Bambi's New Normal Ep. 05

Later That Afternoon...

The classroom was a lecture hall with tiered seating, sunlight pouring through the high windows in pale bands. Rows of desks rose around her, one behind another, until the room seemed much larger than it had any right to be.

Bambi hesitated near the front row. A nagging feeling clung to her, the sense that she had forgotten something important, but everyone else was already finding their seats.

Everyone else seemed perfectly at ease.

The girls settled into their chairs with breezy confidence. Some moved with a practiced roll of the hips. They knew how to be looked at. They knew how to cross a room full of boys without shrinking from the attention. Bambi saw it in their flirty smirks, their knowing glances, the casual way they adjusted their clothes or leaned against a desk.

They all knew how to do this, and Bambi didn't.

The boys sprawled in their seats, long legs stretched beneath the desks. When a girl took too long choosing a seat, one of them would reach over and give her a playful smack on the backside or catch her by the waist and steer her toward an empty chair. The girls squealed and laughed, cheeks coloring as they twisted around to give the handsy guy an indignant look that never turned particularly upset.

At the front of the room stood Dr. Brood, the same older gentleman she'd met that morning, silver at his temples and broad across the shoulders. He had the sort of presence that made a room behave. He stood straight-backed beside the blackboard, stern brows drawn together as he surveyed the room. When he spoke, his voice carried effortlessly through the lecture hall.

"Miss Parkinson. Up front, please."

Bambi stepped into the aisle, her toes scrunching nervously against the carpet. She was acutely aware of the eyes following her. Their attention prickled and raised goosebumps along her oddly cool skin. Where had she left her sweater?

She took another step and glanced down, wondering why she could feel the carpet, and her bare feet swam into view. Then her bare legs. Then her bare--

Her stomach dropped. She was completely naked.

Fear locked her in place. But a hot, dizzy rush of arousal went through her as Bambi took it all in. Her peers stared back unabashed, melting all of her tension until lust overflowed from between her legs. The lecture hall expanded around her, rows of students rising on every side while dozens of eyes settled on her body. She felt too warm and too cold at once, her skin prickling everywhere as she stared down at herself. She stood frozen in the aisle, trembling, horrified by the attention and even more horrified by the pleasure pooling beneath the panic.

A few of the girls were still whispering and laughing among themselves, but Dr. Brood cleared his throat, and the room promptly settled. The boys turned their attention toward the front almost immediately. The girls followed a moment later, mostly distracted by the boys nearest to them, before finally facing the professor.

"Miss Parkinson?" Dr Brood's expression was sour, clearly unaccustomed to repeating himself.

Bambi's hands flew instinctively toward herself, uselessly trying to hide and clutching at her proudly rounded abdomen. The clinic had warned her that the ovulation inducers would last for hours. She felt heavy and overfull and, somehow, desperately unfulfilled.

Bambi hurried toward him, but the aisle stretched out beneath her feet. She felt as though she were moving through molasses.

She'd had barely thought about her body before the jab, but now she no longer had the trim agility she'd so long identified with. Now every movement demanded attention. Her new curves altered her balance. She had to slow her stride, hold herself differently, shift the sway of her hips.

The eyes made it worse. She hated how noticeable her reaction was. Bambi could feel her nipples tightening, could feel her pussy clenching--with, uh, nerves, certainly.

At least, that was what she told herself.

The professor was standing beside her now, making introductions, but his aide did not hear him.

Two boys in the front row had caught Bambi's attention. The same two fuckboys from earlier that day. Their eyes were fixed on her breasts, her legs, the soft curls at the apex of her hips. She could feel their scrutiny prickle across her skin.

Bambi twisted her hands together and stared down at the worn grey-green carpet.

No, she told herself. No, I need to be strong right now. I can be brave, Bambi reminded herself. She placed her hands on her hips, lifted her spine, and faced the crowd--

Just as the girl from the bathroom slipped into the seat directly in front of the boys.

One of them, the rude one, rested a hand on her shoulder, his thumb brushing the back of her neck. The other boy, the nicer guy, handed her a large water bottle filled with thick white fluid.

The girl drank.

She made a soft sound and licked a drop from her lower lip.

Oh. Envy welled up inside Bambi as she realised the girl was drinking cum.

Well, everybody and their mother did say it was nutritious after all.

Bambi shook her head, trying to steady herself, but the floor shifted again beneath her bare feet. A rushing sound filled her ears, drowning out everything except the heavy beat of her own pulse. For a wild moment, Bambi was certain she was so wet that the diaphragm still inside her had broken, and her medicinal waters had broken in the middle of class.

