muscles clenching around his imprisoned cock, which pulsed helplessly inside her, denied its own release.
When her spasms subsided, she climbed off him. He was a wreck—sweat-sheened, breathing in ragged gulps, his cock still painfully hard and slick with their combined wetness.
Nat stepped forward. She placed a hand on Bambi’s shoulder. “Good. Now tell him to finish himself off. On the floor. Where you can watch.”
Bambi looked down at Chris. “Do it. Come for us.”
The permission, once given, acted like a trigger. His hand flew to his cock, fisting it roughly. Three brutal, frantic strokes was all it took. With a guttural roar that seemed to come from the very core of him, he came, thick white ropes jetting onto the hardwood floor of Nat’s room, his body convulsing with the violence of his release.
He collapsed onto his side, spent, panting.
Nat handed Bambi a tissue from her desk. “Clean up. Then you can go.”
Bambi, her legs weak, cleaned herself. She dressed. She looked at Chris, a crumpled, used thing on the floor, and then at Nat, who was already turning back to her laptop as if nothing of consequence had occurred.
“Thank you,” Bambi whispered.
“Don’t thank me,” Nat said without looking back. “Just understand it. The power isn’t in his cock. It’s in the ‘no.’ It’s always in the ‘no.’”
Bambi slipped out of the room, closing the door softly behind her. She leaned against the wall in the hallway, her whole body humming. In the living room, Annika looked up, her question clear in her eyes.
Bambi just smiled, a new, quiet knowledge settling in her bones. She had tasted the mechanics of control. And she was starving for more.