Bound & Free Ch. 10

No, leaving would just invite a scene - Alice seemed fond of those - and there were many secrets she could call out in her fury, not all of them his. Plus now the beatdown was over the adrenaline was leaving, and his legs felt unsteady. He walked toward a table near the back of the store and sat, sighing. Here, for a moment, he had a more controlled environment, and if he was lucky, she'd take a couple of minutes to follow and he'd get some space to thin...

Without any warning, he heard a voice speak - right in his ear.

"What are we doing over here?" Alice hissed.

Only a monumental effort of will kept him in his chair. Mentally he'd fallen over and was screaming hysterically, leaving behind a statue. Who did stuff like that?!

"Alice. Take a seat." he gestured casually, despite his thundering pulse. "Or alternatively you could just leave."

And perhaps put off Tristan's impending heart attack.

For a moment Alice's cheeks puffed up like a chipmunk's. Every facet of her supple bod... er, face, he really had to focus here - shouted her indignant refusal. She sat, her withering stare full of attitude, watching for her opportunity to inject lethal venom into him.

"Thank you for sitting." Tristan said, leaning back in his seat

A drink levitated over his shoulder and Tristan whipped his head around. His face brushed against cloth, buttons, the hidden softness of skin and higher up and distinctly feminine protrusion. The barista. What truly awful timing, almost like she was determined to mess with him.

"Hope you get the job." the woman said to Alice, then turned back to Tristan. "Sorry, I didn't want to interrupt, but this coffee's getting cold. You take any longer and I might as well add ice. I've given you another star."

