Bound & Free Ch. 07

His voice faded away into the background as they bickered. Would it kill them to plan what they were going to say? Come on, guys. Do the whole comedy routine later. Tristan was expecting a text from Stacy any moment now!

"Unhand me you horny..." his father's voice said in mock sternness as he approached the microphone. "Look, Tristan, I've got to go, your mom's in a... mood."

"Sure, dad. Speak with you guys later." Tristan shook his head, trying to clear it of their nonsense.

"No, wait! I called to say we're running a little low on the old cashish. Barer than a pregnant stripper's g-string. So, er... you know..."

"Yeah, I'll help out if I can. But if you're worrying about me then don't - I'll be fine, dad." Tristan said, resigned to his fate.

He wouldn't be fine, especially now Alice had crushed most of his inventory. It would be tuna and noodles, forever. Maybe he could get by on just one of the two? Or a loan? No - he refused to get into the same situation as his parents.

"Thanks son. You're awesome." his dad said, relieved. "I've still got some pride though - you keep your ill-gotten dollars for you. Your foxy momma and I will get by. Remember to live your truth."

Tristan heard amorous kissing sounds over the speaker before the call cut off.

He put his cell phone back in his pocket, filled with that old mix of familial love and impotent frustration, a familiar hallmark of dealing with his parents. Tristan then remembered what he was out here for in the first place, and brought it back out, checking his messages. Damn - he'd received a message during that call! How long had he kept Stacy waiting? Stop thinking about that, idiot, just read it! He opened the message as rapidly as he could. Oh - another image?

Stacy had photographed her neck. She wearing something; her slender white neck was desecrated by glossy black leather. It looked like a choker, one with a pendant attached. On her it was somehow profane, erotic, titillating. Tristan's mouth fell open. His cock surged back to full hardness. That was... what had she done to herself? Words couldn't express how much he loved this gift. This was far beyond anything he'd expected.

If he tilted his head, it kind-of looked like a dog collar. There was something makeshift, hurried, stuck onto the dangling silver like an afterthought. A little piece of paper held on by basic cellulose tape. Her owner's name. It said "Tristan".

Tristan felt his body heat up, his spine straighten. Nothing could stop him. The night felt warmer, the moon providing ample lighting, chasing away the creeping demons, unmasking them as mere pretenders. This night was his. The midnight shadows were his cloak, the stars his options, stretching out infinitely. His doubts vanished, perhaps gone forever.

His reply was never in doubt.

"Wear it. Come now."

