Bound & Free Ch. 08

Author's vanity note: thank you for your messages. I promise Alice was never in danger; I was merely curious. My little question also came at almost precisely the wrong point plot-wise, which you'll see in the next chapter. Bad timing; pretend I never asked. I'm sorry. Never expect good behavior from an alligator.

~~~~

Harsh strip lighting buzzed overhead, looking down on them disapprovingly. Stacy's deep exhalations were swallowed by the mass of paper in the long tangle of shelves surrounding them. Her arms were flung open wide, each of her wrists gripped unmercifully by warm metal. Down between her legs Tristan held her in a far gentler embrace. She felt sweat drip down her pale skin, down the expanse of her stomach, her back, her ass. The cool overhead illumination was caught and reflected by the aluminum, by the trails of moisture on her body, by his eyes. That indifferent brilliance was converted to little glimmers of warmth by their efforts. His kind brown eyes gazed up at her with a blend of pleasure, satisfaction and surprise, mirroring her own feelings.

A stream of her honey stained her thighs, her legs, the carpet. Stacy panted, unable to gather the breath to speak. It was as if her long ice blonde hair had melted; it was everywhere, over her face, in her eyes, in her mouth. Stacy didn't care. She basked in the aftermath of her orgasm as it faded slowly away. Steam rose from her body.

Gradually, as so often happens in life, discomfort began to displace pleasure. Stacy hung painfully from her arms, dangling from the library shelf, her manacles not just holding her in place but holding her up. Painfully cutting into her wrists.

"I..." Stacy panted.

"It's okay, Stacy. I'll get you out." he said, in a worried voice.

She felt him prop her up, leaned on him. He reached out to her restraints. One by one he unlocked them, her hands falling limp to her sides.

"I can't cum anymore." she whimpered. "Sore."

"Sorry." he said.

He helped her slump to the floor, controlling her descent, supporting her. Feeling slowly returned to her hands as Tristan held her in his arms. She smiled tiredly at him in response to his guilty look. Tristan massaged her wrists with gentle soothing motions.

Stacy reached behind herself, reaching for her bra clasp. She winced at how damp the fabric was. In one movement she unsnapped her bra, releasing her breasts, sighing at the sudden release of that constant pressure. That felt so much better. Plus, if she didn't miss her guess, Tristan... yes, his's gaze had snapped to her nipples as if they had magnets embedded in them. Why was he only typical during moments like this? He was a bizarre guy, like an oddly-shaped puzzle piece, destined to not quite fit. That's probably why these sessions worked so well for her, it was like he challenged and supported her just as she needed. It was a pity, it was unlikely that Tristan could be truly himself with that girl he was dating. She'd kissed her; what was her name again? Elizabeth? Mathilda? It'd been some storybook name, she hadn't had the time to come up with a mnemonic yet. No matter.

"You're not going to run off now?" Tristan enquired.

Stacy frowned in confusion.

"Alice couldn't wait to get away from me." he shrugged.

Stacy wasn't surprised; Alice looked like the girl next door. Sex with the lights off until marriage, and then missionary on his birthday thereafter. Perhaps a blowjob or two when she wanted something, no attempt to achieve anything for herself. She knew women like that, hated them for their inept dependency. If Stacy had the freedom to choose someone she liked she wouldn't play games, would share all of herself. But that wasn't an option, Stacy had the burden of a Family Name to uphold, noblesse oblige and all that shit.

Mind you, she could be wrong about Alice, she thought idly. Their kiss had held whispers of promise. Maybe she'd be a good match for him, when Stacy moved on. So apparently, she'd fled, scared or something. If Tristan wanted a full relationship with Alice, he would have to use his skill to draw her out of her shell. But unless she let him do this kind of stuff with her, it's unlikely they'd ever realize it. It was a damn shame. But it was not her problem.

"Talking about other women?" Stacy tutted. "That's only going to upset a girl. Lucky this slave is made of tougher stuff. No, I think I owe you a little something now." Stacy said.

"Thanks. But no need." Tristan shook his head.

She ignored Tristan, pulling on him, wordlessly gesturing to him he should stand up. As usual he understood her, stood quickly. She rose onto her knees in front of him, looking around. Just books, only books. She didn't hear anything either. It was dangerous, they could be caught any moment, but it was late evening now and she hadn't heard anything since she'd been in here. Stacy slowly rubbed her naked breasts into his hips, feeling the rough fabric of his jeans tease her stiff nipples.

Quickly, with expert movements, Stacy undid his belt and slipped a hand inside, levering out his hardness. She hissed as she saw its size. She couldn't help admiring it. Turning it this way and that, tracing the veins over its surface with her finger. It wasn't as long as her ex's, but it was girthy. She could barely fit her hand around it. She looked up at him to see his reaction. He was trying to say something but couldn't get it out - just as well really, she wasn't sure how she'd react if he ordered her to stop. Wasn't that strange? She'd spent years predicting how various interactions would play out and now she didn't even know herself. The thrill of obedience or the siren song of doing what she wanted.

This was the only part of him that yelled his dominance. At that thought Stacy snorted in amusement. His cock - looked very nice indeed. Powerful. Honestly this was as much for her as for him. She wanted to do this for herself, as well as show him how much she appreciated that stupendous orgasm. Now she'd balance the equation.

She took his penis into her cleavage, capturing it in her softness. Smirking as he groaned. She'd almost moaned herself, the pleasure more mental than physical. She felt its scalding heat, felt it throbbing with his heartbeat. She felt powerful. Submissive, but powerful. It was the strangest feeling, another on the list of new feelings on Tristan's ledger.

"Feeling guilty, Master? Don't be. I'm much bigger than Alice, right?" she said, her voice husky. "She couldn't do this."

There was a small noise from the bookshelf behind her. She'd knocked some books off the shelf earlier. It was probably the books settling. She barely turned. She was past caring.