No, she was just really turned on. What the heck?

Dr. Brood was saying something to the class, but his voice had gone low and distant. It was a deep, resonant rumble, rolling through her defenses, his words winding invisible strings around her bones. She felt like a pretty doll puppetted by magic words, kept moving for the duration of the show. She'd cease to exist the moment class ended. The moment he put her away.

Heat gathered low in her body and spread outward in waves, climbing through her stomach, her chest, her throat, until she felt flushed all over and helplessly aware of every inch of herself.

Until every small sensation seemed amplified.

She closed her eyes and counted to ten. She had to recount twice, stomach fluttering, all-too-aware of the stares.

When she opened them, Bambi was mortified to find moisture sliding down her leg.

Her thighs pressed together automatically. The pressure sent a sharp startling jolt through her newly sensitive clitoris. It felt enormous, the size of a cherry. Not literally, she told herself. Hopefully. Except she remembered how different it had looked that morning, how unfamiliar its prominence. Now even the smallest pressure felt startlingly intense. Even the slightest movement registered with absurd carnality.

Great. Just another way she was a freak in front of the class while everyone else had already learned how to be effortlessly sexy. No boy would have trouble finding her berry.

Gosh, only two days, Bambi thought with a manic grin. And her body was still changing!

Her hips creaked, and she looked up in alarm. No one reacted, and the professor droned on.

Bambi patted at her sides, first checking herself in a frantic little sweep. Oh--

The softness beneath her palms startled her. Plush and yielding. She squeezed experimentally, forgetting to be shy when it all felt so good. Her body softened beneath her touch, molding itself into an exaggerated parody of fertility beneath her touch: buxom breasts, voluptuous hips, shapely thighs.

Gosh, her lips were so sensitive. It felt so nice to lick them. Wasn't that weird?

Oh, and it felt so good. Then her hands wandered to her pussy, and, ohhhhh, that was even better.

All her anxieties slipped away. There was only the pleasant beckoning of her sex, the lure of satisfaction, and then the desperate need to chase it.

Half the class was touching themselves, too. Somehow, they managed to take notes at the same time.

Oh, right. So should she.

Bambi pulled away, or tried to, but she was stuck, and her hand kept moving back between her legs, rubbing her bulbous, obvious little button. God, she was going to fall behind again! She stared straight ahead, horrified and horny, while her own hand betrayed her in front of the entire class.

The professor droned on, apparently unconcerned, so long as his lesson remained undisrupted.

Bambi tried desperately to be good. She tried to follow the lecture. She really did.

But her attention kept slipping. A husky moaning just past the corner of her vision. A student's question. A boy shifting in his chair, adjusting his cock. The professor's measured response. The everpresent pressure of her own fingers.

Bambi bit back a whimper, wetness now pouring down her legs. She felt the weight of a third boy's attention, the professor's son, when he came in after his friends. She couldn't bear to look at him. Some new, humiliating impulse made her wish she'd left that damn stall and gone over to him. She could almost imagine asking him for a taste.

Wait, what? No! Oh my gosh!! Bambi felt contaminated, tangled up in frustration. What if everyone remembered her like this? Only like this?

An unknown boy groaned somewhere in the seats closest to her. Bambi flinched as he came, the mess splattering in her direction. She felt as though she were sliding, as though she had spent all day on carnival rides and the whole room was still spinning beneath her.

Oh my goood. The scent that followed made her thoughts go soft around the edges. It smelled good. Far too good. Her stomach tightened. She glanced toward the girl with the bottle. The smoothie looked suddenly much more appealing.

Uh, no! As if!

She totally wasn't gonna lose herself to her disappearing inhibitions. As if the smell of semen could possibly make her so desperate. She was only a little disappointed that none of it had landed on her face. Bambi glanced over her shoulder, hopeful for more, only to see him slump back in his chair. Bummer.

Dr Brood was saying something in that same deep, measured voice, but there was a harder edge to it now. A low note of disapproval. Uh-oh.

His hand came down on her shoulder, firm enough to make her flinch.

What had he said? Bambi tried to speak, but all that came out was a moan.

His grip tightened. She half-hoped it would bruise. Bambi's own hand moved faster, her body rocking helplessly against it. Brightness flashed at the edge of her vision as she humped her hand, chasing the rising pleasure, the movement becoming faster and more urgent. Her heart thrummed, adrenaline driving her faster, and she could barely breathe. All she could do was rub her clit!