He ran off to meet her.

~~~~

Stacy stepped out into the cool night air, freshly showered, feeling like a hundred eyes were on her. She took a step backward but felt the door shut behind her with a magnetic click. Cutting off the way back to her normal life.

Little fingers of frigid air crept up inside her long coat and through her damp hair, as if exploring her body. Of course it was the coat from the restaurant, she couldn't help being a little bit sentimental. Cinching her belt tighter, she took a step into the open. Her collar was a reassuring yet constraining presence around her neck. That was a weird feeling.

The campus grounds were well lit, but darkness contained many predators. She knew how to defend herself, but there was always that threat, at night. She clenched her fist. Luckily there were still groups of people milling around. There was always someone about on the campus grounds. Look, right there was a boisterous group of people, their friend creeping up on them from behind and causing them to shriek and run about. Some guy chatting with a girl - boy she looked pissed off. Stacy caught the girl's eye and cocked her head, sending her a wordless offer of assistance. The girl shook her head minutely in response; she was fine. Stacy didn't envy the guy his groveling. She smiled, remembering the many times she'd been on the receiving end of those pleas. This night was a little different for her.

Running toward her was a tall slim man, looking a bit shellshocked, in an awful hurry. He looked kind of familiar. Recognition struck.

"What are you doing here?" Stacy hissed at Tristan. "You're supposed to be at the library!"

He stopped a few feet away, panting, undignified. Typical. His hair was a mess, as always. His wide shoulders heaved, those hands she liked so much on his knees. He really did have nice legs, she thought to herself. He'd clearly thrown on the first t-shirt he'd seen - a nice simple black one which complimented his slim physique - and his shoes were on the wrong feet, but... he had been hurrying to meet her. She felt a warmth shining in her heart and a smile crept onto her lips.

"I-I came to collect my property." he said briefly.

He drew himself up to his full height, his eyes looking through her, daring her to contradict him. Arousal warred with insult inside her.

"I - I'm not your property!" she exclaimed, scandalized.

"Are you wearing your collar?" he asked.

His question was devastating, cutting through her, laying her bare. How could he bring it up like that? Of... of course she was. She felt her cheeks almost sizzling as they heated. She hung her head.

"Just take it off and you'll be your own woman again." he offered.

She looked up at him, eyes blazing.

"We agreed you wouldn't offer to stop anymore. I trust you. You're Mr Nice Guy..." Stacy said, trailing off at the end.

His hard, glittering eyes reaped her defiance, slicing it to chaff.

"I believe you begged me to stop offering you a way out, slave." his tone was glacial. "I don't remember agreeing. Now, tell me why I'm here."

Stacy tried to speak but couldn't form her thoughts into a coherent sentence. How could she? She barely understood why herself, even after agonizing over this all she had were a flood of emotions. How could she properly convey the fact that after their... meetings, she was feeling the least stress she had in years? Like she'd taken a weight off her back, relieved a pain on her temples she hadn't even known was there. She couldn't even contemplate giving that up. Besides, it wouldn't be efficient. Maybe she should explain that for days after their dalliance in the restaurant, she hadn't needed any chemical help to sleep, focus or settle her stomach?

Stacy couldn't deny it had helped her. She wanted - no, needed - to be tied up. She shouldn't want it. She didn't know why it worked, but that didn't matter. She was a pragmatist. Her conclusion was pure logic. She'd asked her ex, the person who should have done the job, and it had been a disaster. Something about the way Master did it had infected her, his mix of tentative and confident, caring and cruel. And he could keep a secret. She was still terrified Ryan would blab. It would be catastrophic for the respect people had for her. It would cut the intricate tapestry she was trying to weave, slice the bottom out of her hopes for meeting her parents' expectations. For a smile or kind word from them.

That was why. Did you get that, Tristan?

"So you want me to guess. Fine. Let's get to the library and I'll show you Mr Nice Guy."

He marched off without waiting for her response. Stacy trotted behind him.

"Yes." she said, breathlessly.

He stopped, turned and stared at her. Stacy grabbed his hand, trying to pull him along the path, but he wouldn't budge. He just looked at her expectantly.

Fuck, he wanted her to say it. She wouldn't, she couldn't... But she already had, if only in her head. What was the difference? The point in resisting? Her collar subtly hugged her, new and different, making itself known with every breath. A mark of submission, of freedom to simply feel. She knew what she'd say. He knew it too. Why delay it?

"Yes... Master." she said, so quietly she barely heard it herself.

Her knees weakened as shame tried to sweep her away. She'd told him. She'd actually called him Master out loud. She'd barely even admitted it to herself, and now he already knew...

