Ctrl Sub Delete - Pt. 02

Chapter 6

The next time I saw M was at a local pub she'd asked me to meet her at.

Not the posh kind with craft beers and weirdly expensive snacks. This one had a sticky carpet, the smell of old wood varnish mixed with stale ale and faint chip fat, and one of those fruit machines wheezing in the corner like it was dying a slow death, or maybe that was just the bloke feeding it his week's wages with a glazed look in his eyes.

The place buzzed with low conversation, the clink of pint glasses, and the occasional screech of a chair dragging across the floor. Somewhere near the bar, someone laughed too loud at something that probably wasn't funny. A telly on mute played old highlights from a Premier League game nobody was watching.

She was in a booth at the back, the kind with cracked leather seats and a view of everything. A glass of champagne in front of her, because of course it was champagne, and a book in her hand like she didn't know she was single handedly rearranging my brain chemistry.

What kind of person drinks champagne in a place like this? A terrifying one, that's who.

I'll be honest, I was very surprised why she'd picked such a grubby pub, also, so close to my flat.

I walked over, trying to act normal. Not like I'd just spent three minutes outside wondering if I was meant to kneel or say "Miss" or what not.

"You're early" I said, sliding into the stiff seat across from her.

"Nope. You're late" she said, not even looking up.

"Alright, fair enough. Blame the trains. Transport For London nearly killed me."

She smiled a bit, but didn't say anything. I could see something in her eyes, though. Like she was keeping track. Like I'd just added something to some secret list she was building in her head.

"You'll pay for that later" she said, still flipping a page. Somewhat like how I'd just flipped her temper mildly.

And I smiled like a proper idiot.

After a pint and a bit of foot stuff under the table that nearly gave me a stroke, she leaned in and said "We're not going back to mine tonight."

"Oh?"

"Mhm. We're going to yours."

Now, my flat's not awful. But compared to her place? It's like a panic attack with shelves. Bit of IKEA, bit of whatever I found online during lockdown, and a lot of laundry in corners I pretend not to see.

"You sure? It's not exactly fancy" I said, thinking about my crusty kettle and the weird smell in the hallway I still hadn't found the source of.

"I'm sure" she said. "I want to see where you hide."

That sentence hit me straight in the gut. Not in a bad way. Just... deep.

Chapter 7

When we got in, she didn't say much. Just walked around slowly, looking at everything. Like when you get a pet dog and it's checking which personal belonging to piss on first.

Not in a rude way. More like she was... learning me.

She looked just as stunning from behind. Every so often, I had to resist the urge to wrap her up in a big bear hug from behind and hold her like I never wanted to let go.

Which would probably get me slapped. And not in the good way.

She spotted the photo of me and Mum on the bookshelf, the cracked "Tech Wizard" mug, and the sad avocado plant I keep trying to keep alive even though it's clearly given up on life, I'll blame it on the vape fumes from the shop, over my lack of care.

Then she turned around and said "Strip."

I blinked. "Wow. Bit romantic."

She raised an eyebrow. "Do you always talk back when you're supposed to be on your knees?"

"Only after a Guinness," I mumbled, already taking my hoodie off.

Note to self! never drink Guinness before submission. Makes me chatty.

She moved in, put her hand on my chest, and pushed me gently till I was sitting on the bed. Then she just stood there for a second, watching me.

"Tonight we're playing with ownership. With edges. And consequences" she said, voice lower than usual.

It all felt... intense. But right.

She tested me. Played with how far I'd go. Slapped the inside of my thighs when I got cheeky. Said things that made me feel both small and safe at the same time. Like she saw the parts I usually hide and didn't mind them.

Even the bit of belly I suck in when I walk past mirrors.

"Stay there." She commanded. Walking over to her fairly large handbag, grabbing some rope from it.

"Hands up, to the bedframe" She sternly demanded. Removing her clothing and just letting it join the pile I'd already built up.

M climbed on top of me, straddling my chest with a slow, deliberate pressure that made my breath catch. Her skin was warm against mine, her thighs pinning me in place. She took each wrist in her hands, and I felt the soft brush of rope, then the sudden tug tight, unforgiving, but calculated. Not enough to cut off circulation. Just enough to remind

I couldn't move unless she allowed it.