~~~~

"Bitch!" Alice exclaimed quietly, before clapping a hand over her mouth.

How could she?! Alice didn't move a muscle, locked in place as the thought whirled inside. Her anger buried by the fear they'd discover her watching. There'd be no way Alice could explain why she was peeping on them with her blouse wrinkled, her jeans unbuttoned and her fingers questing deep inside herself. It would be best if she put herself back together, right now. She tried, but she couldn't coax her hand to move an inch. Her fingers curled inside herself. It was like it wasn't even her limb. It was just as stubborn as she was. Maybe it knew something she didn't. Maybe it wanted to be caught.

The couple was just carrying on - it appeared she was in the clear. As the fear receded Alice felt shame pool in her eyes, in her heart. It was lucky they didn't notice her little gasp. Unlucky. Lucky. Either way her life kept its consistency, she was being discarded, being rejected. This was just like before. Just like high school. A random popular, more beautiful woman who'd won the genetic lottery would take away the man she was... dating, let's call it dating. It was happening again. And no-one would care, they would call her desperate, they would tell her to let it go, they'd support their queen. Alice felt awful, she wanted to escape. Considering what happened next maybe she should have, but her eyes were fixed onto the scene through the obscuring books. Some of which had fallen on her during Stacy's spectacular orgasm earlier. Alice's core throbbed needily, demanding. Jealous.

It was like Alice was two people. The insult didn't stop part of her from feeling Tristan, that inconsiderate moron, tug at her heart. It didn't prevent her from finding Stacy, that backstabbing bitch, enticing, kissable. Stacy's verbal knife hadn't changed anything, in fact it was about what she'd have expected. It proved Stacy wasn't different, just a bully at heart, like the rest of her ilk. Despite that Alice was maybe even more attracted to Stacy than before, after seeing her chained up, her staid respectable facade cracked irreparably. She wanted to watch it shatter completely, maybe even join in.

If she were there, if she forgave them, if she were confident enough to reveal herself, what then? Would she join Tristan's side, or Stacy's? Alice couldn't decide. She'd join both - this was the hottest thing she'd ever seen. She'd join neither - they'd betrayed her, somehow. Alice burned, impotent. She could only watch as it played out, Stacy sliding her voluptuous chest enthusiastically up and down Tristan's swollen manhood like an expensive whore.

To be fair she didn't know Stacy, just labelled her as the type with doting parents and a silver spoon shoved up her lovely round ass. The buttoned-up prefect type... though that image was undergoing radical renovation. In public! They were doing this in the library! Alice could never do anything like this, it was just wrong. Disgusting. Morally bankrupt.