Tristan, attentive as always, caught her, propped her up. Put her arm around his shoulder until she could walk under her own power. He was beaming a megawatt smile, his satisfaction obvious. Strong when she was weak. Asshole. This couldn't be happening. She had completely exposed herself to him. In a daze, she allowed him to lead her though the quad to the library. She just meekly followed his back, still reeling as they reached the building. Absentmindedly she scanned her pass, and security let her through. The musty smell of books and dust barely registered. They descended some stairs, went through a couple of rooms of books and ended up in a part of the library that seemed even quieter than the rest.

Finally they stopped. What she saw of the floor was clean, but it smelled disused, alien, like the place had barely seen a human in months. Racks of the cheapest metal bookshelves she could imagine stretched to the edge of the room over a hundred feet away. There was an abnormal hush in the air, like a blanket lay over everything, muffling it. The place drank in sound. Their footsteps and breathing sounded odd.

A metallic 'click-click-click' sound made her jump, shocking her back to reality. Where was Master? She looked around.

"Ah, back with us I see, slave. I've taken the liberty of making use of these." a chunky aluminum handcuff dangled from his finger.

Her hand flew to her pocket, or tried to. There was a metallic clang and a sudden blunt pressure on her wrist. She couldn't move her right arm more than half an inch. Her wrist was handcuffed to the shelf! She hadn't even felt it happen.

Tristan stepped back, looking a little concerned. With her left hand she awkwardly patted all her pockets. Phone, keys, purse... Empty. The handcuffs were gone.

"You found them." she said in surprise.

Obviously, idiot. Did he just conjure these ones up with his magical dom powers? Clearly she'd been more out of it than she thought. Her right hand was stretched out to her side, perpendicular to her shoulder, as comfortable as it could be given the situation. Manacled to the shelf. Her left hand was still free. She felt fine, a little distracted but fine.

He frowned at her.

"If at any point you want to..." he stopped as she shot him an angry look.

He shrugged, surprising her. He'd grown a little. She had too, but perhaps a bit more.

"Tie me up - please." she requested, the words only causing a slight flush of embarrassment now. "Please M-mm-Master." That one was harder.

He took her left wrist in his hand, his touch gentle, almost caressing her skin. He lifted it slowly, bringing it to the side as the same height and...

"Please wait." Stacy said.

Tristan let go immediately, and her hand dropped so quickly she barely had time to stop before it hit the shelf painfully.

"Geez, Tris, I was only going to ask you to take my coat off first." she said ruefully.

"I, er - right." he said, with a cute smile.

Had she really just thought he was cute? She had to get back on track here.

"Tris - let's talk seriously for a sec. I asked you here so we could talk about how this will work."

She tried to gesture with her right hand but could only flap it back and forth in its metal prison. The ridiculous situation didn't escape either of them. How embarrassing! They exchanged a look of surprise. Tristan laughed as she blushed. When he was done, he spoke.

"Go ahead." he said seriously.

Stacy marshalled her thoughts, putting the scattered pieces back in place on her mental chessboard. She needed to be bound. It was efficient stress relief. But she couldn't get caught, or everything she'd built for herself, for her parents, would be ruined. They needed her help. What Tristan did worked, and worked well, but it was too risky. So they had to agree a safer way to do this, a reliable framework for her to predictably get her... medicine.

"Thank you. I'm sure you know I have a reputation - I have to protect that, protect the links I'm building for my family." she explained, "I am... stressed. Really, I feel like I'm carrying the whole world sometimes. I wish I could just..."

He cocked his head, curious, but didn't interrupt. She didn't want to get into it so she pushed on.

"...but you're not interested in that. Look, I need this. Sometimes. To be tied up." she took a deep, shaky breath, closing her eyes. "I don't know why and I'm not going to look at it. Would you mind... helping me, in private? On demand?"

She sniffed, her head bowed. Why did she want this? It was a wrench in her plans, a sword dangling over her neck. No-one would understand. She had no friends, only efficient relationships. Even Tristan had reason to hate her, when they'd met she'd only been trying to humiliate him. Tears of frustration, of self-loathing pricked her eyes and she viciously fought them back.

Unexpectedly, she felt his arms wrap around her, soft and strong, comforting. To his credit, he didn't say anything, he must have recognized that she just wanted support. She leaned into his sturdy neck for a moment. Saw the healing scars from the marks her teeth had left. Pull yourself together, Stacy, she told herself. You haven't complained about your situation since you were a child. You can't do anything else; your parents, your network, everyone's expecting something from you. Push yourself forward, one step at a time. Play your part. You've been doing this for years. You can do it for many more. With Tristan's help, you definitely can.

They stood like that for a moment, and just as she recovered, she felt his hands slip down to her waist, sliding slowly to her stomach. Perfect timing, Master, Stacy thought to herself. He hesitated only a moment before grasping her belt. He undid it, his movements smooth and controlled. Stacy's jacket fell partially open, but Tristan didn't stop. He tugged at her sleeve, and she felt the thick fabric fall from her shoulder to dangle on her trapped arm. The warm dry air greeted her skin. Her coat rustled as it settled, draped on her outstretched limb.