Then the panic ebbed as she caught Dr. Brood's expression. He loomed over her, radiating authority. There was a condescending kindness in his gaze.

Bambi peered at him, clenching tightly around her frantic fingers, feeling as if this older man were unpeeling her layer by layer.

He understood exactly what was happening to her. Yet there was no sympathy and very little patience. Bambi knew, somehow, that she had already failed in his estimation, that he had already decided what she was: Not a composed, competent girl at all. Instead, his aide was a naive little slut. A wanton animal who had forgotten, for the moment, how to be a person.

Oh, he was reaching for her arm, except Bambi didn't want to stop rubbing and rubbing and rubbing, because it felt so good and the happy feelings were keeping the fear at bay. If she stopped touching herself, she would have to stand there and explain herself, prove that she wasn't mad and in fact totally for sure couldn't stop touching her clit--

The professor said something, but Bambi couldn't hear him over the pounding of her heart. She resisted the interruption instinctively, reluctant to stop, but his hand at her waist redirected her with effortless certainty. Then came a sharp smack against her backside.

Bambi yelped. The sting flashed hot across her skin. She stood stunned for a heartbeat, eyes wide. Then he smacked her again. The sound echoed through the auditorium, an obscene slap that made her acutely conscious of just how aroused she was. How wet.

Cameras clicked from the seats. More flashes popped across her vision.

Bambi didn't dare disobey again.

Meanwhile, the professor manipulated her as if she were a marionette. His hands were hairy, veined, and calloused. They looked like the hands of a man who spent his free time outdoors, training wild things, rather than sitting behind a desk.

Dr. Brood bent her over the side of his desk with the practiced efficiency of someone who had done this many times before, calmly explaining each change in her body as though she were merely a specimen for his lesson. Before Bambi had fully processed what was happening, she found herself moving where he wanted her, anticipating his touch even as he exposed her shiny cunt to the room. She arched instinctively, and the professor returned his attention to the class as though she were merely another component of the demonstration.

She supposed she was.

A click, perhaps a snap, followed by a brightness flickering around the edges of the room.

Bambi's stomach lurched. She trembled, a helpless whine catching in her throat. Dr. Brood caressed her pert rump, a slow, reassuring touch that somehow made her feel even more exposed.

She hoped the pictures wouldn't get back to her parents.

The professor's voice was distant and muffled, as though Bambi were listening from underwater. He explained scientific jargon, using long terms that were too complicated for her to follow, all while demonstrating exactly how sensitive she had become. His knuckles dragged along her velvet-soft folds, nearly soothing and never enough. The room wavered around her as she was blinded by camera flashes.

Oh, god. She hoped she looked hot.

The professor ignored her even as he pet her, patiently calling on raised hands. The question-and-answer session seemed to go on forever. Bambi's breathing grew shallow. She pressed her lips together, trying to trap her whines behind her teeth. She felt as if the professor was winding her up like a mechanical doll, every muscle held taut until even breathing was too much movement. She wasn't sure how much longer she could keep herself together without screaming.

Then she felt the sudden, unmistakable pressure of a long, latex-covered hand between her legs. No man had ever--

She nearly bit her tongue bloody when he finally penetrated her. Oh, it sent shivers down her spine. Already so full from all the medicine he'd had the nurse pump inside her, she felt stretched almost to her limit, too much and yet somehow not enough. His roughened knuckles scraped against her slick heat, and she fluttered around them, pleasure coiling tighter and tighter through her body.

But every time she thought she was getting close, he changed the pressure or rhythm, keeping her poised just short of release. She could feel herself approaching the edge, only to have it recede again. One finger became two, then more. He kept her hovering on the brink of release with practiced, impersonal precision.

Every time she managed to focus on a student's question, his fingers withdrew, and the sudden gaping emptiness dragged her back into her own body. Every time she thought she had managed to settle herself after, his fingers would press inside her and pull her attention away again.

Bambi's mouth opened and closed, gasping for air, drowning in the hot-and-cold teasing of her professor. Couldn't he see her juices coating his fingers? Hadn't she already made a mess of the table? But, no, the professor seemed interested only in keeping her pliant and responsive, with little concern for the release she craved. His gloved fingers pressed against the diaphragm curving over her cervix, and she jolted at the exquisite pleasure-pain of denial.

Bambi felt peculiarly like a bug beneath a magnifying glass, heating up beneath the room's rapt attention. She would shift her weight restlessly. His palm would press against her clit, two fingers scissoring her open until she lewdly gushed all over his sleeve.

Another question. Another answer. Another long, unbearable stretch of trying to be still.