Fortunately the strange pink-haired woman started to leave right after that.

~~~~

Alice - campus cafe - table

That brazen harlot of a barista really needed to cover up. Or at least teach Alice fashion secrets, because despite how slutty the outfit was it looked effortless, feminine and somehow stylish. Alice looked closer. The open shirt made a perfect frame for her bra, her breasts nestled within and the partially visible tattoos made her want to open it up and inspect them with her fingers... Alice's breath caught. She looked away quickly. This morning she'd awakened a monster.

"...sorry" Alice said to Tristan, blushing.

It was the only apology he was getting. Let him wonder if she was talking about being distracted or Emily's grotesque attack.

Spitefully she grabbed Tristan's drink and sipped it. Revolting - cold coffee! Alice couldn't let Tristan win that easily. She pretended to enjoy it. She'd had enough caffeine for one day, that's all. She put it back on the table beside her, far from him. Petty revenge! So satisfying.

"Not a problem." Tristan replied calmly, pressing the napkin to his wound.

How could he be so blase about being injured? Acting as if he didn't have a hole in his face because of Alice's had told Emily in a moment of weakness. What had she done? She hadn't been thinking. She slipped back into a sea self-loathing. Wallowed in it. Still, Tristan got points for not blaming Alice. Wait, was that what he was thinking?

"You're still an asshole" she muttered back.

"Sorry. I'll pay you a substantial bonus." Tristan tried to wink at her. Poorly.

He wasn't making any sense. Tristan didn't pay her at all. Oh no - did he have a concussion? That would explain it - she knew that wink looked strange!

"Wha? Tristan, I don't get paid" she explained patiently. "You're not really my..."

Then she met his eyes, saw them twinkle as they did when he thought he'd said something clever.

"I was worried about you, dickhead!" Alice exclaimed.

Alice blushed - of course Tristan was making a perverted joke. He was a consummate playboy. Hell, being beaten by jealous lovers and exes was probably a weekly occurrence for him. Why did she like him again?

She reached over to slap his arm before realizing he was too far. As an afterthought, Alice looked around - the last customer was leaving, shooting her a glare, as if the disruption was all her fault. Perhaps it was.

"What's the company policy on harassment?" she asked. "Is this in your corporate handbook?"

"Harassment is practically our mission statement, Ms Naughty." he countered right away.

Alice giggled despite herself. Wait a minute! She was having fun, she was getting sucked back into a relationship with him again. Yes, that's what she wanted more than anything in the world, she would admit that, but this was too easy, wasn't right. Yes, he'd been beaten and even cut, and some would say that was enough, but what about her pride? She couldn't sacrifice her dignity just so she could get what she wanted. It simply wasn't right.

Was she just supposed to forget about what happened? She summoned her anger, for willpower. It returned, building itself back reluctantly, like lighting a match in a storm. She had to fight herself every step, but Alice was nothing if not stubborn.

Remember his piecemeal efforts to ask for forgiveness, as if she didn't merit the effort. She grit her teeth. Remember Stacy criticizing her, looking down on her like the popular girls had done her whole life. She took a deep, shuddering breath as her rage flared. Remember how they'd changed her into someone perverted. Yeah, it was their fault somehow, probably by making it seem fun. She made fists with her hands.

There, she'd made herself good and mad. Now she'd tell him off properly, and he could start his long road to absolution.

All that effort, and she managed one word.

"I..." she began, pulling her hand back to gesture at herself.

As Alice carelessly pulled back her arm, as if she herself was the vengeful hand of karma, she accidentally caught the edge of her cup. The cursed vessel fell toward her, inch by inch, while she just sat and watched, frozen. In slow motion, it released a surprising volume of cold coffee, forming a growing bronze lake. Then as if she'd hit fast forward, the wave's edge sprinted to the edge of the table, vaulted over, and landed onto her top in a sudden cascade. She gasped as the liquid soaked into the sheer material, plastering it to her. She grimaced as some of it seeped through the thin gauzy fabric onto her skin beneath.

Some perverse part of her noted that Tristan had glazed her body again, and snickered to itself. Alice grabbed the unwanted thought and roughly tossed it into her mental dungeon. Whose side was it on anyway? Traitor.

Then Tristan handed her a napkin, and she blushed. Her humiliation was total. She groaned with the horror of it. Of course it went wrong - anything naughty Alice did was always destined to go sideways.

Was Tristan looking? She peeked, and he quickly looked away. She scowled at him, then continued to try do what she could to save her poor garment. Alice soon felt his eyes caress her again, heating her skin. It was unfair. Perhaps if she'd gotten to do this her own way they'd have made it to the caressing part today. Damn.

"I wish I did work for you, just so I could report you to HR." Alice muttered, blotting her top uselessly.

Tristan massaged his damaged cheek distractedly, but didn't apologize. Didn't he know this mess was all his fault?

"We don't have HR, but if you'd like I could report myself to myself." he smirked, clearly relaxing a bit.

He actually smirked! The bastard! It's still far too early for him to relax.

"Do report yourself." Alice dismissed coolly, tossing the damp napkin at him. "You've now destroyed two of my best blouses, you know?"

"Two?" he asked in confusion.

"Yeah, the first is covered in your..." she stopped suddenly.

Crap, crap, crap! She shouldn't have said that. Memories assailed Alice. Her chest pressed to Stacy's, covered in his cum. Taking her blouse off. Falling into bed where she, er... melted herself into a puddle. Then afterward, picking the top up - just to check how bad it was, of course. Then she'd gotten... distracted. She'd touched the stains. Smelled them. Tasted them. Then back to bed where she turned to steam. For a long moment, Alice simply blushed, and there was silence... But nothing would keep Alice silent for long. That was her favorite part of herself.

"Anyway, you owe me a new outfit." she concluded, eventually.

"You mean two new outfits." he riposted quickly.

"No, I took your slave girl one, remember?" Alice reminded him, regretting mentioning it before she'd finished speaking.

"That? It was a gift - suits you way more than me anyway. Honestly, you needed an acceptable uniform for your new position." He paused. "Without underwear, of course. It's in the handbook under 'dress code'."

"I thought your company policy was for me to take my clothes off?" she asked.

"Not necessarily," he paused. "Though it would demonstrate your commitment to the organization."

"My commitment to the... Pfft... ha hahahaha!" she gasped for breath. "You're full of these! Oh, that's ridiculous!"

Alice let herself enjoy it - she'd been through enough of an emotional roller coaster today. She was enjoying herself, and was finding it hard to care. Besides, just look at what happened to her when she tried to go against this. It was like the universe was trying to tell her something.

"I think you'll enjoy working under me." he leered, enjoying the levity too. "Be warned, there'll be many all-nighters and a massive..."

Alice's phone vibrated. The screen said Emily, but after what she'd done to Alice's man, she could wait. Then it vibrated again. And again. And aga... Damn, that was a lot of messages. She was writing whole essays in seconds. If only Emily had this kind of work ethic for her own assignments.

Reluctantly, Alice sighed and stood up again. It was getting darker outside now, the early evening. In Alice's world, good things were always over too soon. She went over to him. She wanted to give him a hug, but pulled back at the last second.

"Boss - er, Tristan. I-I've got to go find Emily now." she announced. "I'm... so sorry about your face. She went too far. But you're still in the doghouse."

"I'm sorry." he said, sincerely.

He bent down to kiss her! Was this really happening?! Inside her excitement burst like a firework in the darkness. Her eyes fluttered shut, her lips puckered, she moved toward him... But no, he was just whispering in her ear. Moron - why tease her? Couldn't he see she was ready? Still, she got to feel his rough lips brush her skin.

"I could've sworn you were the one with a collar." he murmured.

Alice tensed a moment, then shivered all over. Her knees felt weak. There was only one answer to that.

"...mnt sn." Alice murmured.

"You're on mute." Tristan smirked, as always he was infuriatingly unflappable in these moments. "Please could you unmute yourself and repeat that?"

Alice stomped her foot, irritated Tristan couldn't hear that. The fact she couldn't hear herself didn't matter. She wasn't brave enough to say it twice! He was so good at reading her when they were doing perverted things, why couldn't he understand her now? Maybe she just needed to fetch her collar.

She could just leave. She should. She needed to have some concept of dignity, of class, of pride... A life just like the one she'd lived so far. No. No to that. Her pride didn't matter, not when it stood between her and what she wanted.

"I said I want a BIG bonusreallysoon'kaybye!" she fled halfway through her sentence, rushing it and herself out of the store.

Her mind was a mess. She'd said it, even though she shouldn't have - she'd propositioned him. Her cheeks hurt, dark with a blush that was so intense it was physically painful. She'd exhausted her supply of willpower, so she'd simply enjoyed herself. She shouldn't have. It was a bad idea, would end up with her on the relationship garbage heap... but it'd feel so good while it lasted. She shouldn't have told Emily - she had interfered, and knowing her, would interfere more. Emily always had an opinion on how Alice should be living her life. Between that and Alice's virtuous inner voice, it's a wonder Alice had any fun at all. Maybe, for once, she'd just live, and let things end up where they may.

