Summary: At Femdom University, Madame Octavia gives a class of college aged dominatrixes in the making a lecutre on one of famous femdom scientist Edwina Schrodinger's most famous theories: if you lock a catboy on a box and tease the shit out of him for weeks, you can't possibly know for sure if he is aroused! What a delightful dilemma.
Contains: FFFFF/m, size comparisons, 7-9ft tall amazon woman, thick bbw body, femdom, tickling, extreme bondage, edging.
DARK THEMES: Mental abuse, permanent slavery, societal level femdom, cruelty, indifference if not outright arousal at suffering.
As the large jet-black box was wheeled out onto the stage by a pair of female assistants, smartly dressed, the collective hushed whispers and mutters of the lecture theatre grew in intensity. It was delicately deposited on the stage, a black monolith that towered 8 feet tall.
From the steadily rising sloping tiers of seats, more than two hundred 20-something girls of Femdom University, chatted and whispered excitedly. They had been informed they would be treated to a guest lecturer - Madame Octavia, one of the leading Femdom Scientists and Philosophers in the country.
The hubbub grew to a fever pitch as, without a word, a raven-haired woman who many recognized as Octavia herself, stepped onto the stage and began to write upon the blackboard.
'EDWINA SCHRODINGER'S CATBOY'
When the chalk hit the shelf with a quiet tap and she turned back, the room stilled in almost an instant. The girls were silent, in rapt attention.
She stood prim and professionally, with an aura that radiated authority. A tightly cut white sweater travelled down to her hips, where it terminated at just the line where it might have been considered scandalous, yet as such it merely looked elegant. Professional, yet alluring. Precisely the aesthetic Femdom society prided itself upon, and to which every domme in the making in the audience should aspire to. Her figure almost defied the air it swam through, tall yet broad, thickly built and with a form that spoke to years of superlative effort. Toned yet supple.
The fact she stood next to such a massive box, yet did not seem small by comparison, emphasized her presence all the more. She knew she had the utmost respect and attention just from her reputation alone, and secretly revelled in it.
"Good afternoon, ladies. I am Madame Octavia."
You could have heard a pin drop after her pronouncement... and indeed, once the room had quietened down, something just about as quiet as that could be heard. A sort of distant whine, as if someone had let go of a balloon two floors up.
"Today, I will be talking to you about one of the finest feminine minds in Femdom science - Edwina Schrodinger."
Madame Octavia withdrew a pointer from her pocket, extended it, and gestured to the black box which sat upright beside her, towering over the stage and even her.
"To many, her most popular theory – at least on a colloquial level – is understood thus: there is a catboy in a box, and yet one cannot say with certainty if he is aroused unless one were to check."
Of course, at this, the collective girls tittered.
"Indeed, as long as the catboy is in the box, he is both in a position of extreme sexual arousal and distress," she mused, walking past the box and gesturing to it with her pointer, "yet paradoxically, is in one of total sexual satisfaction, simultaneously."
Again, more giggles.
"So, is there any way to resolve this conundrum?"
For a moment, Madame Octavia merely smiled, waiting for any volunteers.
One girl, a redhead near the front, raised her hand.
"Well, as you say, we can check, right?"
"Yes, we can," Madame Octavia "however in doing so, the quantum state would collapse the moment the box was opened. The catboy's state would be not only discovered, but in fact, made certain BY THE ACT OF opening the box."
She slapped her pointer against the box just loudly enough for it to echo throughout the room. In the silence that followed, everyone could hear a higher pitched whine now emanating from the box's general direction. The nervous laughter that followed drowned it out swiftly, however, and everyone was thoroughly amused at her comic use of this visual aid.
"Indeed," she continued, "the catboy is effectively both things, extremely desperate and extremely satisfied at the same time. There is in fact no way to prove either is the case, precisely because both are simultaneously the case."
Another hand went up, a blonde in the front row.
"How is that possible?"
"Excellent question! With a simple answer: it is not."
The class laughed, and Madame Octavia smiled endearingly.
"Of course, something cannot be two things at once. Thus we are forced to ask, is it one, the other, both or neither? What do you think?"
She turned her pointer to a girl in the front row whos attention appeared fixated upon the box, who, a little startled, attempted to answer.
"Well... I suppose we might have an idea based on how long they've been in the box?"
The room was silent, and apart from that whine, everyone was awaiting Madame Octavia's response.
"An interesting proposal, indeed. Can anyone tell me why it doesn't work?"
