Bound & Free Ch. 07

And she loved every - single - second. Her breathing grew deeper, faster. Her heart rate rose. Her blush warmed her face, hot and prickly. She looked down. She even could see herself flush. It covered her shoulders, the slopes of her breasts. It was undeniable, the deep rose-pink coloring obvious on her lily-white skin, hiding many of her freckles. It was like bleached white paper blotting up spilt crimson ink. Heat bloomed within her. Mmm. That felt so good. Her lip quivered.

Yes - this was it. This was the feeling she had been craving. That unique exquisite cocktail of sensation that Master provided.

"Do you feel it, slave?"

"Yessss" she hissed.

That voice was someone else's, it couldn't be her, didn't sound like her. There was need in it, there was pleading.

"Yes what?" he asked insistently.

Look buddy, you already got me to admit it, don't think I'll...

"Yes Mas-sster." she sighed.

Noooooo! Why don't you resist it Stacy? She was, dammit, she was trying to hold back with all her strength, but it just wasn't enough.

She watched as he stretched out a hand, reaching toward - of course - her breast. Men were all the same, she thought absently. Big babies, obsessed with... but at the last moment, he curled his fingers, pulling them back. Why wouldn't he touch her? She felt a sudden pain in her shoulder as it stretched. She jumped back. She'd been leaning forward, straining for his touch, chasing his fingers. Needy, desperate.

He smiled that knowing smile. He'd seen, and he knew. Of course he knew. Any shred of self-importance she had around him crumbled to dust and blew away. He really made her feel so... Wait, look at his hand, was he going to touch her for real this time?

Tristan reached out to her arm, slowly, agonizingly drawing the moment out. He held his fingertip just half an inch away from her glistening shoulder. Not this time! She leaned forward, as far as she could, and as his fingertip brushed her as gently as the petal of a flower, she felt a shiver of victory. Ha! She'd shown him. He couldn't tease her forever and... wait, he'd wanted this to happen. He'd wanted her to come to him. She'd been playing the wrong game altogether, and fallen into his trap. It was about submission. It was always about submission.

She looked up to him with surprise.

"You're a crafty bastard, Master." she said.

"I don't know what you're talking about." he said quietly. "Now shhh - I need to explore my new toy. Maybe if she's really lucky I'll even unwrap her."

She shivered in delight at his words. Imagined being unwrapped. Exposed to him. And anyone else who meandered by in this land that time forgot.

He toook his fingertip and ran it down her arm to the tip of her finger. He brushed it across her stomach and down, between her legs. She jumped at the sudden contact on her pussy. He withdrew and she thrust her hips out, trying to recapture it. He continued on his path unfazed. Up, between her breasts, not touching either. Up her clavicle, lingering lovingly over her new collar. Up her chin, over her mouth. Her lips opened automatically. Before she knew what she was doing she'd bent her head forward and sucked it into her mouth.

He stared at her, his expression unreadable. She ran her tongue over the tip, treating it like a small penis. Using all the techniques she'd learned and read about. Tristan growled and stepped forward, aggressively, animalistically. Pressed her to the bookcase behind her. The cold lanced through her but she didn't care. His nose was buried in her hair and his hand was on her ass, squeezing it, viciously mauling it without technique or refinement. She continued sucking his finger as if it were the real thing.

Still buried in her hair, he took a deep breath. His movements slowed, and stopped. To see her Master lose control scared her almost as much as it excited her. That animalism in such contrast to his control. Sure guys acted like that around her before, but there was special pleasure in taking someone so in control and pushing beyond their limits. It was exciting. It was... what he was doing for her. Had he planned this too? Impossible. Fuck, Master, please just get on with the groping and stop with the lessons.

"Sorry." he whispered into her scalp, right beside her ear.

He withdrew his finger from her mouth, a thread of saliva connecting it to her.

"Please." she begged.

Stacy didn't know if she was begging for him to put it back or to touch her again. Criminally, he then took half a step back, releasing her rump. She pined for his touch, was rewarded when she felt one of his hands stroke the sensitive skin of her neck and the other her back. Drawing long sinuous trails, soft and light as the brush of a feather. Shifting to the inside of her arms and through her hair. Lingering touches places few ever bothered to visit.

"More." she pleaded. "Please Master."

