Heart of Steel Ch. 03

"Bad boy!" she scolded. "You weren't given permission to touch my glorious feet with your hands."

"But Mistress..."

"Your mouth, slave." Maul advised sternly.

Tristan understood then, and set to work with his mouth to please his mistress and Lady Jane. The work was long, but never tedious for the exited boy, and he was diligent and thorough, earning him praise from both ladies. Praise which made him blush and made his heart warm with glee. When he was done, Maul invited him to lay across their laps, and the two women rested their elbows on him like a piece of furniture as they talked for the rest of the session about dominant things Maul could do during play. It was thoroughly an enjoyable time for Tristan, a fact which he relayed to Maul on their journey home.

"I am so glad you are happy!" Maul replied upon hearing his thoughts on the session, hugging him tightly. "I enjoy that way too much. But we'll keep it for fantasy in our sex-life, you're always my equal, no matter what."

"Of course." Tristan agreed. "It's all part of the fantasy. Though I did love that chastity belt she had me in."

"Oh me too," Maul smirked, "I'll have to get one of those. Keeping you in it, out of session, could really heighten you're performance in bed. Wouldn't do it forever of course, just when you wanted to do it."

"Which equates to nearly forever." Tristan laughed.

"Whoever thought chastity could be hot."

They both erupted into giggles, which left the other bus passengers somewhat confused, as had the rest of their conversation.

Chapter 15: Fight Fire with Fire

The semester went well for Tristan and Maul alike. Maul was a good student, her procrastination tendencies never eclipsed her understanding of schoolwork as a priority, and the results of her late-night, last-minute homework sessions were always polished and worthy assignments. Tristan had a bit less of a tendency to procrastinate, unless motivated by some greater force like a concert, album release, or a scantily-clad Maul distracting him from his studies. But all the same, the work was done, for both Tristan and Maul, and they academically excelled. This, for Tristan, pleased his parents, particularly after the "stress debacle of last year," as they so termed the incident.

"I don't understand why you don't tell them the truth." Maul would say every time it came up.

"It's just not in me." Tristan repeated. "I can't let my parents know what happened to me, I can't give them that guilt or risk their disbelief."

"Why guilt? What would they feel guilty about?"

"They're parents," Tristan would always say, "if a bad thing happens, they want to be able to protect me. This would kill them."

"Right. Okay." Maul disagreed, obviously, but relented the point, only to bring it up again later.

Nonetheless, the semester came to an end and the summer began thereafter, with Tristan taking on longer shifts at Records. Tony was rarely in, trusting Dave, Tristan, and even Maul as an unofficial employee, to care for the little shop, and care for it they did. Tristan was also working out more with Bradley, who would occasionally stop by Records to pick up a new album upon Tristan, Maul, and Dave's recommendation. Tristan had to stop counseling during the summer, since it was run through the school, but it was an acceptable loss. He found himself able to manage without it, thanks to his friends and fulfilling routine, and that pleased him.

Sarah was still training Tristan in combat, and he took to it naturally. They fought hard now, and Tristan began to reach stalemates with the amazonian college girl and even win fights, an occurrence which happened the more he trained. His physical build was still on the slighter side, but his musculature and combative prowess were not to be denied, and hard to be ignored.

Meanwhile Maul was still enjoying her time with Lady Jane, going in regularly to observe sessions. Often these were sessions with Tristan, so she could learn new tricks of the trade, but more and more she was going in to watch Jane work in general, with other clients. Though Jane offered, Maul did not want to start working there, even with Tristan's encouragement.

"My domination is all for you." she replied to her beloved.

And that aspect of their relationship was going swimmingly as summer rolled around. With Tristan's work money, the two of them were able to slowly acquire quite the array of playthings for the more intimate of pursuits. Yet, while their kink increased, Tristan's flashbacks and nightmares were on a noticeable downswing. There were days when he didn't even think of the past events at all. He was well and truly happy. Even if this was just a "remission" of the trauma, as Amy had called it, it was strengthening him, tempering him to battle it through when he entered another low point along the road to recovery.