She wiggled her hips, pushing her crotch closer and closer to my face. Before revealing the ballgag she'd somehow hidden right next to where I lay. Draping it into my mouth before lifting my head to fasten it securely.

"This thing has gotten you into enough trouble today, so I'm taking it away."

Then came the bit I really didn't expect, as she lowered her mouth closer to my ear and whispered.

"Bambi."

I flinched. Proper flinched. Not because it hurt, but because I knew that name. And I didn't think I'd ever hear it again.

It was from ages ago. Some girl at work in HR called me that once, because I fell flat on my arse whilst entering the building and tripping on the step. Thought it was funny. I didn't, neither did my arse.

But, no way. No way this was the same woman?!

I looked up at M, confused. "whht... ho mm youh know tha?" Muffled by the mouthpiece.

She smiled. Slow. Like a cat with a mouse, as she began to lower herself onto my face, applying light pressure.

Instant frustration, knowing I could fully smell her heavenly scent, yet not taste a single thing.

"I told you," she said, soft as anything, "I've been watching you longer than you think."

She briefly lifted herself, allowing a few breaths before tucking my nose straight back.

"You work three floors below me."

I swear my brain just... paused.

"I'm a shadow project manager" she said, eyes flicking down to meet mine.

She paused for a moment, tilting her head slightly as I tried to pull my hands free.

"The first time I stumbled across your profile on that kink site, I was so surprised to see you. Even more surprised you didn't recognise me the first time you came to my place."

I tried to use my tongue to push the gag out enough to speak, but it was useless. As it didn't even budge.

She smirked. "Better shoes and you wouldn't trip so harshly"

I should've been embarrassed. Instead I was hard. And very confused.

Also, slightly paranoid about all the dodgy emails I'd forwarded to myself from my work inbox.

"Relax, pup" she said, slightly grinding her hips, pressing my face slightly deeper. "I'm not here for your job."

"I don't mix business and pleasure," she said, slightly raising herself off me again whilst dragging her nails gently down my chest, "unless I know exactly what I'm doing."

I gulped. "Sho you've jus been... upshhairs thish whole time? Watchin me fix prinners?"

"No. I've been observing" she said. "How you shrink when people talk over you. How you joke when you're nervous. How you help everyone even when you're shattered."

Then she whispered, right by my ear, "That's not lurking. That's curiosity."

And then, "And curiosity is the first step to possession."

I let out this tiny moan. Couldn't help it. She just smiled.

"Besides" she said, dropping herself back down onto me, "if I really wanted to use my position... I could really have you transferred."

I blinked harshly. "Wha?"

"To somewhere with fewer cameras," she said. "A quieter department."

She tilted her head again, leaning back, grabbing my manhood.

"Or I could start holding one to ones. Every Friday. Just us. Door locked. No witnesses."

I was shaking. Fully aroused, confused, overwhelmed, everything at once.

She peeled herself off, sitting back on my chest, hands either side of my head, eyes on mine.

"But don't worry," she said. "I won't make you call me Miss at work." Pause. "Unless you want me to."

She licked the slight trail off my lightly glazed face. Hard. Like she owned me.

And when she pulled away, I was basically whimpering.

"And Bambi?" she whispered, voice like velvet.

"He's all mine now."

Chapter 8

A short while later M untied me, real slow. Like I was some kind of present, but one she was planning to play with for ages before putting it back in the box. My wrists were red and kind of throbbing, and my head felt weird, like it'd been in a blender, but not on full whack. Just spinning gently.

I couldn't really think straight. When she took the gag out, I coughed a bit, took a proper breath, then just looked at her. Licking my lips in hopes of some remnants of her was still there.

She kissed me on the forehead, gently. Felt weird after everything she'd just done to me. She looked calm. No longer naked. Me? I was basically melted.

"I like your bed" she said, like we hadn't just used it for... whatever that torture was. "It smells like you."

I made a noise that was supposed to be a laugh but came out more like a wheeze. "Like what? Desperation and Lynx Africa?"

She didn't laugh. Just tilted her head like she was trying to see through me. "Like somewhere you don't let many people."

That shut me up sharp.

We just sat there for a bit. She was looking around my room like she was still figuring out who I was. I was trying not to think about the fact she'd been upstairs at my work this whole time, watching me try and make printers work and swear at spreadsheets. But she'd seen past all that. Seen me. The me I usually keep hidden behind bad jokes and even worse hoodies.