He put his hands on her hips and stared into her eyes. What? Just do it, Master. Anything. Just carry on.

Tristan's fingers dipped under the waistband of her panties. She felt the waistband tighten around her as he grasped them firmly. He was looking at her for a sign. Just do it! What's so hard about that? She bent forward and kissed his cheek.

In a single, agonizingly slow movement, he slipped her panties down her legs and to the heel of her pumps. She felt the material stick to her pussy, only reluctantly coming free. She lifted one foot then another so he could slide them off her completely. The warm dry air was somehow cool on her naked sex.

He leaned forward, his cheekbones brushing her thighs, his nose pressing just above the hood of her clitoris. He took a deep breath. Stacy was suddenly glad she'd showered, but... She squeezed her legs together in embarrassment. He let her.

Her sweat ran everywhere. He put his hands on her bare ass, waiting, one of his hands groping each hemisphere. Through them she could feel his desire. They were hot, they seared her. The impression of each one of his fingers was written into her memory. Their slight motion parted her pussy lips slightly, a motion he couldn't see but she definitely felt. Why wasn't she objecting? Well, that would be a little stupid having let him take off your panties, wouldn't it Stacy? Especially when it felt so sublime.

He waited. Why wasn't he doing anything? Was he just waiting for her? Did she always have to be the one to concede? She needed more, wanted to demand it, wanted to force him to touch her. She opened her mouth to do just that, and shut it again. She was being stupid. The submission was the point. She had to give in, or they wouldn't go any further.

A Stacy felt a chill as she remembered this was a public space. How had she forgotten? It was him; he'd made her forget, he was driving her crazy. Her master. Ever diligent, Stacy looked left and right frantically, to see if they were about to be discovered. She was so overheated she could barely see the books on the shelves, let alone people. But she'd done it, and her conscience let her rest. Now she could focus. Focus on his hands, which still cupped her ass, unmoving. Through their mere audacious presence, they slowly brought her to the boil. His face in front of her steaming pussy, right up against her pubis.

She remembered her collar - in this moment, all responsibility was his. She didn't need to worry about anything. The fear swept away, and the void was like oxygen to embers. Her passion burst into flame. Was anyone else here? Did she care? She had to, her reputation... let everyone find her, all that crap wasn't for her anyway. She grinned fiercely, though no-one was around to see it. Her face took on a wanton expression she'd never allowed herself to make. This was just for her. She'd earned the right to a little selfishness. She felt the possibilities unfurl; her libido unchained. She opened her legs, wide, proud, trusting. Her Master could worry about any sweat, that wasn't for her to think about.

Her newfound confidence lasted until she felt his rough tongue lick her pussy, top to bottom. She almost jumped out of her skin. It was far too sensitive. She stared down at him through her body, her chest rapidly rising to occlude him and falling to reveal him, as if she were watching a perverted video that cut out every half second.

"Ma-master!" Stacy exclaimed in shock.

They hadn't even kissed. What kind of hussy let someone eat her cunt before doing that? And she still hadn't returned the favor after the last time he'd made her explode. She was hit with the bizarre feeling she was taking advantage of Tristan. How ridiculous - he'd publicly manacled her to this shelf in just her bra! What... The collar, Stacy, remember the collar. Feel it gripping tightly, that hindrance. A limitation of her own making. It wasn't her place to worry, she didn't need to. She just had to feel.

He stroked her thighs, uncaringly brushing his fingers through her liquid silk secretions. Gathering them, spreading them. His hands were demanding, restless. They slid over her skin, lubricated by her own excitement, pushing her further into the abyss. He had no respect for any boundary, sliding in alternate directions, brushing endlessly over her thighs, her opening, even her ass. He ran his fingers over and over so it many times by the time she had gathered breath between her moans it was pointless to protest anymore. She had no secrets, nothing she wanted to hide from him. Every second he touched her was better than the last, more powerful, more delicious. The mindless progression of his hands suddenly made sense. He was finding her sensitive spots and mercilessly focusing his attention there.

Her body shook, her fetters gave a metallic screech. She couldn't hear it, she only had ears for the wet, slick sounds of his movements. Her arms were beginning to ache. She couldn't feel it, her whole body was focused on drawing out every bit of pleasure from this. Her eyes... wait, he'd stopped.

"Don't stop," she moaned, "Master, please, you're too cruel. I was getting so close."