Tristan's eyes were fixed on her body. He sucked in a shuddering breath, his brain disconnected. Ha! She cheered internally. It had all been worth it for that reaction.

She grinned, fully confident, only partially bound, only partially clothed. A hair tie. Her fantastically inappropriate collar. Her black lacy bra and matching panties... and that was it. Almost matching, she amended. With the afternoon she'd had, the originals weren't fit to wear until they'd been washed.

Stacy decided to tease him, as she'd practiced. She ran her free hand slowly down from her neck through her cleavage, over her stomach, her mons, dipping between her legs. Coming to rest there. Lightly touching and...

"Stop." he ordered.

She released herself abruptly, her body responding before her mind caught up. Come on, she admonished herself, can't we resist Tristan just a little? This was meant to be the big tease she'd planned on. She sighed, pouting.

She silently watched his eyes as he scanned her, and it amused her to imagine speaking with him. Yes, Master, that bra is the one from the photo. My collar? Of course you remember my little DIY project. I made it for you. Why don't you introduce yourself, don't be shy. It has your name on it after all. I...

Her thoughts fell away as she felt the warmth of his hand on her left wrist again. His touch was still gentle, but she felt the twitches in his fingers. She had just enough time for a moment's further smug reflection before the cool handcuffs on her wrist sapped her body heat and her next thoughts.

'Click-click-click'. Tristan - no, when they were like this, he was Master. When Master loosened his grip, Stacy's calm equilibrium started to fall away, little by little. Like a snowball starting an avalanche.

She tried to move her left wrist. She tested the left just in case it had changed. Aluminum clanged unpleasantly on steel, quickly absorbed by the surrounding mass of books. Both of them moved by only about half an inch. She tried both of them at once. Solid. Both her arms were spread at shoulder height. Wide apart, as if she was about to embrace someone. A parody of a hug. Master had outdone himself. But it wasn't going to be that easy to restrain her.

She frantically thought through her options. Tentatively, she tried to move her feet, but found anything more than a half-step wrenched at her shoulder painfully. She was chained in the very center of a massive shelf of hardback books in all the dullest colors she could imagine. Stretching out like wings over 25 feet on either side of her. Another identical shelf sat just two paces in front - but it might as well have been on the moon, she couldn't hope to reach it. She thought they were in the middle of the room, in a forest of similar shelves, but she hadn't been paying attention back then.

"Mmm" he drawled, just out of range, observing her escape attempts. "Yes, this is nice work."

She had put on just her lacy bra and panties. To tease him. It seemed so silly now, in this situation, under the utilitarian lights above them. Her practically nude body was exposed to anyone who walked past. Her arms outstretched. Completely unable to cover herself. In a completely public space. What the hell had she been feeling so smug about earlier? Her coat, like her pride, was warped, drooping uselessly from one arm. It swung as she struggled, tickling her knee. She couldn't even scratch that itch. She was helpless, almost naked. At Master's mercy.

She tried to escape a little more seriously now. It couldn't be that easy to restrain her, it just couldn't. Her arms wouldn't move side to side either. Not in the same direction, not in opposite directions. How had he restricted her movement so perfectly, on the spur of the moment? She tried to slide gently, then more roughly. In one direction, in any direction, in every direction. She thrashed like a mad woman until she was using most of her bodyweight against her bindings. Why wouldn't they give? She had to get out.

Her ass bounced on the shelf behind her. She gasped, jumping at the cold sensation of the metal shelves pressing against the bare flesh of her back, on her uncovered ass. A few books fell over. That was the sum total of her achievements. She stopped. Her face was flushed. She was panting, sweating from exertion. Taking great gasps of air. Her hair was in her face, and she couldn't even brush it away. The smell of parchment and her sweat lay heavy in the still air.

All through this Master watched her with an amused smile. She'd asked him here to talk. To TALK. And he'd... But what had she been expecting when she'd brought those handcuffs with her? She'd obviously wanted... No, she hadn't. Don't be stupid, of course she had. She'd consciously put them in her pocket before leaving. Hadn't she? She couldn't remember. She couldn't even remember something that had happened ten minutes ago. This is what he did to her. Fucking - Master!

How the mighty have fallen. All her connections, all her careful plans for her life. And here she was. Panting, sweating, a wreck. In public. In her underwear. Was this what she wanted? She moaned, a single sound containing her frustration and... arousal. Somewhere inside her was an incongruous desire to be bound by this man. And emptiness. And desperation. And hunger.

Finally, she met Tristan's eyes. Her Master. He was watching her calmly. She knew if she asked, he'd release her with a single word. She tried to squash that feeling down but it rocketed back to the surface no matter how hard she tried to suppress it. He'd release her. So this was all her choice. He wouldn't stop reminding her, and she couldn't deny it, couldn't bury it. She was choosing to spread herself open like a book with smutty illustrations. The master only enabled her.