Tristan was explaining this very fact to Maul one night as they were walking back to the bus stop after a late-evening visit to Lady Jane's Dominion. They'd missed an earlier bus and so moved uptown in hopes of catching another at a more northern stop. Maul nodded in agreement with Tristan's proclamations and squeezed his hand tightly with pride and joy at his recovering state and always improving mood. The night through which they walked was dark, the street-lights faded or broken in this area, but neither of the two was concerned with such matters. The dark had never bothered either of them, and they were entirely lost in their conversations. So much so that they did not see the figure on the corner until they were nearly running into him in the flickering pool of illumination cast by a streetlight.

The figure was male. Older than either of them but not by much. He was scruffy haired and dressed in baggy clothes. He appeared to have little or no intention of moving out of the way, and when the pair tried to step around him, he moved to cut them off.

"Move," Maul at last barked, "this isn't funny, man."

"Shut up, bitch." he snapped in an impressively commanding tone.

"What the fuck did you call me?" Maul snarled, her hands balled into tiny fists.

"I said shut up." the man repeated. "Both of you, shut the fuck up and give me your mother fucking wallets."

"You're kidding," Maul scoffed, "you're fucking kidding? A mugger, are you seriously mugging us with the old "give me all your money" line? This is a joke. Come on dude, move on, it's really not funny."

"There's two of us," Tristan pointed out, "if you're going to prank someone, you should at least equal them in number. You're really not that tough on your own."

"Yeah, good to know."

That voice was not from the shaggy-looking man before them, but from one of the three other, equally disheveled men of about the same age and general build, whom now emerged from either side of Tristan and Maul. They were fenced in now, flanked and cut off. This was not a joke. None of the assailants appeared to be armed with more than fists, but their numbers gave them a distinct advantage. Maul put on a rage-fueled face, her fists clenched and ready to strike, but she seemed to sense her own stature, was perhaps aware for the first time of its limitations in such a situation, for Tristan could feel the slight tremble in her frame given their proximity.

"Okay," Tristan relented, "wallets, right, we can do that. Just back off."

"Yeah," Maul said to the original aggressor, "call off your dogs and we'll do this nice and peaceful."

"You don't tell me what to do!" he snapped, taking a quick shot at Maul.

The intended blow wasn't a punch, but an open-palmed slap. Still, it was more than enough. Maul, to her credit, neither screamed nor tried to dodge the blow. She only braced herself to receive it and respond with as much strength as she could muster. But the blow did not connect.

Tristan, until now, had not encountered the opportunity to try his hand in a true combat situation. But this did not stop him when he saw, in what felt like slow motion, that dirt-flecked hand swooping toward Maul's face. He didn't think about anything, consciously in any case, didn't consider who this man was, his motives, his characteristics, or anything of the sort. He only did as Sarah had taught him: react and anticipate.

His left hand shot out and caught the wrist of the offending hand, squeezing as tight as he could. His right hand came forward in a blow to the sternum that doubled over his unprepared attacker. Tristan's right knee rose sharply, colliding with the face of the already agonized mugger, and sending him to the ground. But Tristan kept a hold of the wrist, giving it a final squeeze and twist before dropping it, this particular threat neutralized.

"Run!" he barked at Maul, shoving her forward as the other three closed in upon them like wolves, wary of the sudden flame of activity that was Tristan's assault, but eager now more than ever for blood.

Tristan engaged the nearest first, the one on the right. He took a hard hit to the face that dazzled his senses with stars, more than any of Sarah's blows, even those she forgot to hold in control. Semi-blinded by pain, he lashed out with his right hand in a sweeping blow from left to right with the bottom of his fist, like a war-hammer sweeping. He didn't see it connect but felt a meaty thud and a sharp jolt of impact shoot through his wrist and up the length of hip forearm.

Already the other two were on him, grabbing at his long hair and pulling his arms roughly back. / I have feet, use them,/ his mind screamed. A sharp kick backward, a connection that agonized his heel, and a high squawk of agony came in quick succession. One of the two pairs of hands came away. But the last boy tackled Tristan to the sidewalk and the two began grappling and punching, kneeing and elbowing, cursing and screaming.

And then there was a single siren and piercing light. The last combatant extricated himself from the conflict. He, the boy Tristan had kicked, and the one he'd struck with the sweeping blow, moved as quickly as they could away from the scene. The initial attacker, who'd caught the knee to the face, was unconscious on the ground, his nose shattered, his lips smashed. Tristan stood slowly, his right eye swelling shut and his left eye beginning to mirror its neighbor. His shirt was torn and bloody with his own and his opponents' blood. He was bruised, cut, exhausted, and more alive with adrenaline than he'd ever fathomed possible.