What was he doing now? Stacy stared down the landscape of her own skin, the humid hills and valleys she normally liked to admire were just in the way. If she angled her shoulders like this, her hips like that, then... She was just in time to see his finger gently prod the entrance to her vagina. That incomparable sensation of being touched just where she needed spread out from the area. A rush of satisfaction and a roar of hunger. The feeling raced through her, found her building heat, melded with it, drove it wild. She felt her muscles clench around the invader, tried to draw it inside, to fulfil her craving.

She opened her legs further, encouraging him. She felt that first, wonderful penetration, each of his knuckle sliding smoothly past the muscle at her entrance. He pumped his finger in and out, twisting it. He added a second, stretching her. She gripped them tightly, impeded their progress just enough he'd know how tight she was, how ready. Men liked that, right? Lucky she did her Kegels.

He moved both of his fingers around oddly, like he was looking for something. She was about to say something to him, when he stopped. His palm was facing him, his fingers somewhere inside that made her feel very strange. Of course he'd find somewhere she wasn't used to being touched. He was still methodically seeking out places where she was extra sensitive. Tristan tapped that spot tentatively. Something toward the front. That - felt very strange. She'd better say something.

She opened her mouth but couldn't get out anything more than a moan.

Ah - wait, Tristan that's... she felt a bundle of nerves send waves of pleasure through her. It was like he'd engaged an outboard motor. He pumped his fingers in and out of her, tapping that spot incessantly. Like the beat of a metronome, a drummer on her vessel to oblivion. Her honey and his motion made an obscene liquid sound of rapture, like a dozen oars in the water.

She drifted off and was lost.

She inhaled, a deep, powerful, shuddering breath and her mental dialogue was suddenly external.

"I'm gonna cum Master, I'm almost there," she babbled. "Almost, that's perfect, just keep doing that, that's..."

She stopped breathing and her body locked up. He wasn't just pushing her over, he was pulling her up, into the sky. She shook in the chains, rattling the bookcase more violently than she had before. Several books fell off the shelves. Freezing steel touched her skin and was hot a moment later. The row of books behind her were pushed through to the other side and fell with an odd noise, like they'd hit something on the other side.

A pressure built in her which hadn't ever built before. She tried to open her mouth to stop him but couldn't form the words. It was too late anyway. The dam broke, she overflowed.

Stacy's eyes were tightly shut, but she still heard the sound of liquid hitting the floor, felt the moisture on her legs. Still he didn't stop.

"Fuckkk!" she whispered.

The sensations were overwhelming. This time she saw. A jet of ejaculate shot out of her, hit his hand and sprayed everywhere. Another. Another.

Her orgasm faded. It was too sensitive, uncomfortable. Had she peed herself? No. Whatever it was, she didn't care. She was Master's, if he didn't tell her to worry she wouldn't. But she was getting quite sore now after her peak.

"Please, M-master, sstopp" she moaned, trying to make eye contact.

