Schrodinger's Catboy

Disclaimer: All publicly recognizable characters, settings, etc. are the property of their respective owners. The original characters and plot are the property of the author. The author is in no way associated with the owners, creators, or producers of any media franchise. No copyright infringement is intended.

DISCLAIMER: ALL CHARACTERS HEREIN ARE OVER THE AGE OF 18. I do not condone any abuse of any kind IRL, and everything herein is just fantasy. Do not attempt to re-enact anything you read here. All BDSM activities should be Safe, Sane and Consensual. What I describe in my stories is varying degrees of abuse which make for wonderful fantasies, but would in reality be awful. To quote the wonderful Gigglinggoblin: Real-life con-noncon requires a lot of trust, safewords, and other things a fantasy can fudge a little. Enjoy the kink responsibly, and enjoy the story! If you feel inclined, please get in touch, I'd love to talk about my writing or any related kink stuff!

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.