Bound & Free Ch. 04

Author's vanity note: Thanks to everyone who's reading this and those who have commented. Knowing what you think about my first story - good or bad - makes me really happy. I've also gotten some great advice which I'll incorporate into the chapters which haven't been written yet. I'm uploading this before I can get stuck in another editing rabbithole and lose all motivation. Alice caused multiple failed drafts as she bullied her way into a larger role. I blame her. I like Alice but... we will need to thoroughly discipline her in a later chapter.

~~~~

Stacy and her boyfriend Ryan were in her private room in the sorority. Ryan was sitting on her tightly-made bed, shirtless, his muscles gleaming, toying with a pair of metal handcuffs she'd gotten from a friendly campus security officer. Stacy was dressed in an oversized man's shirt, stockings and nothing else. She artfully bent over her antique desk, presenting her shapely rump and long toned legs to Ryan. He couldn't look away, just as she'd intended.

It was a scene which would have fueled a thousand male fantasies, and more than a few female ones too. She'd set the scene so it would play out this way. Ryan had just finished a week-long dry spell, so wasn't thinking clearly enough to ask why she was suddenly interested in handcuffs. She'd purchased the man's shirt she wore specifically to test if Ryan would pry (he hadn't). For her, this was a calculated risk. Everything would be solved if this worked. It was the best possible solution for her. Logic didn't make her any hornier, though. She was already having trouble getting into it and the experiment hadn't even started.

Everything about her room was calculated. Her course books were electronic, so the ones seemingly scattered around her room were arranged to give a specific impression. Her belongings stood to attention like soldiers, everything precisely where it should be. The floorplan her family had drawn up for her dictated there should be an untidy pile of clothes at the foot of her bed, but Stacy just couldn't deal with the disorder. Stacy noted that her picture frames were slightly out of position. She'd have to fix that later, but for now she tried to ignore it.

Even her teddy bear, artfully positioned just so on its markers, was carefully focus-tested to maximize the soft feminine side her family needed her to portray. It was all there in the psychological profile they'd drawn up for her to follow. The bear was new, purchased specifically for its role, but had been artificially aged through specialist techniques. Just like she had been, Stacy noted bitterly. When they'd come to replace her personality with the one they'd chosen for her, she'd had to bury her favorite bear in a tin box in the grounds of her family's house. Like her dreams and true personality.

Appearances must be kept. The family had to survive. Everyone had to make sacrifices. Stop it Stacy. If you don't stop thinking about this you're going to cry again. Why were all these emotions coming up again now? She thought she'd come to terms with her life purpose a long time ago.

The daylight tried to penetrate her thick curtains but failed, lighting the room with a colorless gray twilight. A faint halo of lively sunbeams danced around the edges of the curtain. The lamp on her nightstand blazed with light, yet was rendered feeble by the midday sun she'd attempted to banish.

Stacy bent further forward over her desk chair. She turned to look at the figure on her bed.

"You want me to what?" Ryan asked, his big bass voice rumbling.

A rumble which normally found an echo inside her but now struck a jarring tone, making her feel queasy. Eyes on the prize, she reminded herself.

"Handcuff me, please, Ryan." she said sweetly.

"Are you sure about this, babe?" he asked dumbly.

No, she really wasn't. But what other choice did she have? She'd been relieved when her hard work had paid off and Ryan had finally asked her out. He fit the profile, had been in the top ten of the list of acceptable candidates her father had handed her. She and Ryan had been exclusive for months now. Everyone thought they were the golden couple, that they'd get married and have 3 kids. She didn't want to disappoint anyone. She had a network to maintain and a family to save.