A hand shot up, a girl with long black hair in glasses.
"Yes, the issue is certainty. No matter how long the catboy has been in the box, quantum mechanics dictates that you cannot say with any certainty if the catboy is aroused. Probability cannot overcome the possibility that he is not, and thus the quantum state persists."
"Excellent! Excellent! A round of applause, everyone."
The class politely clapped, and Madame Octavia stepped in front of the box, clasping her hands behind her.
"So, allow me then to extrapolate upon this fine young lady's explanation. Let us assume that within this box behind me is a catboy. He has been in there for, say, two weeks, during which time he has been subjected to an endless bombardment of auditory, olfactatory, gustatory, tactile, and mental stimulation. That is, all of his senses. Through properly drugged food and water, a virtual reality headset and earphones locked to his head, countless stimulatory toys, and a host of other devices, he has been subjected to the most extreme form of sexual torment possible."
The room fell hushed once more as her words rang out, and many girls felt a flutter in their stomachs at such a prospect. That kind of sexual torment was something many of them dreamed about, and longed to inflict.
"During that entire time the catboy has been unable to achieve any kind of sexual release."
The hushed silence instead was replaced with gasps and conspiratorial whispers, and no small amount of giggling.
"So, tell me, probability would tell us that he is very likely to be sexually desperate, yes?"
There was a general assent, murmured agreement through the lecture hall.
"However, Edwina Schrodinger has provided through her theory a dilemma. We cannot possibly know for sure, and yet we are simultaneously entirely certain he is both extremely desperate and yet totally satisfied."
Now Madame Octavia moved to the front of the box and began to adjust some panels which, given their colour was identical to that of the rest of the box, had remained hidden until now.
She slid away a panel around head height which, upon its removal, revealed a cool purple interior, lit by a ring of small lights built into the exterior of the window... within which was the head of a catboy, behind an evidently thick glass plate.
Little of his face could be seen past a VR headset, and a mask which appeared to be feeding him a constant atmosphere of thick, pink, cloying gas to inhale. Even masked as such, it was evident that the glass was fogged with what seemed to be his manic hyperventilation, or perhaps just the sweat beading down his face. Around his neck was a padded ring that supported his head, and atop his head a pair of twitching cat ears frantically flitted – evidence of his total desperation.
The audience of young college girls were now practically shrieking in delight as the nature of Madame Octavia's demonstration was made apparent. This was no visual aid – there really was a catboy in there.
"Quiet, quiet please, girls. Now observe closely."
Madame Octavia gestured to the window and turned to the lecture hall.
"Our subject is locked within the box, being stimulated to what I'm certain is an extreme degree. Can anybody here tell me, then, if he is aroused?"
A girl who was leaning on her neighbour for support shakily raised a hand and nodded in the affirmative, unable to voice her thoughts without laughter.
"Ah, one says yes, but how can we know?"
As the laughter gave way to the murmur of mutters once more, albeit far more lively now, the same black-haired girl as before offered her hand again, a wide grin upon her lips.
"We can't. There is no possible way to know for certain."
"Excellent!" Madame Octavia exclaimed. “Most excellent indeed...”
She went to remove a second panel, just below the first. It revealed a similar but wider window, ringed by the same purple lights. While his arms being embedded within the walls to either side while kept prostrate, they could now see his chest, which was being subjected to what seemed to be merciless torment.
Mechanical talons tipped with soft brushes clawed under his arms, and his nipples were tracked by two endlessly circling beads which seemed to be stimulating his poor, sensitive nubs something awful. His skin was utterly beaded with sweat which ran in rivulets, yet a tiny arm seemed to be achingly slowly drying them with a silky smooth looking cloth.
"So, now ladies, pray tell me... is he aroused?"
"No!" came a shout, at which the laughter pealed once more.
"No? Are we certain?"
"NO!" came a louder shout, which many repeated.
"Precisely! No matter what probability may tell us, whether based on assumption, observation, what have you, we cannot say with certainty if he is aroused!"
At last, she reached into her white sweater, and withdrew a solid black key upon a chain from within her bosom. She reached down to remove an onyx padlock, unlocking it as the entire room watched on in total silence.
The final panel came loose, and as she set it to one side, the lower half of the catboy was revealed. Nude, for all to see. There was no noise at all now, as every girl paid the utmost attention to the mesmerizing sight before them.