Eventually she got up and went over to my sad excuse for a houseplant. Gave it a look like she might actually forgive it for looking half dead.

"I wasn't sure you were real" I said, quieter than I meant to.

She looked back over her shoulder. "A ghost could never smother you that way."

I wanted to ask her everything, how long she'd been watching me, why she picked me, what she even saw in me. But all that came out was"Why now?"

She didn't answer straight away. Came closer, leaned in till I could smell her, warm, kind of electric, a little sweet... a little intoxicated.

"Because I saw you sinking," she said. "And I like catching things before they break."

Fuck. That nearly broke me.

I reached for her without really thinking, wrapped my arms round her waist and just pressed my face into her belly. She didn't pull away. Just stroked my hair, slow and soft.

"Do I get a safeword for feelings too?" I said, muffled against her skin.

She laughed, proper low. "Nice try. No safewords for growth."

"Shame."

We stayed like that for a bit. I didn't even feel the need to fill the silence for once. It wasn't awkward. It was just... full. The best thing I'd felt in ages.

Then she tipped my chin up, gently.

"You're mine now, Bambi" she said. Quiet, but firm.

And I nodded.

Because she was right.

And I was.

Chapter 9

"Morning, Bambi."

I nearly headbutted my monitor. Gary from accounts was grinning at me like a man who'd just found the punchline but not the setup.

"Sorry, what?"

"You alright, mate? You look like you've seen a ghost. Or been haunted by one overnight."

I froze. Did he know? Had he somehow tapped into my private hell of rope marks and mouth gags? Maybe the chunk of my hair M had grabbed was missing. Oh god, what if I reek of submission right now.

"Nah, just didn't sleep much. Neighbour's got this new dog, barks at everything. Postman, leaves, ghosts... "

Gary laughed. "That's what you get for living near Clapham. It's all Deliveroo scooters, foxes screaming like banshees and shithead sausage dogs."

I shrugged, sipping my coffee like it was holy water. "Why did you randomly say Bambi a moment ago?"

"What? I didn't say Bambi. Are you feeling alright, lad?"

Yeah, I'm fine. Just sleep deprived, mate. Don't worry about it," I said quickly, rubbing my eyes with the palms of my hands, then immediately clocking the faint red rope marks on my wrists.

Subtle, but there.

My mind instantly wandered back to the night prior as I pulled my sleeves back down to make sure they remained hidden.

I glanced at the time.

11:13.

Suddenly, the semi shattered phone I'd been meaning to fix since Lewis Capaldi last broke my heart buzzed in my pocket.

M: "Room 4C. Ten minutes. Bring your tongue."

If you could've seen the state of my face, grinning like a teenager who'd just discovered incognito mode.

Buzz.

Another vibration.

M: "Also. Wipe that slutty smile off your face."

I instantly closed my laptop.

Rising to my feet a little too quickly, nearly spilling my coffee.

"Right!" I said, voice cracking like a geeky teenager doing his first works presentation. "I'm going for an early lunch Gaz, I'm so low on energy mate."

Gary squinted. "You sure got up like you have energy."

"Yeah. Just... you know me when I've got food on my mind."

He gave me this look like he didn't believe a single word, but couldn't be arsed to investigate.

"Tell your neighbour's dog to pipe down tonight, yeah?"

I gave him a nod and walked off like a man heading to either a disciplinary meeting or his next orgasm. Hard to tell. This bloody blunt mysterious woman.

Room 4C looked deceptively boring. Bland carpet. Grey chairs. Whiteboard with some faded passive aggressive reminder written in mumble jumble.

M didn't even look at me. Just reached past me, locked the door with a soft click, and hung a polished laminated sign.

Do Not Disturb Internal Review in Progress.

My stomach did a little flip. And my dick? Christ, let's not start on that.

She sat at her small desk, headset on, voice low and deadly polite. "Yes, I've reviewed the stakeholder concerns and we'll factor that into the period 4 roundup..."

Then she briefly looked at me, clicked her finger and pointed to the floor under her desk space.

I hesitated for a moment, fully aware of the fact this is fucking work!

M just passive aggressively side eyed me, as if to say "Don't make me click again."

I quickly realigned my mind, fixed my attitude and dropped to my knees, exactly where she pointed.