As for Tr... that thrice-cursed fucker who gave her a false cell number? Even if she swallowed her pride and crawled back to him, he didn't fit her plans or the profile she'd been given, couldn't be her boyfriend. How would a relationship with him even function for a week, let a lone a long-term? Or mesh with any of her plans?

"I literally JUST fucking asked you, Ryan." she spat.

Why wouldn't Ryan just get the hell on with it? Focus, reclaim your composure - he can't see this side of you, idiot. Ryan looked shocked. Fuck. Somebody save her from men and their eggshell egos.

"I'm sorry, babe, I'm just really stressed, yeah?" she could see that wasn't enough, so she continued, compensating. "I just found out about my... God, erm, niece. She's really sick. Mental problems. Deviant sexual needs. My family don't know. I just need to forget for a while. I would love it if you could indulge me, you big lovely man. I know it's different from what we normally do."

"I don't know, I like the normal way babe." he sulked. "Can't we just fuck quickly? I've got to go study, this is taking literally days of my time."

"Come on, honey, just attach one end to me and the other to the chair. You're my big smart guy." She encouraged. "If you can't do it, no-one can. Go on, do it before I lose my nerve."

Or before she choked on another platitude and her lies turned to ashes in her mouth.

Stacy felt Ryan grab her wrists, too roughly yet too weak at the same time. He adjusted his grip and...

"Ouch! Careful!" she exclaimed, shoving against his chest.

"Come on baby, I barely even pinched you." he complained. "Don't be such a baby, baby."

She inhaled, long and slow, and let out her rage in a shuddering breath. The cold metal of the handcuffs leeched the heat from her wrists and the certainty from her mind. What the hell was she doing? This just felt wrong. She put one hand on his stomach, feeling his sexy six-pack with just the slightest give. His body, carved out of hot muscle with barely an ounce of fat. Mmm - maybe she could give this just one more second?

"Click!" Ryan sang. "I'm feeling better about this already, babe. You look kind of hot wearing this handcuff and bending over there. I could do anything to you!"

That was the one, what she wanted to hear. Stacy's pulse leapt. Finally! Stacy tried to move her arm, testing her bonds, and... it came free without any problems. She held up the wrist he'd manacled, the other end of the metal handcuff dangling uselessly like a broken jaw, not attached to anything yet. Couldn't he finish the damn job before gloating? Her burgeoning mood shattered again. This felt more like amateur theater than sex. About as erotic as refereeing nap time at a daycare.

No, she had to think positive. She could do this. They could do this. Then she wouldn't need Tri... that nerdy asshole any more. Ryan could learn. He would pick this up, she could train him just like she'd shaved off some of his other rough edges. She could ignore some of her more... extreme new impulses, tame it. That would make it fair on both of them. If not... well, maybe the memories of the restaurant would be enough. If she continued to keep the memory fresh. Stacy wouldn't allow herself to ever stoop low enough to have an affair. She wasn't that type of woman, not for anyone, not for any reason. Still it was nice to have options, even if they taunted her with their impossibility.

Wait - how the hell did she have time to complete that long train of thought? What the hell was Ryan up to?

"Ryan?" she asked, turning around.

He was behind her, one hand frantically stroking his erection, a prurient expression on his face. She watched for a moment, he was objectively speaking, delicious. Watching him work his meaty fist up and down his rampant manhood was mesmerizing. She idly noted that Ryan's penis looked a little longer than what she'd felt in Tris... the restaurant the other day, but much thinner. It'd still do the job. Ryan noticed her looking and broke the spell.

"Sorry baby, you're just too hot." he whined as an excuse.

Pathetic. The steam building in her veins cooled to mist in an instant.

Stacy wiggled her perky ass at Ryan, trying to tempt him, the bottom of her new shirt hiding absolutely nothing with the way she was positioned. If she turned to her left she could see herself in the mirror. She was perfect, literally perfect. As she should be, given the number of times she'd practiced this. Her blonde hair streaming down in a waterfall of white, her breasts almost hanging out of the front of the shirt as it dangled, swaying as she moved her butt from side to side. That was better, she smiled to herself she began to feel little tingles of arousal again. If this had been another woman Stacy would have been all over her in seconds. Ryan, well... he had trouble knowing what she wanted. She'd tried to tell him but... she had to pick her battles. One thing at a time.