His legs were, like his torso, quivering in utter sensory overload. His feet seemed to be the victims of some devilish looking tickling devices, but they were partly obscured. His thighs however were well visible, kept apart by strategic padded fittings, and seemed to have silky soft strips of material draped across them that were delicately tracing over his skin, travelling between his vulnerable legs right up to the crease of his hips, and eliciting a muffled squeal every time they did so.
Of course, far more than anything else, the audience of college girls were drawn to the most prominent aspect of the poor catboy's torment – his dripping, throbbing, bobbing cock.
Three seperate pinwheels were slowly, glacially turning, dragging feathers up his shaft from base to tip in unison. By the time they had reached the end, it took about a second for the next one to begin its slow, unyielding, velvety graze. Each time they flicked free, the sudden relief would cause his cock to bob, sending a flick of his cock's constantly oozing pre-cum forth.
“Now,” Madame Octavia asked, arm outstretched with pointer in hand as if revealing a game-show prize, “can we know for sure if the boy is aroused?”
“Yes...” muttered a girl in the front row, loudly, who seemed utterly fixated upon the bobbing member in front of her.
“Well, of course, we have strong evidence that he may be... but he has not been released.”
Madame Octavia kneeled down by his cock, now exposed to the class, and pursed her lips as she grew closer.
“Observe...” she said with some authority, and blew gently onto the tip of his cock.
This elicited a high-pitched squeal, and frantic shaking within his restraints – which utterly delighted the girls.
“How can we know he is aroused until he is released from within the box? We cannot. Indeed, until he is released, there is no way to know he is aroused. As such, unless he releases, we cannot be certain. ”
This garnered a cheer from the girls who, collectively, resorted to any number of methods to exert their growing excitement. Fingers and lips were bit, thighs were clenched and knees were gripped. The sheer vulnerability of the tormented boy before them was all too much for a couple of girls to take, and their hands were starting to wander...
“Today,” she announced, “we shall perform an experiment, to confirm Madame Schrodinger's theory. We shall confirm that, all evidence aside, there is no possible way to know for certain if he is aroused unless he were to be released.”
“So... you're going to let him out?” asked a flushed girl, breathily.
“If I were to do that, I'm afraid our little experiment would be ruined. In fact, I'm fairly sure if I were to let him out of the box, he would find the quickest way to orgasm he possibly could. Well... if he wants to cum, that is.”
The boy screamed into his mask, a wordless, mournful cry.
“Can he hear us?” a girl gasped.
“Of course! From the moment he came in he's been hearing and seeing all of you.” She pointed to a tiny camera at the top of the box.
This, of course, sent the room into bedlam. Now the true reason for his utter desperation, beyond the obvious, was clear.
“Now I will be calling up a few volunteers,” she shouted over the chaos, “you, you, you and you. The girls who answered my questions so helpfully... starting with you my dear, in the glasses.”
Kindal clutched at her neck, delighted her studies had paid off in such a... direct way. She joined Madame Octavia on the stage by the lectern and found it impossible to take her eyes off of the hopelessly desperate dripping cock just a short distance away from her now.
“I'll be asking you girls to help us demonstrate this dilemma. There is no way for us to confirm for certain if the catboy is aroused, no matter how evident it may seem. We shall demonstrate that no matter how much evidence we collect, no matter how... intimately... we simply cannot be certain that this catboy wishes to orgasm.”
Listening to her words over soothing music laden with subliminal messaging, and the occasional sexually-laden moan, the poor boy was beside himself, straining against his form-fitting bonds at the thought of what was to come.
“Your name darling?” Madame Octavia asked as the girl with glasses stepped onto the stage next to her, and sank to her knees at Madame Octavia's signal.
“Kindal...” she said, not really paying attention, as she seemed utterly bewitched by the droopy cockhead twitching inches from her face.
“My dear, if you would be so kind, please confirm for me if you think he is sexually aroused in there.”
Kindal licked her lips, and let her hot breath coat his cock as it hovered just between her lips, not quite touching.
“Oh yeah...” she said, letting her lips kiss his cockhead as she spoke, tasting his sheer desperation now coating them.
“Ah, I see. You think he may be aroused, based on your observations. Then what we have here is... what?”
“A collapsing quantum state.” She was reciting from rote memory. All she cared about in the world was having this poor boy suffer for her.
“Precisely. As soon as he releases, we will know whether he has in fact been going out of his mind in there for weeks! At that moment, the quantum state will collapse. He will no longer be both aroused and satisfied simultaneously.”