How could Alice possibly compete with this depth of depravity? She'd always been a good girl. She always would be. Ms Naughty wasn't her. Was it? It couldn't be, it was just wrong. A small voice within her spoke up. Who was she trying to impress with her chaste piousness? Certainly not Stacy, who had everything Alice wanted. Not Tristan, who obviously loved it when Stacy did what he wanted. What she wanted. Why not just try it? Don't finish that thought! She better think of something else, right now, or else.

There! Stacy was wearing some kind of uneven, homemade collar. Alice had seen it earlier but now she fixated on it. A quick-and-dirty custom dog collar? So shameless. So hot. The black glossy leather gripping Stacy's slender neck marred her bone-white skin, manifestly wrong on her, more conspicuous somehow for that dissonance. It was a statement, breaking the preppy stereotype she normally projected. It made this all more obscene than simple nudity.

Traitorously Alice's mind brought up a memory: Alice had also worn Tristan's collar. She was like Stacy after all. They had both submitted to him. But Alice's collar was a lot nicer, and suited her better, like it had been made for her. She still had it. Just an hour ago she'd tried it on, admiring it in the mirror. The warm orange copper complimented her dark skin and the iron chain was so kinky. Perhaps the dangling tag on Stacy's collar meant she had an owner, a master. Maybe the chain on Alice's collar meant she wanted to be led... wait, this thought had started out very differently.

Alice's heart beat powerfully, wishing for something with all of its might, but it wouldn't deign to explain anything to the rest of her. Leaving her utterly confused.

Even through the affront, through the pornographic event she wasn't meant to see, the way Alice felt about Tristan was unchanged. If anything, it was clearer. The guy was interesting - really fascinating. Fun to talk to, though he was kind of tongue-tied right now, and kind when he wasn't playing with her heart. And the way he'd made Stacy cum just now - she bit her palm, trying to stifle a moan at the erotic memory of her own orgasms with him. Stacy was completely giving in to him, just like Alice. She had squirted, just like Alice. She was giving Tristan a filthy boob-job, but Alice couldn't ever do that.

Resentment surged together with arousal in an unsettling combination. She wasn't sure how she should feel. Even as the insult echoed within her, hitting the deepest parts of her vulnerability, it also enhanced the voyeuristic thrill. She'd stumbled upon exactly the type of secret she loved ferreting out. It contained people she found particularly sexy. Seeing it was incredible, it made her feel alive. At the same time Stacy's casual dismissal shredded her self-confidence, feeding her outrage. Her blood pumped. Her fury was indistinguishable from lust, was mingled with it.

Alice was a freak, a damn freak after all. She'd loved watching her - fine, call him her boyfriend - make his other girlfriend cum all over the place. Even as tears of rage threatened to fall, her other hand resumed its thrusts inside her slick channel. Stirring up her passion, seeking out the orgasm which had escaped. This was Stacy's final victory over her, and she couldn't even leave. The voyeur in her exulted. She couldn't deny it was fantastic to watch.

Her breath was coming in short gasps. She struggled to keep every breath as quiet as she could, though her body seemed to struggle against her. She wasn't a quiet girl. Behind this bookshelf, the college's top student and oddest conundrum were acting out something others couldn't even conceive of. These two people doing something like this together, in public. And she'd been the one to discover it. Plus, she'd witnessed Stacy's comment about her - something Alice specifically was not meant to hear. Alice found that thought irresistibly hot, in the worst way. She bit her hand harder, marking it, her moan even more powerful this time, more difficult to contain.