Her soaked cunt was clearly asking for something else, anything else, so she could just fucking cum already. She wanted release so badly it made her squirm, but nobody interrupted the teacher. And Brood was so mean for teasing her all through class. Bambi wriggled in place with a plaintive pout, whimpering for good measure.

Dr Brood withdrew his hands. So rude. Then, finally, Jesus fucking Christ, finally, came the clink of an unbuckling belt. The unzip of a zipper. Dr. Brood looked down at her with a grumpy frown.

God, what was she doing? Her entire job was to be good for this man. She shouldn't be ungrateful.

He walked around behind his desk.

Silly girl. Surely punishment was coming. Didn't she deserve this? By the time Bambi realized she could--should--run, it was already too late. She was bent nearly double, her head level with his crotch.

Bambi stared. She recognized the anatomy from her high-school sex-ed diagrams, but the diagrams had not prepared her: A heavy, uncircumcised penis, nearly as thick around as her wrist. Somehow so different from the page.

She blinked, rubbed her eyes, reminding herself that she was a student, an aide, trying to behave for her teacher, not her owner. She didn't have to do this.

Then something warm and firm and velvet-soft touched her lips.

Bambi stuck out her tongue without thinking. Precum coated her tongue. For one dizzy second, she was consumed by the most wonderful, delightful, amazing thing she had ever tasted in her life. Better than chocolate. Better than ice cream. Better than straight As and winning meets and school dances and long weekends and--

Dr. Brood huffed. His hand tightened in her hair.

Bambi went rigid, panic locking every muscle in her body. Oh, god, oh, dear. She had annoyed a MAN! Bothered a good, helpful man!! A man who was in charge of her!!! Bambi let out an embarrassingly shrill whine of confused need. Some jerk of a boy guffawed, and she was shy all over again, clamping her lips shut as self-consciousness overwhelmed her.

Dr. Brood pinched her nose, STILL LECTURING.

Bambi's mouth fell open as she dragged in a ragged breath, the air thick with the warm, unmistakable scent of a MAN's arousal. It clung to the back of her throat, making her head swim. Bambi's fingers tightened against the desk. She couldn't understand how something could make her feel this good. Could finally understand why, now, why nothing mattered except for pleasing him.

The professor remained maddeningly composed, still carrying on with his lecture as though nothing unusual were happening. His presence filled her entire field of awareness: the weight of his body, the roughness of his hands, the deep cadence of his voice, the heat of him pressing against her lips.

Everything else receded.

Oh god, and the professor was now heavy on her tongue and then thrusting down her throat and, oh wow, Bambi kept coughing up saliva and she tried to swallow and kept drowning on her own god damn spit and he kept looking at her with all the attitude of a haughty intellectual elite, clearly in charge of his domain in the classroom, unafraid to perform in front of men decades his junior, strong and practiced and manhandling her around his cock.

And Bambi couldn't breathe.

Darkness flared around the edge of her vision. She tried to signal that she needed a moment, but the thought barely formed before another wave of dizziness swept through her. Until the classroom seemed impossibly distant and her entire world had narrowed to heat, pressure, breath, and the pounding of her own heart.

It was overwhelming, intoxicating. She tried to scream, to hit the table to tell him she needed to stop, to slow down, something, and yet she didn't want him to stop, wanted to keep choking around him forever, as if nothing else mattered--

Then he thrust, catching the back of her throat and triggering a violent reflex. Saliva flooded her mouth as she struggled for breath. She swallowed desperately around his girth, savoring more of the delicious flavor leaking from the blunt cockhead. The contradiction was maddeningly unbearable, impossibly pleasurable. Altogether too much. She kicked her feet in protest.

Broke free.

And, with a sinking heart, a pit in her stomach, and a painful grip around her jaw, she realised she'd accidentally bitten him.

The classroom had gone terribly still. Bambi could feel the other students watching her, tenterhook tense. She wanted to disappear beneath the desk.

Dr. Brood looked at her with cold disappointment. "Didn't your mother teach you anything?" He asked as if he didn't care for an answer. "You're a college student now. I shouldn't have to explain these things to you."

Bambi's face burned.

"Look at you. You're a mess." He shook his head despairingly. "All that education, all those good grades, and you still can't manage the simplest bit of self-control." The professor sighed and offered her a tissue. "Clean yourself up."

Bambi took it with shaking fingers.

"Perhaps we should have a conversation with your academic adviser." He patted her gently on the head, the gesture practically parental after everything that had just happened, so incongruous with the indignities her college professor had just afforded her. "And if this continues, I may have to contact your parents."