He released her immediately, yanking his fingers out of her embrace painfully. Stacy gasped at the rough feeling. That part had been artless, completely different from the wonderful way he'd touched her earlier. Surely Tristan knew he needed to ease his way out of a woman slowly? Did he really have that little experience? Then how did he do that... whatever it was? What was he, a savant? Could just reading her reactions really... He really did know her body better than she did. Well, if he needed someone to practice on, now he had her, his very own slave. She even had the collar to prove it.

~~~~

You can't realistically expect a college library to be deserted at any time of day. Of course they were caught. With that level of noise? Practically guaranteed. People find their way to otherwise disused sections for peace and quiet. Especially when papers are due. Sometimes just to think.

And Ryan? He'd had a lot of thinking to do. About how Stacy had suddenly demanded a break, sinking his ambitions. About what that strange rattling noise was, those moans. And now, about this fucker who was fingering her. Pity Ryan couldn't see his face. Never mind - he had the bitch cornered like an animal now. No, not physically, though he could jump out at them - but he'd learned that was a temporary high at best. He had her cornered socially, emotionally, had her fate in his hand. That power was true pleasure. So far in their relationship the power had always been Stacy's. Not any more.

Sure he was angry now, but not at what was happening, not really. His ego ached at how she'd dumped him so easily. This guy? He was a mild irritant, easily ignored, should he choose. He hadn't decided. He debated either beating the guy up or kissing him for the new possibility he'd created. Both those options would be petty, small things. Confronting her now would be cathartic, but it would mean she had time to make her own moves. He could wait around and find out who it was, but he had things to do now. There was no time for that anymore. It was all a big game, and he'd put her in checkmate.

No, he decided quickly - he'd be magnanimous. Let her have her fun, for now. This would be her last fling. He'd get far more pleasure dumping this on her all at once, a fait accompli. He was focused on a bigger goal: the future. Now he'd caught her, compromised, on video. He would have his prize soon. He imagined the moment Stacy realized he'd outmaneuvered her. That she was his. That sublime expression of shock on her face would more than pay for his self-control now. Him, Ryan, the one she called 'the idiot' with all her society friends. Or so they'd told him.

This would fix everything. He would have her, and all she represented. Now he'd get everything he wanted. He already had a career in football locked down. This would give him connections from old money - regardless of their current woes, her family still had all the connections his lacked. The respect his family lacked. Society could call his family nouveau riche all they wanted, but once he merged his family with Stacy's no-one would dare look down on them ever again. As a bonus Stacy was the textbook picture of a trophy wife. And image was everything. She didn't have to like him. It's not like he was going to go to her for anything other than sex. He'd have one mistress for each need.

No, Stacy just had to play her part and stand by his side. Make him look good. It's what she was born to do. Her father had basically promised his that already before she'd announced their 'break'. He put his phone away and retreated. There was no point watching further. Ryan would take this right to both their parents, tonight.

~~~~

Perhaps there was a cruel force manipulating fate. It definitely felt cruel to Alice. Through her vantage from the shelf right behind Stacy's perky butt, Alice saw some movement through the books opposite her. So this little scene had two voyeurs. Who was it? Whoever it was, they were leaving in an awful hurry. Stacy and Tristan were focused only on one another, there's no way they'd noticed the bulky-looking spy. Alice felt the urge to investigate pull at her but she couldn't bear to tear herself away from the scene.

Tristan - that asshole! Surely he could read between the lines, knew that when Alice had said 'Say hi to Stacy' she meant that she felt threatened by Stacy. She didn't mean to literally go say hi for her - moron! Anyway, how was he that good at fingering women? He knew just what buttons to press to get Stacy to cum. To rock Alice's world. And he claimed to be a virgin - a virgin my ass! What did he take her for, an idiot? She'd need her turn soon. No, she'd never speak to him again. She'd better tell him that in costume - sorry, person. No, she'd cut him out of her life, a clean break. Or maybe they could be like sex friends? Eww, Alice, that was just libido talking. She wasn't like that. Sure hanging with him was fun and the sex was great but... Wait, what had she been thinking about again?

Fuck Stacy was gorgeous. Now Alice had started looking at Stacy that way she just kept finding more things that attracted her. Why would Tristan ever want flat-chested childish Alice when he had this buxom polished goddess chasing him? Plus Tristan - the bastard - had somehow completely flipped the tables on the status quo. She hadn't even imagined that was possible. Stacy sure didn't look that refined right now, more fucked out. Though, she reminded herself, they hadn't fucked yet. This time.

Well maybe that's what they were about to do - shit. She didn't want to see that. She longed to watch it. No she didn't. Yes... yes she did. They should get on with it, shouldn't keep their audience waiting. Impatient curiosity burned a hole in her gut. Her pussy ached, longing to feel something, anything.

Alice stared at Stacy. Her makeup was ruined, but she still looked great. Unfair. Whoa, look at him, he was covered in her nectar. Had Alice looked as good as Stacy, after Tristan had brought her to orgasm? Yeah right, she thought. Maybe with extensive plastic surgery. Even then Alice would probably be dumped the second Stacy called.

He looked soaked and ridiculously pleased with himself. It was different seeing it as an observer. Tristan was clearly overjoyed Stacy had squirted. Alice felt stupid for running off now. Alice hadn't even looked at him. Perhaps she'd have seen this expression on his face. If she'd stayed would the girl chained here be her rather than Stacy? Alice definitely knew how Stacy felt right now. Minus the restraints, of course - Stacy was completely helpless. Alice shivered in sympathy and another emotion she skipped over. Jealousy. Fuck. Her pussy throbbed painfully.