No words. No glance. Just a small gesture and her knees parting under the desk. Like this was totally natural. Like she didn't have a squirming gremlin about to lick her like a man starved.

She slid her foot forward. Nudged me in the crotch. Muted her mic.

"Hard already?" she whispered. "Good boy."

I quickly mouthed back to her "Why now?"

To which she ignored.

I whimpered. Like, actually whimpered out loud. She just smiled like the sexy villain in a film where I'm the victim about to be consumed, before returning back to her call.

Being under her desk was surreal. The soft hum of the office lights above. The occasional clack of her keyboard. The scent of her heat teasing my face. I inched closer. She didn't stop me.

When I finally made contact, she gave this soft little sigh. Barely noticeable. But I caught it. Like a dog being told "good boy" with a breath.

She didn't pause the meeting. Just kept talking. Meanwhile, I was doing the lord's work between her thighs, trying not to explode from the sensory overload.

Every few seconds she'd reach down and pat my head. Like I was her favourite pet.

At one point, she pressed her heel lightly against the inside of my thigh and hissed, "Eyes up." I looked. Her eyes locked on mine. Possessively. Controllingly.

"Don't touch yourself." she quietly commanded.

Like I had a say, these work trousers would be ruined in a second, plus... I wasn't sure how easy the white carpet stains would be to hide.

Eventually she lifted her foot, letting the heel drop to the floor, before gently pushing my head back with the sole of her foot, just holding it there. Talking on the call like nothing was happening.

"You make a very good kneeling desk ornament," she said once she hung up. "Might replace the janitor with you." Smirking with that tone that clearly indicated she was joking.

I tried to speak. She shook her head. "Nope, I'm not done."

She then leaned down, lips close to my ear.

"You asked me 'Why now?'" she whispered. "Because I wanted to know if you could hold dignity and obedience in the same breath."

Then she opened the door and walked out like she'd just finished a normal meeting.

Meanwhile, I stayed kneeling in an empty room, soaked in her, hard, breathless, and completely ruined.

Back at my desk, Gary clocked me returning, shirt rumpled, face red.

"Fucking hell, did you have a fight with a foot long subway?"

I paused, 'foot' was enough to instantly make me picture M's gorgeous soles again.

"Best £1 corner shop sandwich I've ever had" I said, and took another sip of coffee.

Even if it tasted faintly of her.

Not quite as cold though.

Chapter 10

It hit me later, in Tesco.

I was just standing there, holding a meal deal sandwich I didn't really want, some poor excuse of 'chicken' and bacon combo, and my body suddenly went... shaky.

Not in a dramatic, fainting, crash into the fridge sort of way.

Just... everything stopped. Like when I'm trying to watch my comfort shows and the connection freezes.

Thoughts buffering. Feelings queuing up to be dealt with later.

I stared at the sandwich like it might offer answers.

It didn't.

Doesn't even compare to the £1 sandwiches, they'd tell me harsh truths.

I'd left work early. Told Gary I had a migraine, which technically wasn't a lie. My head was doing that post submission spin cycle where reality feels half a second behind everything else. Like I'm not quite in my own body. More like I'm borrowing it.

All I could think was:

She made me kneel. At work. Under her desk.

And I let her.

No. I wanted to.

Better yet? I loved it.

Loved the way her voice stayed calm and collected while I trembled between her thighs like an overclocked office fan. Loved the way she didn't look at me like I was disgusting or weak. Just hers.

The sandwich wasn't helping.

Neither was the bloke next to me in a Hi-Vis jacket who kept breathing far too loud. Didn't help that his underarms smelt like caramelised onions. I wanted to scream. Or laugh. Or cry. I didn't know which. Probably all three at once.

I paid for the sandwich I didn't want and a bottle of water, then walked out like a man who'd just had an outer body experience in aisle six.

Chapter 11

At home, I sat on the edge of my bed in the dark. Fully clothed. Bag on the floor. Jacket still on. Lights off. Just me and the quiet hum of my radiator pretending it still worked properly.

Don't worry buddy, Today I pretended to work as well.

My wrists still ached slightly. The rope marks had begun to fade, but my fingers kept tracing them. Like I was checking if they were real. If I was real.

Everything felt different. The flat. The air. Me.