"Shouldn't you put that somewhere... more comfortable?" she said invitingly.

"Your ass?" he asked hopefully.

Stacy's undulating rhythm faltered. She grit her teeth, wondering how easy it would be to drive the end of the handcuff he'd neglected to fasten right through those beady eyes of his. She'd learned how, of course, just with a different weapon.

"No, Ryan. We're playing with handcuffs, remember?" she prodded gently, swinging them for emphasis.

"Oh, yeah, right." he muttered, disappointed.

Trist... that man wouldn't have forgotten. He'd have known what she wanted before she even knew it. If it were him, right now she'd be melting into a gooey satisfied puddle on the carpet. And he probably wouldn't even need to use more than one hand - he hadn't last time, one palm had been all he'd needed to push her to a massive climax. He had paid attention to her body, read it like a book.

Could Ryan even read a picture book, real or metaphorical? That was a little bitchy, Stacy. Stay in control. Don't think of that. Think of the plan. Think of his family, his connections, his fame, what that could do for your family. Remember what your parents are expecting of you.

Not exactly the most sexy thought, though.

"Maybe... the other handcuff?" she vocalized her thoughts.

More carefully, he guided each one of her arms to each one of the armrests. His strong grip made her feel excited, and scared. Curious, but trapped. Her body wanted what was happening but didn't want it quite like this.

The wall of masculinity looming over her made her feel small, excited her as it always had. It was a huge turn-on to think that his bulk was under her control. She struggled with herself - he was meant to be in control, that was the point. Capable, methodical, assured. His hands fumbling over the simple task, Ryan securely fastened her to her desk chair, one of her wrists against each arm. She couldn't turn her body, but could still turn her head to see him if she wanted to. She didn't; she pretended she couldn't, that he'd restrained her head too.

Her imagination was a poor substitute, but she felt it beginning to work. The familiar sensation in her pussy as her body began to heat. She felt Ryan grip her shoulders in his calloused hands.

Her heart dropped into the floor as her panic rose. How would she get out? This didn't feel safe. Would he even stop if she wanted him to? This wasn't planned carefully. What the hell was she doing?

She tried to turn, but the chair was heavy and Ryan had her shoulders in a tight grip.

"Ryan, stop." she said, her voice shaking. "Get off me."

She felt his cock, heavily coated with lubricant, slowly penetrate part her pussy lips and slide partially inside her body.

"Come on babe, you have to give it a chance." he wheedled. "You're the one who wanted to try this."

Trista... her friend would have stopped right away. Ryan was apparently determined to exhibit all the worst things about himself today. Last on the agenda was his childish entitlement. Welcome to the party, asshole. Now fuck off.

"Stop!" she shouted.

"I'm almost..." he grunted.

That was it. She would not be treated this way. She had to do something about it. Stacy hooked her legs around his ankles and thrust her hips back. Incidentally, his penis slid deeply inside her before falling out almost as quickly, as he was pushed back by the unexpected momentum. Ryan's muscular bulk teetered and he fell over her feet, crashing to the ground with an impact which shook her whole room. Her teddy bear fell over.

"Ryan you asshole!" she turned to shout at him.

He wasn't conscious. His head had caught the edge of the bed and he was out cold. A fallen mannequin. A toy doll. The only thing moving was his penis, spurting his seed uselessly onto his stomach as he laid flat on his back. Apparently, this was her boyfriend. She sighed deeply. Now she had a messy situation on her hands.

"I think we need a break. See other people." she said.

She'd tell him again when he was awake. So much for replacing Tristan. She better explore this, get it out of her system before she fucked things up with the guy after Ryan.