~~~~

Stacy - campus restroom

Stacy slumped against the tiled restroom wall, panting. She held back her needy, panting moans as she recovered from the lingering sensations, her fingers still awkwardly thrust deep inside herself, little aftershocks gripping and releasing them. She was finished, at last - or perhaps just out of time. Her thighs were sticky with her lubrication and her thoughts were sticky with shame. She leaned heavily on the shattered tiling, bewildered. Despite having just 'taken the edge off' - publicly, in a restroom, for the very first time in her life - her needy pussy still begged for more. She was over-stressed, overheating, and overindulging. Why had she just done that?

Why wasn't it enough?

Stacy's own scent was masked by the heavy, unpleasant feminine musk which drifted through the room (not her!), the pervasive stench forcing her to take short breaths or become dizzy. Not that she could breathe deeply right now... and she was already dizzy in the aftermath of her own efforts. Here, in this shithole, like this? Really? Grunting and wanton in public, like an animal? What had happened to being little miss perfect?

This small room was uncomfortable; hot, muggy, and difficult to breathe in. The tiny droplets of sweat coating Stacy's body wicked into her blouse, the cotton fabric eager for it. Water sang as it flowed uninterrupted from a broken faucet outside her stall, the sink gurgling, the occasional escaping drip the percussion. Her personal song of shame, sinking into her memory. The room's heating was oversized for the mere three stalls inside, overpowering the day's late autumn chill without any challenge, turning the place into a sauna. Or a rainforest, complete with dim lighting, moist heavy air, primal noises... the mating call of an exotic animal; her. Stacy would've liked to say she'd been listening for anyone venturing into the room, but the truth was she'd lost herself completely in wanton midday masturbation. The flimsy wood of this stall was the only thing protecting her modesty, her reputation. She really was a pervert, pretending to be respectable as she headed, dripping, to chair her next committee meeting. Damn, if anyone saw her now she'd be screwed. And definitely not in the good way. That was the main problem.

Stacy was fed up with society as a whole. Sure, cities and culture were all very well, but regrettably they came stuffed full of people, who carried expectations, shackles on her freedom. And the rules for women were the worst. How could she tell Tristan that what she really wanted was for him to drag her to his dorm, bend her over, and hammer her until she shattered and couldn't even see straight anymore, let alone think? Preferably twice? With some rope? Please?