I'd lived a over 365 days in this room, but now it felt like she'd marked it. Not with perfume, lingerie or some dramatic lipstick print on the mirror. But with presence.

A ghostly fingerprint pressed into my chest.

I lay back on the duvet, eyes fixed on the ceiling, tears running sideways into my ears. I wasn't sobbing. It wasn't that kind of cry.

It was quiet.

Loaded.

Necessary.

I hadn't cried in years. Not like this.

But tonight? I did. Because for the first time, someone had looked past the awkward silences and self, deprecating tangents.

She'd seen me.

Not the tech guy.

Not the loser.

Not the awkward one.

Me.

And she hadn't flinched.

Later that night, my phone buzzed.

M: "Still feeling floaty, Bambi?"

Bambi: "Yes."

M: "Good. You're meant to."

I didn't reply straight away. Just stared at the screen, thumbs hovering. I kept deleting what I typed. Thought about sending a meme. A joke. Something to deflect, like usual.

Instead,

Bambi: "I cried."

Pause. I nearly threw my phone across the room. Before taking a deep breath, refocusing and following on with,

Bambi: "Properly. Not for anything specific. Just... all of it."

The typing dots appeared almost immediately, then paused, then came back.

M: "Good."

No "aww," no emoji, no attempt to fix it. Just good. Like she expected it. Like it was deserved.

Another message followed.

M: "You needed to. You've been carrying too much alone."

My chest tightened. In a good way. A terrifying way. Like something fragile in me had just been given permission to exist.

I swallowed. Typed again, slower this time.

Bambi: "You make me feel so alive."

The dots came back. Longer this time. I could almost imagine her thinking, framing it deliberately, not just reacting.

M: "You never actually asked me about why I put a ribbon on your plushie, Mr Snugglesworth."

Bambi: "You're right. I've just been so focused on trying to juggle everything right now. Work, you, work & you. Why did you put the ribbon?"

M: "Well, I asked you to bring something you would be mortified if anyone saw. You bought something from your childhood.

Bambi: "That's right."

M: "When I saw him. I saw something deeper."

Bambi: "Huh? He's just a beaten up cuddly toy. He looks stupid and beyond repair."

M: "He's not stupid. He's you."

I felt myself tear up, still somewhat confused.

M: "Not the mask you wear at work. Or the good boy on his knees. The part you've never asked anyone to love."

Bambi: "Yeah, well that part usually gets left behind."

M: "Not by me."

Bambi: "I always thought if someone saw that side.

The softness.

The mess.

They'd leave."

M: "That's why I didn't ask.

I took him.

Tied something beautiful around his neck. To show you he's not just allowed to exist.

He's claimed."

Bambi: "I'm so curious, please continue."

M: "Well, he is broken. So are you. That's what makes you human."

I just stared at my phone, connecting the dots.

M: "I didn't tie a ribbon to hide that, I tied it to honour it.

Bambi: "You make it sound like it's worth something. Like I am."

M: "You are.

All of it is.

The damage.

The fear.

The quiet ache in your chest you try to laugh over.

I don't want just the parts of you that kneel when I say so.

I want the boy who never got held when he needed it.

The one who clings to what's left.

Even when he's ashamed of needing it.

Mr Snugglesworth was your secret.

Now he's mine too. That's how this works."

Bambi: "Is that why you looked at him like that? Like he meant something?"

M: "He does.

He's the part of you that survived.

And the ribbon?

That's not ownership.

That's protection.

And a promise."

Bambi: "To what?"

M: "To never let you believe either of you are unlovable again.

Not while I'm here.

Not while you're mine."

My heart tightened. In a good way. A terrifying way. Like something fragile in me had just been given permission to exist.

Bambi: "I feel like you understand me, more than I understand myself."

M: "I do.

And now we rebuild you.

Brick by brick.

But only if you're ready."

I stared at that message for what felt like forever.

Was I ready?

No, not really.

But I was tired of hiding. Tired of shielding the softest parts of myself like they were mistakes.

And somehow, in this moment, admitting that to her, letting it all out, felt like the bravest thing I'd ever done.

I typed slowly, thumb shaking somewhat.

"I think I want to be."

Her reply came almost instantly.

"Then that's enough for now, Bambi."

"Sleep. I've got you."

And weirdly, I did.

Almost instantly.