~~~~

The gentle spring sunlight pierced through the trees lining the path as Tristan and Alice walked aimlessly through the quad. It trickled through the canopy, dappling their path with little pools of golden light, chasing away the shadows. They had been ambling around the grounds for an hour now, talking about everything and nothing. Her yellow dress contrasted pleasantly with the greenery, her manner free and energetic. The smell of flowers and recently cut grass embraced them. This romantic stroll was straight out of a standard love story. This was the way normal people lived. This was wholesome, it was good.

Tristan wasn't normal. He felt the contrast intensely, gripping his gut as they walked. He felt tainted. He knew he was the darkness to her light. A blackened corner of his mind he tried not to examine too often was stirring. Inside him was a grasping specter, a twisted desire to restrain and control. Until now it had always been a fantasy, an impossibility, so it had been easy to suppress, to forget. Now he'd had a taste there were cracks. As he spoke to her, he could feel it, behind his voice, in his gaze, trying to get out, reaching for her. He held its leash, but for how long?

"So I have a random question for you," Alice said, her wide green eyes glittering with interest. "How many women have you slept with? Or men, I won't judge."

"What kind of question is that?!" Tristan sputtered.

"One you have to answer. Come on, don't be boring!" she insisted impishly.

"I'm a boring guy. You ask everyone this question on a second date?" he paused, enjoying her obvious frustration "And none; I'm a virgin."

Maybe he shouldn't have told her, but even days later he was riding high on the feeling of teasing an orgasm from Stacy's body.

"Uh, obviously I ask everyone - usually on the first date. And no you're not. You're not a... either of those things. There's no way! What you are is a liar!" Alice shook her head in disbelief.

"You're pushy. And distrusting. I am a boring virgin. So that answers the mystery of why a nice girl like you is still single." he riposted.

"You're mean! And a liar. Liar, liar." she said cheekily.

She actually stuck her tongue out at him. What was this, a kindergarten?

"It's true. I have kinky appetites, Alice. They can't be satisfied by just any woman."

It was true, but he hadn't meant to actually say it. This was starting to get out of hand. And yet, Alice walked with him, naïvely laughing and joking, the very picture of innocence. He felt the dark mists leaking out of him even now, polluting the beauty around him.

"Eww, you're such a perv! Is that why you're stringing along so many women? What is it, this dark secret? I have to know!" she exclaimed, animatedly waving her hands around. "Now you've told me I can't let it go."

She was giggling. Couldn't she see in his eyes that he had venomous appetites so pernicious that Stacy had become addicted? Didn't Alice know that it could happen to her? Surely every time he spoke Alice could hear how hungry he was to feel it again, that feeling of a strong, spirited woman begging for his touch. With her body, with her mind, with everything she had, yet unable to do anything about it, having given control to him. Even now he could feel this inversion was rapidly becoming the only spice that would satisfy his warped palate.

"You'll have to find out yoursel..." he started, and noticed Alice wasn't beside him any longer.

He turned and saw she'd gotten her arm tangled in one of the shrubs which lined the path. She was trying to pull her limb free with brute force. He walked over to her and gently eased the restraining branches from her skin, freeing her. She had a couple of scratches on her wrist. He rubbed at them absentmindedly with his thumb, her skin like warm silk in his hand.

"Th-thank you." she stuttered, a blush darkening her cheeks. "You can let go now. I guess that's a sign, right?"

The shade within him screeched in frustration. There were so many responses to that, but no way he could share any of them. Nature itself was teasing him.

Frustration was an old friend. For Tristan, his fetish was about descending into the depths together and discovering pleasure. He needed consent for that, but was too afraid of rejection to ask anyone. That first time with Stacy, he'd just spent almost the whole time obsessing that she wasn't enjoying herself. He remembered how incredible it had been for him the second time, after Stacy asked him not to stop. He'd almost cum right then. He was at least passable at this Master stuff; she'd come ba... cum quite explosively. Hooray! His first social skill. Anti-social skill. Whatever.

When he finally gave up trying to answer Alice's question, he found she'd skipped off down the path without him. He didn't move, just looked at her, tapping his foot. Eventually she turned back to check on him, glared, and realizing he wasn't about to try to catch up, ran back to his side. They walked on together.

"Y... you call me a pervert, but you're the one asking all these filthy questions." He asked as they resumed their endless circuit of the grounds. "What about you?"

"No way, can you imagine me doing anything kinky?" she gestured to herself.

Tristan used her tacit permission to take in as much of her as he could. Alice's rounded face, her lissome figure, small breasts, generous ass, long coltish legs. The purity of spirit which animated her, taunting the malevolent force inside him. He wanted to stain this innocence with experience, to mark her. His frustration with his own loose lips around her inflamed his desire.

"I'm an adorable..." She continued, but Tristan was no longer listening.

Even as Alice spoke, he mentally bound her. He imagined her wearing a blindfold... no, instead imagine the look in her eyes - rebellious, challenging, embarrassment melting into remembered and anticipated pleasure. Her innocence dented, becoming something else. Yes. Her raven black hair in disarray. Her cute face elongated as she tried to accommodate a ball gag, the red plastic obscenely parting her pink lips, her restless tongue forcibly silenced. Her saliva dripping from its holes. The liquid forging a sinuous trail down her cheek as it flowed, tracing a path down her chin, dripping down her cleavage, meandering around her curves. Sullying her. Sinful. The glistening moisture mirroring his hunger. As she talked, oblivious, he could clearly imagine her sweet voice making panting groans instead.