A feeling of liquid rolling down her thigh distracted her. Her panties were a sodden mess, her honey overflowing to drench her thighs. Where was this all coming from? Why hadn't she noticed? She swore out loud. She'd never been like this before, not even as a teenager. Right. She shouldn't think about sex, Tristan, handcuffs, libraries or anything hot, wet or, er... Probably time to leave.

Shivering despite the heat, she grabbed handfuls of toilet paper. She carefully folded the slim fragile squares into a precise square before awkwardly cleaning her legs of the waterfall flowing from her center. It took quite a while. Patience, she chided herself. For hours she'd been patient - right up until a few minutes ago. She'd steered an assortment of meetings, each filled with people who liked to hear themselves talk more than they liked getting things done. Stacy played the game, building up their fragile egos as best she could, cutting them down wherever needed, and always - ALWAYS - remaining in control.

The thing that drove her out of control was her dirty little secret. Right after leaving Alice, Stacy had spent an hour or so taking progressively more revealing photos. Her goal? To turn Tristan on so he'd make his next move and just claim her already. If asking was too trashy by the unfair standards of society then instead she'd just drive him into a frenzy. Stacy failed to anticipate how it would affect her; she'd been on a low smoulder for hours, her core steaming, begging, just this side of boiling over. The fire faded to embers during every conference that dull afternoon. Her commitments and the pressure of meeting them drained her of something vital, while adding their constricting weight. She felt that old familiar desperation for escape grow, filling her to bursting.

The world was always watching her, and she never forgot that she was giving a performance - admired, aloof, ambitious. She had to be. All the while the dread which festered in the pit of her stomach sent out its lamprey tentacles, hooking into her shoulders, her head, her back. After this she'd go back out on stage, where everyone else was, lead some interminable meeting. After this. But there was hope. Hope Tristan would see her messages, maybe lose control, and save her: sweep her away from life's demands to pound her so deep into his mattress it'd leave a permanent dent.

That led her... here. To this latest indignity. Oh, not right away - it'd happened slowly. Every time she thought about sending Tristan a message, her lust would burst back into flame, then she would head back to the next meeting, lightheaded, dripping with liquid fire, trying to avoid touching herself to prevent a massive, er... embarrassment. The first couple of times, her panties all but squished as she walked. She'd eventually had to take them off - justifiably, they felt gross. What happened next was less explicable; a part of her decided to leave them off. Going commando stoked her lust and in the next break - a couple minutes ago - she'd finally broken, giving into her desires. She'd sent Tristan a hot selfie photo or two from the provocative photos she'd painstakingly taken.

Miraculously her stress had evaporated - bliss. Unfortunately that had allowed the pulsing demands of her libido to take center stage. Inconvenient, definitely - but unlike the normal cocktail of pills she took to kill the endless mental pressure, this remedy's side effects were easier to live with... and definitely a lot more fun.

So Stacy had rushed to an out-of-the-way restroom, hidden in this stall, hiked up her skirt and inserted a couple of fingers inside herself in less time than it took to say it. She tried to think about Ryan, about movie stars, but drifted back to the perverse. Worth checking, but nope - she was still in the grip of her little addiction. To restraints - even to Tristan himself, that confident, slightly mocking mask which she knew was only a shell, and yet she couldn't break once he wore it. She masturbated wildly, until she had a couple of small orgasms. Then - well, not bliss, but at least sanity. The conflagration threatening to consume her was soothed, and she could think. Barely. She got back in control of herself and forced the mask back on, piece by painful piece.

What she'd done here was her dirty little secret - her breath of cleansing air. So here she was, leaning on the wall for support, dissatisfied, still rubbing her legs together whenever her mind wandered, wishing she could continue. Stacy was starting to hate being in control. She wished her Master was here, with maybe a binding or two, if she asked nicely. Her body still craved sensation, promising that a one more orgasm - no, make it a touch, just the slightest brush more, would be enough - and the worst part was she wanted to do it. She knew it would then want another. That naughty liar, shamelessly begging for more, breaking every promise. She needed to be thoroughly punished - Tristan, he'd take... wait, was that the time?! She had to run to her next meeting.