The words went through her like a spark. Her stomach clenched, her face grew hotter, and she lowered her eyes, unable to bear the thought of meeting anyone else's gaze.

Bambi burst into terrified giggles.

It was too much. Failing as an aide. Disappointing her professor. Her classmates watching. The thought of those photographs making their way home. Having to explain herself to her mother, of all people. Having to admit that she had stood in front of an entire classroom and completely lost control.

And what would she tell her father?

That all those years of studying, all those races, all those late nights and careful plans had left her completely unprepared for college?

Maybe they would make her drop out. Maybe she would end up back at home, or maybe the neighbor's home, with a collar around her neck and nowhere to go except wherever her assigned husband wanted her. Maybe she could simply take care of the house and support her husband's dreams. Maybe she would never have to worry about grades or exams or proving herself ever again.

The idea should have terrified her. Instead, something warm and dizzy fluttered through her, and for one bewildering second the relief was exhilarating.

Instead, another helpless giggle escaped. It started as one tiny, strangled sound. Then another. It was too much. The sort of high-pitched, brainless trilling that could only ever be heard from the mouth of an utter bimbo.

She'd never have to worry again. There would be nothing to fail at. Nothing to understand. She could simply be good. For one strange second, the thought of it felt comforting as it was thrilling. Her mania melted, collapsing into coy, attention-seeking cries.

Ugh. She couldn't even be sad right anymore.

Bambi's hands flew over her face. Why did this feel good? Why did everything feel so god damn good? Why couldn't she just be embarrassed like a normal person? She was supposed to be horrified. She was horrified. So why was there still that awful, fluttering happiness underneath it?

She hated it. She wanted it to stop. She wanted it to never end. She wanted it all so badly that the wanting itself frightened her. Bambi began to cry in earnest, shoulders shaking as the shame and fear finally overwhelmed everything else.

Through her tears, she could see Dr. Brood roll his eyes. He carefully took the tissue from her, guiding her back into position with the same maddening patience he had shown all through the lesson.

Bambi fidgeted, still blubbering, again bent over the desk.

The professor stroked her hair until her tears subsided. "Open your mouth, Miss Parkinson. You've interrupted enough." His palm nearly covered the back of her head, his grip firm enough to leave no doubt that he expected obedience.

She dutifully obliged.

He drove into her, brutally fucking her face until she thought she might pass out. Her vision narrowed to pinpricks. Her heart hammered against her ribs. She knew she was choking, knew she needed air, but the knowledge seemed very far away. All she could register was the relentless pressure, the salty tang of his sweat, the awful rhythm of being used until her thoughts dissolved into animalistic sensation.

Then he came down her throat.

The orgasm hit her all at once, hot and overwhelming. She swallowed reflexively, again and again, feeling the warmth slide down into the already heavy fullness of her belly. Everything blended together in the haze of her release: the professor's release, the obscene pressure in her stomach and again in her womb, the dizzying rush spreading through her body.

Pleasure tore through her so violently that she couldn't think. Her body convulsed, her breath catching in a broken little gasp as wave after wave rolled through her. She knew, as she jerked and twitched, that she was squirting all over the professor's shoes.

Leaving a pink, glittering puddle on the floor.

Bambi stared, blank and blissful.

Relief washed through her so suddenly that she nearly sagged. She had done well. Impossibly, she had managed to please him. But before she could catch her breath, the classroom tilted. The professor became indistinct, his lecture words dissolving into nonsense.

At first she thought she might be falling. Then she realized she was looking down, farther and farther away, until she could see the classroom as though she were looking down at a toy in a dollhouse. She was on her knees among the desks, surrounded by her classmates. Her own face looked uncanny from this distance, unfamiliar and yet unmistakably hers.

For an instant, she saw that freshman girl's face, streaked with cum and spit and euphoria, overlaid with her own. That same distant, overwhelmed look, her whole body trembling with an eerie intensity she could barely comprehend. The same slackness around the mouth. The same moment when thought vanished completely and then, just before everything returned, something like awareness flickered back into the eyes.

The blankness receded. Clarity came flooding back. She became herself again.

And just before she could understand what she was seeing, everything went white.

.

..

...

For several seconds, Bambi couldn't remember where she was.

Bambi stared into the darkness. She lay perfectly still, heart hammering against her ribs.

The room was silent except for Tessa's soft snores.

The sheets were damp beneath her hips.

And somewhere in the darkness, the last fragments of the dream seemed to cling to her skin.