"Tristan!" came a familiar voice.

"Officer Anderson?" Tristan queried through bloody lips, his bleary eyes discerning her shape against the headlights of the police car.

"I called her." Maul said, rushing to Tristan's side. "I didn't run far, just to the other, side of the road, I couldn't leave you."

"Thank the Gods I gave you her number." Tristan laughed weakly.

"What happened here?" demanded Officer Stacy Anderson.

Maul and Tristan gave a rundown of the events as they'd unfolded. It had all been so sudden, so unexpected. Officer Anderson listened and nodded, inspecting the body on the sidewalk.

"I've seen him," she told them, "around the station. He's been booked before for petty theft and a minor assault. The others you mention, I'd assume they run with him like a little street gang."

"Cowards," Maul muttered, "ambushing people in the dark."

Officer Anderson agreed with that assessment.

"Look," she said at last, "I'd have to investigate this case, hold you for questioning, all of that, you understand?"

"Right." Tristan acknowledged grimly.

"But," she cut in, quieting down, "I trust that you're telling me the truth, and I know how to reach you if I have to. So I'm going to look down and inspect the scene and call an ambulance, and when I look back, I won't see either of you."

"Thank you." both of them said eagerly.

"I have no idea what you're talking about." she informed them firmly.

Message received clearly, they hurried away down the dark street, hand in hand. They didn't stop or even talk until they were on a northbound bus, the last of the line for the night. When they were safely aboard and seated, Maul immediately wrapped herself around Tristan.

"You were so brave," she cried, "you fought so well for your first time. You fought well for anyone so outnumbered. You protected me, Tristan, that was amazing."

"Oh come on," he sheepishly murmured, "I just did what I could to protect us both, I worked with what I had. You would do the same for me."

"Of course," she replied, "but that doesn't make it any less wonderful. Oh and you're hurt."

"I'll be okay."

"You are not okay!" she insisted firmly. "When we get home, you will lie down and I will tend to every little scrape. No argument, understand?"

"You don't have to tend to me," he protested, though the notion was appealing, "you're not my nurse or servant or something."

"You're right, I'm not," she agreed, "I'm your worried girlfriend who demands to care for you after you just survived a huge fight. That's not too much to ask, is it?"

That was hardly a question.

"No." he consented. "Just know I'm not demanding it of you."

"Stop worrying about me!" she implored. "If I didn't want to, I wouldn't offer!"

When they finally made their way back to the apartment, Maul insisted that Tristan disrobe and lay down on a blanket she spread out upon the carpet. Tristan did as she instructed, though he protested feebly that she was worrying for no good reason. Protests that went entirely unheeded by the ever attentive and protective Maul. She made him lay down and began inspecting his every bruise, bump, and scrape, going over them meticulously with a soft cloth coated in water and peroxide. This of course made Tristan squirm and grit his teeth as the stinging solution cleansed his every wound. She could do little for his swollen eyes except put ice packs on them and insist that he lay still.

"You poor little thing." she cooed, kissing his forehead. "My sweet, brave little boy."

"Maul you're pampering me like a child."

"Shut up, you deserve it." she demanded, punching his arm lightly.

Her final medicinal treatment for the ailing Tristan came in the form of a hot bowl of noodle soup. She cradled Tristan's head in her lap so he would not rise and upset his ice packs, insisting on feeding him herself, spoonful by spoonful.

"You're being over-protective." Tristan informed her.

"Hush you," she commanded, "let me spoil you, or else."

She laughed and ruffled his hair, and Tristan was happy.

Tristan recovered in time. But as injured as he'd been, he was so very proud of himself. There he'd been in a live, threatening situation, and he'd come through. Battered and bruised, but he'd come through, kept Maul safe, and thwarted the assailants. His training was clearly paying off, and he owed Sarah a "thank you hug," which she accepted with bone-crushing force. He had learned well, internalized his lessons effectively. Somewhat ironically, after proving himself in the gauntlet of an attack, he truly began to feel safe. Maul was endlessly grateful of him and his newly-earned skill, praise which Tristan strove to subdue lest he develop an ego. Maul would hear nothing of it, of course.