Madame Octavia's assistants now helped to move the box slightly to the side, so that all within the lecture hall could get a perfect view of both the boy's cock and what the girls kneeled around it in a semi-circle were about to do to it. Many had already begun to breathe heavily, bent over the desk in front of them, or had traded hands with a partner down each other's skirt, or were otherwise now locked in a kiss with a sideways glance at the entertainment – or rather – experiment.
Madame Octavia retrieved a small remote from her pocket, and at a button press the pinwheels retracted into the box, leaving the boy's cock free of it's feathery torment. However, it was now instead utterly defenceless in front of a room full of horny college girls, all of whom had years of training in the theory of female domination they wished sorely to put into practice.
Madame Octavia bent down beside Kindal and allowed her hand to trace the back of her neck, encouraging her. “Do give us a good show, dear.”
Kindal needed no encouragement, however, and immediately began to trace her fingernails – expertly filed to just the right smoothness – underneath and behind the boy's balls. Naturally, they tried to retract, having hung loose in anticipation of an orgasm which had been weeks in the waiting. However, she had already loosely encircled her fingers around the base of his sack, in precisely the way she had practiced so many times on a velvet bag with two marbles inside. Not too firm, just enough to keep his delicates nice and susceptible to her sadistic wiles.
The temporary relief of being free of the feathers was replaced, if anything, by his frustration boiling over into total apoplepsy as his cock now recieved no stimulation whatsoever, even as his poor jewels were so expertly exploited. Of course, he could not see a thing happening below, only what Madame Octavia's camera and the VR headset would allow. Thus every phantom tickle and tease of Kindal's devilish fingernails sent a jolt or shiver through him.
All the while, Kindal was slowly tracing her lips around his cockhead, toying with his foreskin, and gently flexing his cock this way and that as her soft lips pushed it. It was so uncathartic to his touch-starved member that had it not been for the headset the girls would have seen a fresh flood of tears begin to flow.
The girls behind her, so close to the action, were practically falling forwards as they leaned in, eager for their turn at the boy's cock. However, they resigned themselves to gripping the front of their skirts or “adjusting” their shirts in ways that left little doubt as to their true motivations.
Madame Octavia, for her part, had long since abandoned any pretense of professionality, and was now grinding her thighs together as she watched Kindal fawning over the leaking cock she had prepared for them.
“Allow me...” Madame Octavia muttered at long last, and knelt down beside Kendal, her much larger body dominating the space instantly.
She demonstrated a technique which, over the last few years of torments, she had learned drove this particular catboy particularly insane with need. When gently forming a ring of her fingertips around the base of his cock, she watched in delight as his stomach knotted in recognition, obviously realising who now had their hands on him.
For a few seconds, the audience gazed in awe as a rope of pre-cum jetted out of his cock and landed against her white sweater through sheer Pavlovian recognition. Giggling, Madame Octavia whispered “Hello, my sweet little thing...”. The boy couldn't hear her, but she wasn't speaking to him in any case.
With glacial patience, she let him adjust to the new-found tactility, until his breathing returned from panicked to merely frantic. Within him the same war as always raged - to not let his guard down, as he knew what was coming. Inevitably, however, he couldn't stay tense forever, and with tiny, near-imperceptible changes, her trained eye spotted the shift in his demeanour. Once again the hall was silent – apart from the wet sounds of locked lips and pistoning fingers, although even they had slowed to take in this demonstration of absolute control.
Once Madame Octavia was satisfied he wasn't quite expecting it, she glided her fingertips from the base of his cock to the tip, tracing the delicate contours with frictionless ease due to the copious precum and aphrodisiac-laced-lubricant mix the feathers had been dosed with. Once she reached just below the head, she released his cock, and left it bobbing in exasperation.
The poor boy shrieked in agonized ecstasy, and this elicited a cheer from the crowd of girls. He watched on at their collective frenzied and unimpeded masturbation through the camera above, which of course did very little to alleviate his wanton need.
After dragging her fingertips a few more times along his cock, which took far longer than it had to, Kindal and the other volunteers were practically drooling at the sight of a master - or rather mistress - of her craft at work.
Only then, however, did Kindal notice a clear plastic device around the base of the catboy's cock.
"Madame Octavia, is that...?"
"Yes, my dear. The little bead at the bottom is a vibrator, but it's pushing in just enough to make sure that he cannot possibly orgasm."
"Then surely..." Kindal continued, but didn't complete her thought, as Madame Octavia merely smiled at her, yet in those eyes she saw nothing but icy countenance.