Tristan moaned suddenly, seeming to echo Alice. It made her convulse around her own fingers. She shivered in pleasure and her hips thrust up at nothing. As conflicted and vulnerable as she'd ever been.

~~~~

The words trickled through Tristan's consciousness, and something within him stirred. Despite the fact he was buried hip-deep in Stacy's breasts, despite their pillowy softness, their warmth. He frowned, the feeling of displeasure coming slowly, but piercing through his excitement nevertheless. Inevitably.

"Stacy, don't speak about Alice like..." he began.

She smiled up at him and he felt the urge to smile back. He struggled to keep up his strong expression. Tricky, Stacy - but putting others down wasn't acceptable. He couldn't, he wouldn't let that slide.

"Slave. Call me slave, Master." she interrupted, grinning.

"Slave. If you mention Alice - your colleague - to me it will only be to say something positive." he emphasized.

Tristan probably should have followed it up but he was already thinking about something else. That charming mirthfulness looked strange on Stacy. It was such a contrast from the way she normally conducted herself. That gleeful look suited her, that's what truly conveyed the significance of this whole event. That this mirth looked so astonishing on her, and it really shouldn't. He felt he'd started to understand her aberrant request for help, how much she needed this, how much strain she was under.

Stacy chose that moment to slide her breasts down his length, sucking the tip of his penis into her mouth. His eyes rolled back in his head as the warm slippery feelings assaulted him.

"Y-ahh" he moaned, struggling to stay in control. "You will need to be punished. Another day."

She lifted her head, his cock popping out of her mouth.

"Yes, Master." she breathed.

Her hair fell forward, obscuring her target, falling onto it, being drawn into her mouth. She paused, taking a moment to brush it aside, drawing it away and back over her shoulder. She gathered her hair with casual ease, holding it imprisoned. She grabbed Tristan's hand, handing responsibility over to him. As he held her hair she bobbed back down, enveloping him.

Only this time he was much closer to his orgasm. Being able to hold her like this felt like a second submission. Stacy had given him an overflowing handful of her hair. He felt like he had direct control over her head. Unconsciously he started moving his hand, setting the pace as she slid her lips up and down, swaddling him in her warmth, then exposing him to the outside air, only to flow down on him again. Stacy licked his head at the apex of her movement. She was responsive to every little twitch of his fingers, moving wherever he directed her.

As she reached her lowest point, about two-thirds of him in her mouth, he couldn't resist the urge to pull her further forward. Forcing himself into her further than her limit. She moved with him trying to cram only a little more of his engorged flesh into her. She was clearly struggling to accommodate him. Stacy held herself there for a moment. This was the furthest he'd ever been inside her.

A good ten seconds later he felt her resist, pull back. He released her immediately. She rose up off of him, coughing. Stacy sniffed. She wiped saliva off of her mouth with the back of a hand.

As Stacy gasped for air Tristan looked on in horror. Drool dripped from his shaft and down her chin, unchecked. Her lipstick was smudged over her face, over the curves of her breasts. Stacy's eyes were streaming, her mascara running down in a black river, like paint on paper. Even her nose ran. Her was mouth still partially open as if he'd broken her mechanism for closing it. What had he done to her? She looked like a wreck, a parody of herself. Utterly debased. He felt remorse surge inside him.

"Sorry Master." she gasped, panting. "Hold me again, I'll do better."

Tristan stared into her eyes, seeing a mixture of amusement and determination there. She - she was enjoying this? She didn't care how she looked, wanted to continue? That was beyond his wildest hopes. Guilt was supplanted by gratitude and relief. This was the best moment of his life. How many people had ever seen Stacy like this? She was doing this for him, pushing herself for him. He really owed her for this. His dick jumped in excitement. He almost came all over her right then. She really was going further with this submission stuff than he'd ever expected.

~~~~

Her knees protested their rough treatment on the mass-produced institutional carpet. She ignored the feeling; she had far more entertaining things to focus on. Like Tristan's reaction - that had definitely been the right thing to say, had cut right through the doubts she knew he'd had. Her throat throbbed; her jaw ached as she rubbed it. She'd really been pushing herself, right until her gag reflex had grown too strong to suppress. Next time she would do better.

She wiped her stinging eyes with her hand, saw mascara on them. Seeing it, she felt satisfaction. It had taken her ages to find a mascara which wasn't waterproof. What would her crowd of sycophants think, to see their idol like this? Visibly broken? It was symbolic. She'd worn it on purpose, so he could visibly change her. So she could go back to her room different in both mind and body. A small dumb part of her still reacted in sudden panic; screaming about her make-up, how she had to fix it. What would people think? She dismissed the urge - this was what she'd wanted. And even if it wasn't, she didn't have to keep up her front around Master. She could explore whatever she wanted, be whatever she wanted. Her smile was so wide she felt it stretched from ear to ear.

With one hand either side of her breasts, she massaged Tristan's appendage between them. Of course she hadn't forgotten what she was doing. She wanted to make his orgasm as special for him as hers had been. Solid and hot, she felt it throb between her flesh. Fully enfolded but defiant. Stacy could only imagine what a mess she looked, but judging by Tristan's reaction he loved it, probably looked at it as proof of her devotion. He liked to mess her up. What a dirty guy. Perhaps he could dirty her some more, had some more hot sticky... evidence for her?