Chapter 16: Free Time

Summer time would, of course, not be summer time were it not for the presence of a vacation. Tristan's parents coordinated a trip to the beach, a few hours southwest of Pine Ridge. They wanted Tristan to come, and Maul as well, for her constant proximity to Tristan had earned her quite the familial status. The journey was a long but pleasant one, the family spending the time chatting about the past semester and the hardships of school such as annoying students, annoying teachers, and annoying work. This was a fertile ground for conversation, as both college students were able to rant at length about the frustrations of the university.

"Here we are," at last said Tristan's father, "the hotel is only a few feet away from the beach if you leave through the back door."

"It's beautiful." his mother proclaimed. "And we have two rooms, yes?"

"I got it," his father repeated for the fifth or sixth time, "one for us and one for the kids."

"You got us a separate room?" Tristan excitedly exclaimed.

"Son," his mother replied, "we're not deaf, we can hear the two of you at the house. I don't quite know what you're up to, but neither of us wants to be in the same room as it."

Maul erupted in a fit of giggling, and Tristan blushed furiously.

Their room was very nice. A small room with an adjoining bathroom and shower. The bed was large and comfortable in appearance, and the window overlooked the ocean and its waves that crashed against the white sand of the beach, whereupon families built sand castles, while older boys and young men threw frisbees and beach-balls, and girls from their late teens onward lounged in bikinis.

"Stop staring at the bikini chicks and help me unpack." Maul ordered, tugging Tristan away from the window.

"I was not staring." he attempted to clarify. "Not at the girls, just at the local area."

"Sure you were, sweetie." Maul laughed gently, squeezing his arm.

Tristan and Maul unpacked their clothes for the three-day trip, before joining Tristan's parents for dinner at a nearby restaurant that specialized, unsurprisingly, in seafood. Maul and Tristan shared a large order of crab legs, which they enjoyed with alarmingly visible glee, cracking the legs open and scooping out the meat. It was a pleasant evening filled with talk and laughter and Tristan loved every moment of it. He always enjoyed these times with his parents, when they talked and laughed like they were all the closest of friends, when he felt like he could tell them anything. / Anything?/

Tristan was, despite Maul's lack of pressuring him as of late, driven more toward the notion of telling his parents about the girls, the incident, everything. / They're my parents, and they love me. They trust me to tell them things of importance, they deserve to know after all they've done for me. But what if they don't believe me, if they think I'm just making something up to cover my mistakes? What would they think of me /then?/ It was a harsh conflict in his mind, one tipped in its scales by the familial bond that felt so real, so present as they sat on the ocean-side porch of the restaurant, watching the sun set over the glass-like surface of the sea.

"Well," his father said, "it's about time we head back to the room, we have the whole day tomorrow to spend at the beach."

"Right." Tristan agreed, the moment of possible truth now shattered. "Yeah, I'm tired from all the driving."

"Sitting still must be so exhausting." his father chided.

"For Maul, it sure is." Tristan laughed, and Maul nodded in agreement.

When Tristan and Maul were back in the room, sitting on the bed together while Maul painted her toenails that maroon of which she was so fond, she spoke to him.

"I saw you thinking," she said, "I can always tell when you're mind is elsewhere. What were you thinking of?"

"Of maybe telling my parents about what happened."

"Really," Maul was excited, "oh that's so great Tristan, then you'll have familial support too and that will be wonderful!"

"Hold on," Tristan cut in, "I was going to, but then the moment passed."

"Oh." the crestfallen Maul said. "Maybe it will come again, it would be good for them to know."

"Yeah, I guess so." Tristan muttered uneasily.

The brief vacation to the beach was relaxing and filled with fun. They spent much time out on the sand playing. Tristan was clad in swim trunks and sandals, while Maul insisted on running about barefoot, clad in a black bikini that rather distracted Tristan from the lovely scenery of the ocean. In the sand, Maul lay, sculpting sand castles with her little white hands, paying careful attention to detail as she crafted the little structures. Tristan, meanwhile, was digging a hole alongside his father, with no real purpose other than to craft a deep hole in the sand. / A noble and worthy pursuit./