"If he never ejaculates, then surely he was never aroused. Isn't quantum mechanics fascinating?"
Kindal practically doubled over at the sheer unfairness of it all, her breathing ragged with a level of arousal she had never known.
"Alright, alright..." Madame Octavia said at last, and stood back as they slowly moved in to replace her.
Using the remote, she panned the camera down so that now the catboy's focus - rather than on the crowd of horny girls - was a close up on the four tease-starved lasses desperate to make him suffer, all knelt around his poor, vulnerable, exposed, tortured cock. A high pitched whine of fear from the masked boy was all that was heard before, like a pack of predators, they descended upon it.
Having watched Kindal's technique closely, two of the girls now set both pairs of nails each to the poor catboy's delicate jewels, as they gently stretched his velvety smooth sack out with one hand each, allowing the others free to drag and spider across the taut skin mercilessly. The third had taken close account of Madame Octavia's demonstration, and slowly rippled her fingertips in waves along his cock, giggling at the way it throbbed needily under her touch. Within the box, the boy was gritting his teeth against his gag, as the girl's technique was just different enough from that of Madame Octavia's to be both a new sensation, yet similar enough to dredge up the same memories of hundreds of hours of her torture.
Of course none more than Kindal relished in the feelings of power, of control, of sheer vicarous suffering she was now able to inflict upon this boy. She simply revelled in the supremacy of it all, her heart fluttering as her ego swelled. This, she thought, was what she had dreamed of. This feeling.
His cock bobbed and throbbed mightily under her hot, panting breath, long since stretched beyond what it could possibly have hoped to withstand. It was simultanouesly crying out for the very attention which was delivering such suffering upon it, and yet that same attention could not possibly give it the relief it so dearly desired. It was, in a word, heaven for her, hell for him.
Even if the girls had felt extraordinarily merciful, a trait which had long since been crushed out of their society, or had been extremely careless and made a mistake, which was unlikely for multi-year long experts in the study of masturbatrix practices... only Madame Octavia either knew how to or even could remove any of the restraints. That included the vibrating ring pressed so firmly against his root, which oh-so-frustratingly prevented any hope of orgasm with but a delicate touch, yet made best use of its prime position at the very base of his sex to vibrate violently, sending electric waves through his sorrowfully denied cock.
Kindal could hold back no more, and devoured the head of his cock, kissing it passionately, as if thanking a lover for the greatest night of her life - which in a way she was. She toyed at his foreskin with her tongue, lapping circles around his sensitive slit before fluttering her tongue under the now-hyper-sensitive spot just below the head.
Forced to watch it all from above, as if having an out of body experience, he felt every sensation as he saw it, and yet his fraying grip upon reality began to bend and break. His mind had to keep reminding him that what he saw was not a recording of himself, or a broadcast of someone else, as his fragile consciousness sought to retreat from reality.
Prodigious streaks of precum dripped past her lavish lip-play, despite her hungry hold upon his hard and heaving cockhead. The second girl delighted as his cock became even slicker, tracing her fingertips around the glassy surface just to feel the frantic throbs from within. The final two had released their ring around his balls, and now delighted in watching them bounce and retract, tugging and pulling up and away fruitlessly from their torturous fingertips, as they found a better use for their free fingers in exploring themselves and each other.
Like a sacrifical slave, prostrate upon the pedastal, the catboy could only watch in horror as his cock was tormented by girls who, despite years of training, made up for their lack of experience with sheer isolation induced arousal. The university ensured no males were on campus outside of strictly regulated classes where a male subject was needed for demonstration or... practice. As such hundreds of prospective mistresses at Femdom University had honed their skills for years, yet with scarce outlets to practice upon.
Within a few weeks of arriving at the institute every girl was a master of the craft of all things lesbianic, if only out of necessity; although there was no lack of enthusiasm there. Males, however, were a far rarer commodity than even in the world outside of the university. Only when a fraternity managed to sneak a male onto campus, or out of their secure lodgings in the university proper, did the girls get any real chance to enjoy the life for which they were destined: that of superiority over men.
Kindal could only empathize, in that moment, with the poor catboy's cock. It was so much like her, in some ways, having been teased and built up to something great over far too long a time, and it had been waiting so long and so impatiently for it. The difference, of course, which she acknowledged to herself with a smile that was all-too-quickly cut off by a groan around his cock, was that she was going to climax - and he was not. She would both be able to leave here one day, as he never would, and of course, she was going to have the orgasm which the poor boy was so pitifully being denied.
