Chapter 2: The Taking
Arthur’s brain short-circuited. The signal it sent—a screaming, staticky mess of impossible wrong what how—never reached his limbs. He stood frozen, back against the cool door, trousers around his ankles, his own arousal wilting under the sheer force of cognitive dissonance.
Bambi pouted, giving her length another slow stroke. “Hellooo? Earth to nerd-boy. I said knees.” The whine cut through his stupor. “You’re, like, totally ruining the mood with all the staring.”
His mouth moved, but only a dry click came out. He tried to form a sentence, something from the vast library in his mind, but every shelf was empty.
“But… you’re a…”
“A girl? Duh.” She rolled her eyes, a monumental gesture. “I’ve just got a little extra. Now are you gonna be a good boy or do I have to, like, make you?”
The command, delivered in that childish, nasal tone, held a weird authority. A part of Arthur, the part that had spent a lifetime following instructions, simply complied. His knees buckled, hitting the plush carpet with a soft thud. The perspective from down here was even more staggering. It loomed, thick and veined, the head a flushed, ruddy purple, glistening under the neon light. The musky scent was stronger now, primal and animal.
“See? Isn’t that better?” She shuffled forward on her tall heels until the tip brushed against his lips. It was warm. He flinched. “Open wide, cutie. Time for your first lesson.”
She didn’t wait. Her hand left her shaft and cradled the back of his head, fingers tangling in his hair. There was no more gentleness, no more practiced seduction. This was hunger. She pushed forward.
Arthur gagged instantly. The thickness stretched his lips, filled his mouth, hitting the back of his throat. He choked, eyes watering.
“Uh-uh, none of that,” Bambi chided, rocking her hips slightly. “Relax your throat. It’s not that hard. Just pretend it’s, like, a big lollipop.”
Tears blurred his vision. His glasses were hopelessly askew. He tried to breathe through his nose, the sweet-perfume air now laced with her saltier, intimate smell. He made a muffled, distressed sound.
“Aw, you’re so cute when you struggle.” Her voice was a singsong above him. She began to move in earnest, short, shallow thrusts that slid against his tongue. “Yeah, just like that. Use your tongue, dummy.”
The initial shock began to mutate, blurred by the physical reality of the act. His mind, desperate for a foothold, detached. He watched himself from a distance: a skinny, pale man on his knees in a strange pink apartment, being used by a cartoon goddess. The absurdity was so absolute it looped back into a kind of acceptance. His body, on autopilot, tried to accommodate. His jaw ached.
Bambi’s breathing hitched. The petulant whine evaporated, replaced by something guttural. “Okay, okay, here we go,” she muttered, her hips stuttering. Her grip on his hair tightened to the point of pain. “You wanna see something cool?”
She pulled out almost entirely, leaving him gasping, a string of saliva connecting his lips to her tip. Then she shoved back in, deep, hilting herself in his throat with a brutal, final thrust. Arthur’s vision spotted. He felt a convulsive pulse at the root of her, a deep tremble.
And then it hit.
It wasn’t a trickle. It was a flood, a thick, viscous surge that filled his mouth in an instant, hotter than anything he’d ever felt. The taste was profoundly bitter, alien, overwhelming the tequila and lime. He gagged, trying to swallow, but the volume was too much. It spilled from the corners of his mouth, dripping onto his chin and shirt.
Bambi moaned, a long, drawn-out sound of pure satisfaction as she pumped again, and another wave followed the first. She kept him impaled, milking herself into his throat until he had no choice but to swallow convulsively, the bitter heat sliding down to his stomach.
Finally, she pulled out with a slick, wet sound. Arthur collapsed forward onto his hands, coughing, spitting, his throat raw. Strings of pearlescent fluid hung from his lips. The taste coated his tongue, his sinuses.
He expected a moment of respite. A break.
He was wrong.
Bambi looked down at him, her eyes bright and utterly un-sated. She was still fully, impossibly erect. She wiped a smudge of glitter from her cheek, her expression one of bratty impatience. “Okay, that was, like, a warm-up. My turn again.”
“What?” Arthur croaked, his voice destroyed.
“You heard me. I’m still sooo worked up. It’s not fair.” She nudged his shoulder with her foot. “Get back to work. Daddy’s not done.”
The casual, self-referential term ‘Daddy’ hung in the perfumed air. Exhausted, bewildered, and perversely curious, Arthur obeyed. He pushed his glasses back up his nose and leaned forward again.
The second time was different. The shock was gone, replaced by a numb, gritty determination. He knew what to expect. He took her in, trying to control his gag reflex, moving his head as she began her relentless, jackrabbit rhythm. The slap of skin, her sharp, eager breaths, the wet sounds—it all coalesced into a brutal, mechanical chant.
“Yeah, just like that, you’re learning,” she gasped, her hands back on his head, guiding him. “Faster. C’mon, you can do better than that.”
His jaw screamed in protest. His throat was on fire. She was a piston, an engine, and he was just a tool. The intimacy was grotesque and absolute.
Her climax, when it came, was just as torrential. He was ready for it this time, swallowing desperately as the bitter heat flooded him again, his own stomach feeling uncomfortably full.
She stepped back, finally soft, glistening and spent. Arthur slumped to the floor, spent, hollowed out. He lay on the carpet, staring up at a ceiling draped with fairy lights, tasting her in every pore of his being.
The silence lasted for three breaths.
Then Bambi sighed, a contented, playful sound. She stepped over him, her bare feet padding toward the kitchen. He heard the fridge open, the glug of liquid.
She returned, sipping from a water bottle, looking down at him with a renewed, mischievous spark. “Okay, so that was fun. But now I’m all, like, sensitive.” She took another sip. “So I think it’s time for your turn again.”
Arthur turned his head to look at her, completely spent. “My… turn?”
“Mmhmm.” She set the water bottle down and put her hands on her hips. “All that throating made me wanna switch it up. I wanna play with your cute little ass now.” She smiled, wide and innocent. “Don’t worry. I’ll be gentle. At first.”