Her fingers dove between her nethers now, tracing the contours of her clit between her slickened fingers as she did so. Buckling over, her lips swallowed his cock down to the base as she felt her stomach knot in imminent climax. Her throat constricted as, with a guttural cry which vibrated through the catboy's entire body, she erupted into a climax many years in the making. She had felt the wonderous throes of orgasm before, but never quite so strong. It felt as if the very core of her being had been shaken, yet like the sand within the glass, doing so had only levelled it out and made her firmer in her resolve.
Kindal felt her partner lick at her cheek, and she relented, lifting off of his cock with a throaty gasp and delighting in the way it twitched madly at her sudden vacance.
"Poor thing..." she cooed sweetly, and wrapped an arm around the next girl's neck, pulling her in for a kiss with the boy's cock trapped between their hungry lips.
At this, the catboy felt his vision growing faint. The sheer physical limits had well and truly been reached and surpassed.
Madame Octavia, who had thoroughly enjoyed the show these desperate prospective young women had put on, relented in her self-exploration as she felt the tell-tale rumble of the remote in her pocket informing her that the catboy had well and truly reached his physical limit. Any further and the boy, all medical science benefits aside, was in danger of truly exceeding what was safe – at least safe by the standards of their society.
"Alright, alright," she announced, and delicately but firmly withdrew the girls from the boy's cock, which they clung to until the last possible moment as though addicted. Indeed, most now very likely considered themselves to be just that, having finally experienced the unadulterated and limitless rush of total domination.
"We must now determine the outcome of our experiment," Madame Octavia announced, and gestured to the boy who now hung limply in his restraints. The only movement coming from him was the slight rise and fall of his body as he breathed raggedly.
"Pray tell, can anyone remind me of what the question was?"
"Whether he's turned on or not!" came a breathy cry, which barely stifled the moan that a neighbour's lips upon their nipple caused.
"Put simply, yes, but why do we not know?"
Wiping her lips of a mix of her and her partners saliva, and the boy's precum, the bright Kindal stood a little bow-legged, recovering from her recent climax.
“Th... the quantum state...” she muttered, drunk on power and the hormonal rush both.
“Excellent, Kindal was it? Please explain your findings.”
She grinned.
“No matter how he screams, no matter how his cock throbs...” she began, and bit her lip as she watched hundreds of her fellow students masturbating to her words against the backdrop of a groaning and whimpering catboy, “he remains in a quantum state of both sexual agony and sexual satisfaction. He cannot ejaculate, and thus, cannot express his sexual desires. To do so would require him to do so, but he cannot do so, and thus cannot. He is utterly trapped in that box, and despite all outward signs suggesting he is in the depths of the most awful sexual torture, we simply cannot know for sure if he is aroused, and there is no way to confirm it unless he cums... but he didn't.”
A smattering of applause, somewhat dulled by the slickness of the palms involved, barely rose above the steady moans and stifled wet sounds of hundreds of trembling thighs and quivering lips, occasionally disturbed by a greedy satisfied moan as yet another girl brought herself – or was brought – to a quaking orgasm, delighting in the very pleasure she had witnessed the poor boy be denied.
“Absolutely. I am thoroughly impressed by all of you. You will all make fine dominatrixes some day, and at least several of you will no doubt go on to be highly qualified masturbatrixes from what I have seen.” Madame Octavia grinned wryly, taking in the utterly lecherous scene. “Now all that remains, girls, is to decide how to conclude my experiment. As Ms Kindal here aptly stated, we cannot know for certain if the catboy is aroused or not.”
Madame Octavian knew she had precious little time left before the room descended into an utter orgy, so she pressed on.
“So, girls!” She announced loudly, and most at least sat to attention, although it did little to stop the wandering hands. “Shall I open the box and check? Let us have a show of hands...”
She stared directly into the camera atop the catboy's box at that and, with a press of a button, it deactivated. He was blind. Yet he could still hear the murmured moans of hundreds of horny young women.
“Raise your hands when I ask,” Madame Octavia announced, and there was practically a cacophany of wet, slick slurps as hands were begrudgingly removed from gripping sexes.
“All those against?”
The catboy shivered at the prospect of being left in that box forever.
“All those for?”
He went still, by contrast, at the thought of being released into the hands of two hundred horny tormentresses-in-training.
Seconds ticked by in silence, and he bit into his gag beneath the mask in fear, not knowing which result had won... or which would be worse.
“Well, that settles it!”
The sound of their cheers terrified him.